Italian Machismo and Roger’s New Toy

Carol and Roger arrived in Florence September 25th after a l-o-n-g but uneventful flight.  The next morning bright and early it was off to Casa della Bici to pick up Roger’s new toy. 

The fit was nearly perfect right out of the box.  A minor tweak to the seat height and position, and we were ready for the test drive.  But where to go?  Florence’s streets are a labyrinth of dead-ends, one-ways, and unmarked name changes that would only guarantee Roger would get lost less than five minutes after leaving the shop.

Sergio Guerrini, the shop owner, suggested Roger join his bike club the next day for their Sunday morning ride.  Roger accepted with trepidation…remembering his humiliation the year before when he went on a lunch-time ride in Lucca with a bike-shop owner and his friends.  One third of the way through the ride, they sent Roger home because he couldn’t keep up with even the laggards in the group.

Yet, there Roger was bright and early Sunday morning, ready to see if his new Pinarello was even a fraction as good as its reputation.  He waited outside the shop for the members of Squadra Guerrini (Team  Guerrini) to arrive and was relieved to discover the first guys to appear were two brothers in their late 70’s.  In all, a dozen men showed up for the ride, and all but one appeared to have seen their mid-century birthday at least a decade before.  Roger let out a deep sigh of relief.

As we took off, Sergio asked Roger if he thought he could handle a 75 km ride.  As anybody who ever went on a TBA bike ride with Roger and Carol knows, ride leaders always lie about how long a ride will be.  This Sunday Roger learned this is an international phenomenon.

We took off from the shop at a moderate pace.  Three kilometers out Roger realized he would have to keep up with the group because he was already hopelessly lost.  Sergio, as ride leader, assigned the best English-speaker on the team to shepherd Roger along.  His English was so poor we ended up speaking mostly in Roger’s pidgin Italian.  As our peleton picked up speed, it was a good thing both of us were breathing hard…because it prevented either of us from embarrassing ourselves with our language skills.

Ah yes, the pace did indeed pick up.  These dozen old codgers…Roger included…were tooling down the back roads outside Florence at 35 km/h (no need to have Google convert that for you, it’s 22 mph).  Every time a bike club of younger guys blew past us, Sergio upped the tempo in an attempt to keep up.  That lasted perhaps a minute, then we gave up and lapsed back…thankfully…to our previous pace.  Since no self-respecting Italian male…especially those in their mid-70’s…can suffer the indignity of repeatedly being passed by fellow cyclists (including a few women), Squadra Guerrini reverted to hurling insults at the other bike clubs as they passed.  Most were idioms or colloquialisms well beyond Roger’s grasp of Italian, or we would have recorded the most colorful of them here for your reading pleasure.

Using circuitous back roads, where the Sunday morning cyclists outnumbered the cars at least ten-to-one, we wound our way to the town of Vinci. 

Yes, it’s the birthplace of Leonardo di…  

About five years ago, Carol and Roger conned Greg and Ruth Berkman into riding our bikes to Vinci so we could see Leonardo’s birthplace.  When we got there, we were unable to find it.  This time Squadra Guerrini rode right past the house.  Unfortunately, the pace was so fast, there was no chance to stop and get a photo. So Greg and Ruth, you’ll just have to trust Roger on this one.

On the far side of Vinci, we started an 8 km climb that proves the old adage, “A bicycle’s only as fast as its motor.”  Roger showed all those other 70-year-olds what he was made of: he fell instantly behind the rest of Squadra Guerrini and dropped further and further back the longer we climbed.

Fortunately, the stop for coffee was at the top of the hill.  When Roger finally arrived, there were a hundred cyclists at the cafe.  It had seats for four patrons.  The club elbowed its way into the building and up to the bar, downed a shot of espresso, and was back on the road in less than five minutes.

Here’s where the real test of Roger’s Pinarello occurred.  After the stop for coffee, we started a 5 km descent.  The road was narrow and steep, with frequent switchbacks and no margin for error.  Those of you who have ridden with Roger before know he is normally a cautious descender.  On a brand-new bike, unfamiliar with the way it handles, Roger was going to be very cautious going down this hill.  

Most of those other 100 cyclists at the cafe flew by Roger as if he were standing by the side of the road.  As he descended, the bike felt good underneath him…very stable and not pushed around by the cross-winds.  Roger guessed he was going 25 to 30 km/h around those tight curves.  He finally mustered the courage to look down at his speedometer…51 km/h!

When Roger got down to the bottom of the hill, Sergio was waiting for him.  There were no witness to record who had the bigger smile on his face, Sergio or Roger.  Roger didn’t even mind that the promised 75 km ride turned out to be 95 km.