Togliatti, Bartali and the 1948 Tour

The story of the 1948 Tour is well known; how Gino fought back from a huge deficit to take three stages in a row and win the overall ten years after his first Tour win, and how that victory eased the tense political atmosphere in Italy after the shooting of Communist leader Palmiro Togliatti. But what I'm truly in awe of is the character of Gino as retold in Road to Valor, upon seeing the Italian journalists were leaving the Tour and heading back home. Not yet aware of the situation in Italy, and over twenty minutes down on the GC, Gino jumped up from his table and shouted...

"Go! Go home! I know what you're thinking: I'm old. You came here and tired yourselves out for nothing. There's no point in following Bartali's race, that poor old man, eh? But I'm warning you: a stopwatch won't be big enough to record the amount of time by which I'll beat the others. And don't come back to interview me when I have the yellow jersey!"

A stopwatch wasn't big enough to measure his winning margin. And you certainly can't measure the impact his win had in an Italy that was thrown into panic, with mobs taking over factories and local governments and political groups literally heading for the hills, ready to start a revolution.

I realize it's a different age, but what destroyed that bravado in our sport? Is it that respecting your rivals now means you have to bury your confidence? Does our media coverage and online peering into every word and detail around a race bury any spontaneity? Do race radios effectively control our racing to the point that the winner is almost predetermined by power numbers? Has cycling emerged from those postwar days when it was the poor guy looking to escape his situation that caused him to drop his shovel and get on a bike because he might find that labor easier to feed his family?

Whatever it is, more people need to know Gino's story and cycling's rich past.

Gino Bartali's Road to Valor

Travel has afforded me plenty of reading time this year, allowing me to recently breeze through some great titles like Fignon: We Were Young and Carefree; Sex, Lies and Handlebar Tape; Team 7-Eleven; and Slaying the Badger. But none were as rewarding as Aili and Andres McConnon's much-anticipated Road to Valor.

I've been a Bartaliano (as Bartali fans called themselves in the "war" between themselves and Coppi supporters) since I started this journey into cycling's history. Little by little, la Gazzetta or Bicisport would reveal his efforts in the underground Jewish aid movement, smuggling falsified documents via long training rides to Italian Jews in hiding. In the past couple of years, even more has been uncovered to a much broader audience, culminating in this book, the first big push to an english-speaking public more and more interested in cycling's past (Rouleur or Rapha, anyone?).

The mystery behind the tales are even more compelling since the gruff Tuscan, who had his greatest sporting years robbed by the war, refused to profit by the telling of incredible tales of bravery and intrigue. It was only well after his death in 2000 that it was revealed how he had hidden a family of friends in his cellar during the darkest days of Nazi occupation. When asked about his actions by his son Andrea, Bartali replied that "One does these things and then that's that."

After the death in 2000 of one of the central figures in the movement, Giorgio Nissim, diary entries were discovered by his surviving sons which revealed the extent of Bartali's involvement. This spurred an intense research into his wartime actions and began to uncover an incredible truth about a man whose fame on the bike was to be eclipsed by his heroics during the war.

That's not to say that Bartali was without flaw, either. He was reported to be difficult at times, a pessimist, gruff, often a braggart, and even prone to drink a little more than a religious man should at the time. His most famous quote is "Everything's wrong, we'll have to start all over again." An odd view of the man who became known as "Gino the Pious." But to me, the post-war silence of a man who saved so many by risking his own life speaks volumes in a time when Olympic champions make more press about their podium celebrations than their performances.

Promo video for the book Road to Valor

npr interview with the authors

The Road to l'Eroica

As last year's l'Eroica was a solo affair due to Tucker's constant battles with sickness, this year I brought a support crew. Daisy even made the trip from the States to join the Mrs. and I. First to Zurich, then Basel and finally over the Alps to Italy.

After seeing Ciöcc, we headed towards the Ghisallo, where I gave the Cicli Masini one final test before l'Eroica. As we had dinner plans with friends in Como, I climbed up the easy side to the Chapel of the Madonna del Ghisallo. Of course, tiny, trafficked roads make for slow travel and by the time I pulled into the parking lot, the sun was well below the surrounding mountains, making us late into Como. From there, it was another long drive south to Tuscany.

The statue at the Ghisallo Chapel

Staying in Montevarchi like last year, we had a half-hour drive to Gaiole each day. Friday was spent in the market checking out all that my friends had to offer. My collection of cycling history books grew significantly that day! All the usuals were there, including Enzo, Ermes and Roberto. I was most impressed by the Bici Vintage booth and their reproduction wool jerseys made to order. The nickeled purple Automoto was by far and away the best restoration on show, while the 1916 Stucchi was calling out for an offer to be made. More on that later!

Yes, please!

This nickel-plated Automoto restoration was great

Registration was easy and painless. For those of you considering doing l'Eroica, there are many sites discussing bike standards and it's really very simple: exposed brake cables, no clipless pedals and no brifters (downtube, bar end or rod shifters are acceptable, along with single speeds or flip-flop wheels and probably some wacky, unique but old system yet to be found).

Knowing that our actual anniversary on Saturday would be an early-to-bed affair, Friday night we celebrated with dinner at a special restaurant… the stables of the Badia a Coltibuono (Abbey of the Good Harvest). What's so special about this is that the estate is owned by descendants of the Stucchi family. Yes, THAT Stucchi. While there are no bicycles on display in the 11th century villa, the restaurant features an impressive photo of what I assume to be Guido Giuntini, the Florentine banker who bought the property in 1846 and great grandfather of Piero Stucchi-Prinetti.

Saturday morning I took advantage of our location and made one more quick trip to the Bartali museum in Ponte a Ema. There, I once again wondered at the magazines, newspapers, jerseys and of course the old bikes, including a Stucchi with cambia corsa and that Bartali track bike, touted to have been made by Galmozzi (even though I have information to the contrary).

Contrary to the sign nearby, most likely NOT a Galmozzi

Saturday was spent again at the market and walking slowly around the town admiring the passing bikes and their dapper owners. I managed to make a few connections again, notably with Ben Cramer who was riding the 135 route and writing a feature for Town and Country magazine. He interviewed me over a glass of wine on my passion for the old stuff and the importance of the bicycle throughout history, especially Italian.

Interview with Ben from Town and Country magazine, proving that Tuscans don't only do red

I also managed to run into a newish but somehow seemingly old friend, John Pergolizzi. John was holding court as usual in the town center. Unfortunately, my extended riding time meant we didn't hook up Sunday, post-ride, but I look forward to discussing rare parts with him in the future!

The Red Devil himself, Luciano Berruti!

The man with the old Stucchi was re-introduced to me by a couple of friends who were really jockeying me into place to make a trade for the bike. This is a bike that I would go nuts for and sell most of my collection to get my hands on. Since the owner still rides, we were discussing a large amount of cash plus a new Cannondale in trade for this gem. He wouldn't budge! At least not yet. "I found it in a barn under a thick layer of dirt. There were lots of pros on the Stucchi team in my area back in the day, so this could even be a pro bike. It's in great shape, all original. You just can't put a price on it." Even though I tried! He has my info, and even says that if I bring my own wheels, he'd let me ride l'Eroica on it some day!

How many ways can I say 'I want your Stucchi' in Italian?

With that, I was off to bed early Saturday night… the support crew didn't know what was coming!

The navigator!

Ciclomuseo Gino Bartali

I recently had the chance to get to the Bartali museum in Ponte a Ema, just south of Florence. Once you're lucky enough to find it, try your luck at finding a parking spot in this tiny little village!

Once inside, you'll work your way up to the second floor, which houses various memorabilia of not only Gino, but various vintage bikes, photos, jerseys... the usual. There were three bikes in particular that were of interest to me. One was the Galmozzi-made track bike, which was under glass so the photos didn't turn out. Same goes for an early Bartali model. But I did manage to salvage this one... a Bartali mounted with the Nieddu-made Cervino shifter. Towards the end of his career, Gino invested into this system, which would eventually fade from memory after the introduction of the Campagnolo derailleur.

The museum is definitely worth the trip if you are near Florence. While not as bike-centric as the Bevilacqua collection, it has a decent amount of equipment to go along with the immensely important history of Gino.

Sono Bartaliano... quasi

The Legnano is on the shelf for a couple of weeks. It seems I need to re-space the wheel or spread the rear triangle. The rear hub was a tight fit by 4mm and as it moves back and forth in the dropouts, it needs to fit just so. Unfortunately, it comes as I'm headed to the US to work for a bit. Oh well. I also have developed some pain in my wrist when I ride the old narrow handlebars with weird hand positions. Oh well.

The good news is that I'm able to shift fairly well at this point. I just need to get some good legs in the next 2 months before l'Eroica. Looks like I'll be resuming training on the new bikes again.

I found this chair at a start village at the Tour this year. I was also sent a great piece of digital artwork of l'intramontabile shifting a cambio corsa while climbing. Anyone know who did this, or where I can get a nice print?

A few weeks ago, I ran into an old Italian Coppisti who lambasted me for my Legnano... being a Coppi fan, a Bianchi was the only legitimate bike of the era. We argued for quite a while on the point, even though I had no real reason to... but he was Italian so I think I made his day.