A Trip to the Sea

By Michele  Conforti

After Oscar's fascinating account of the Sardinian Boot Camp, I will try to imitate his style (the unique combination of  drama and light humor) and write an epic tale of my last ride.

Last Tuesday my team went for a long, flat ride. We started at 8.00 AM quite numerous, but when we reached Montagnana, (50 km from home) almost everybody had enough and decided that that was the end. (Montagnana is a beautiful medieval town, famous for prosciutto an for the attractiveness of the local women, mostly due to their prosciutto-eating habits). Five of us decided to go on to the seashore and have linguini with clams.

The  brave men were: Alberto Malesani, world-famous soccer coach, who brought Chievo from being a small, fourth-division team to international level (don't ask me more, I don't know anything about soccer). Adelio Faccioli, word-famous former motorcycle champion (you can ask me more: I know everything), Pierin (small Pete..) and  Alfonso (big Al...), respectively word-famous X-ray technician and warehouse manager and yours truly (n.1 in combined math-cycling).

            I had no idea how far the sea was, and my friends were vague about it. We started taking turns to pull and I did my share with enthusiasm, believing that this was a long but manageable ride. After the 100km mark, which was announced with pride by Alberto ("We will do at least 200 today"), I thought: that's it, the restaurant is here, we eat and start to ride back. Again, Alfonso, the only one I believe to really know where we were going, was vague... 2 km more at the most.

To make a long story short, we arrived at 1.00pm after 130 km (average speed 33km). I started inquiring about the possibility of catching a bus back or riding to Venice and take the train, but after 10 liters of mineral water, a big dish of spaghetti with clams, a generous portion of home-made tiramisu and coffee, life looked normal again.

            We started heading back, with a strong tailwind. We counted on an easy ride home, but the wind was a thermal wind from the sea, which vanished as soon as we rode away.

The first 40 km were OK, and I felt reasonably well, taking my turns to pull.

At one point, Pierin was leading and saw what looked an amateur rider about one km in front of us. Although Pierin was dispensed from the chore of pulling for 2 km, he decided to teach a lesson to the amateur and pulled quite fast for about 3-4km until we reached the guy.....who saw us approaching and started pedaling at 40-43 km per hour! He led us at this speed for about 10km, until he arrived home. We collapsed  in front of a fruit stand where I bought 3 kilos of peaches and gulped 2 of them. Clearly the ruse played by the mysterious champion has an effect on some of us. We told Pierin, (not the strongest rider among us) that maybe, from a strategic point of view, his last pull was not the most intelligent  move (the countryside is littered with innocent-looking nasty former racers), but he insisted that it was a clever ruse (Clearly the fatigue had obfuscated his sharp mind) and decided that we were a bad company and that he would pedal back without us (there were still 90 km to go).

            After 3 more km, Adelio, a very powerful rider who mercilessly tests his equipment, broke a spoke of his Ksyrium wheels. Alfonso, his former mechanic in the glorious motorcycle days, removed his brake pads so he could ride with a wobbling wheel (He is rumored to have done the same to his motorcycle).

At that Point, Alberto and Alfonso took control of the situation and started pulling at a fast and steady pace until....yours truly blew (not the tire, unfortunately). After 6 hours of riding, I has no energy left with 60 km to go.  Alberto and Alfonso took me between them and gave me some strong pushes until we reached again Montagnana, where I used my last bit of energy to gulp some pastry.

My friend Adelio had the miraculous dope (condensed milk, affectionately called toothpaste) in his back pocket but he decided that before being allowed to have some of it, I should collapse on the asphalt.

What gave me some badly needed additional strength was the sight of the lonely Pierin wobbling on his bike at a slow pace. My friends gave me one last push so that I could reach Pierin and tell him that the other three had no energy left.... until they wheeled away from us at a speed 10km faster than ours. After some animated discussion between Pierin and the others, (which I was too tired to listen), we slowly entered the province of Verona and had a couple of stops in places (bar, grocery) where my friends were cheerfully greeted. (They are local heroes, so nobody paid any attention to me, which was good).

Alfonso gave me a little condensed jam to eat, but my stomach was closed and I could not even swallow it.

I arrived home at 8.30 pm, after 264 km.....The longest ride of my life.

ciao,

Michele