by Lorenzo Piccoli
Two years ago a bunch of desperate pilgrims climbed up the hill of Fiesole to watch the world cycling championship under pouring rain. The group was led by Giallu and myself; it included Anna and Jonas – Dani was also there, but he wisely decided to leave after half an hour because he was soaked down to the bones. It was a memorable ride, for good or for worse. I still remember a picture I took that day. Let me tell you something about the misery of it. The man looking aguishly at me is a friend of Giallu, the great cycling lover and excellent writer Il Poeta. The man behind Poeta, peacefully eating his sandwich and drinking grappa in a yellow submariner’s coat is Giallu himself. No matter how bad the thunderstorm was, he sat there, enjoyed, and eventually got drunk together with grumpy Jonas.
Many things have changed since that cold and rainy day of September 2013. The world cycling championship is now Richmond, Virginia. Jonas and Anna have left Florence. And the weather around here seems to have gotten much better. So today Giallu and I commemorated the glorious past (a more complete photo gallery from that unforgettable period of my life is here) by going for a ride up and around Fiesole.
It was the first Tuscan ride for my new flamboyant road bicycle. It was also the first time since I moved to Florence I managed to wake up on a Sunday morning at 7AM.