The Italian Job Part 2

Set off for Brescia at 7am for the penultimate stage of the Giro to make sure we are there before all the road closures occur. First real sunny day of the trip. Followed by a police car which made the atmosphere a little tense in the Fiat Panda (See last blog entry).

The city was waking up and the barracades being assembled, and after a short stroll I made base camp on the finish line armed with sandwiches and beer. I wasnt the only English speaker on the home straight who was staking their claim to see Cavendish sprint to the Maglia Rosso - A Scottish couple Claire & Neal, couple of younger back packers and an Aussie.

As the day moved on, a cavalcade of promotional trucks bedecked with high heeled promo girls slowly meandered around the streets throwing hats bags and bananas of all things to the crowd. As a natural ginger I was wilting in the Italian sun, but I was determined to see the finish at close quarters. As was a 12 year old child who started to muscle in on my pitch. Her parents were behind me egging her on. If she was a bloke she'd have had  a good slap by now, but I stood my ground for a couple of hours before capitulating 12 inches of space at the barrier. As the race neared Brescia, her mother was getting far to up close and personal for my liking, as was her father. I didn't need my google translate app to explain that I was going nowhere - I did it in the good old fashioned "Englishman abroad" way, ie talking loudly and slowly while gesticulating at them like a lunatic.

Well back to the race - while the Italian family clambered all over me the entire pelaton came in as one. With Cavendish at the front! I hoped he realised that there were 7 laps of the city. It was obvious he was trying to stay out of trouble on this highly technical course. Omega team mates eventually got in front of Cav to give him a bit of support and the crowd went wild. A text book lead out ensued and Cav blasted his way to the front on the final straight. No one came near touching him and the celebrations began as soon as crossed the line. As the Italians behind me were Cavendish fans I forgave them for trying to evict me from my pitch, and we were all one happy gang of cycling fanatics.

An emotional Nibali took his trophy and sat resplendent on a gaudy looking pink throne. Cavendish picked up his Maglia Rosso. A fantastic achievement, one of a handful of riders to win the points jersey in all 3 Grande Tours. Possibly the greatest sprinter in ever, we were witnessing history in the making. Nibali was a worthy champion - I take no pleasure in saying this but I really dont think a fit Wiggins would have got near him. Nibali rode with passion, he rode with heart he rode in a manner alien to Wiggins and the Sky team who operate by numbers and playing the percentages. Nothing wrong with that but no where near as entertaining.

 If you take a look at the pic of Cav, black tshirt silver watch leaning over barricade - THATS ME!

And now its announced that Wiggo is out of the TDF. Probably for the best, whether he's injured or not. The way that Sky operate, they need a definitive leader and a committed team. Wiggins was a complication they could have done without.

My Italian job - A Giro of Gargantuan Proportions

Well the adventure started at Birmingham airport when a shed load of 10 year old Pontypool Rugby Juniors climbed aboard the plane and the ones behind us decided to let rip with a thunderous fart which curdled my coffee.
 
Fairly uneventful flight, but found upon landing that Nibali had screamed through the 19.45km that was the uphill time trial stage 18 of the Giro d’Italia. Chapeau Vincenzo, you are doing your country proud. Unlike that is, the complete dickhead that is Danilo De Luco, ‘the killer’ has effectively snuffed out his cycling career - facing a lifetime ban after being found positive for drugs! AGAIN!

Enough is enough, lifetime bans all around are the only way to go, and the only way that is going to eradicate this disease.

Milan Bergarno airport, Hertz rental – “Sorry mister Ward you cant drive because your fax from DVLA confirming you have lost your driving licence has not been received” Jayne you’ll have to drive. An hour later after a nerve shredding journey on the motorway, I decided I would rather take my chances with the law by driving myself, insured or not.

It wasn’t that hard driving on the “wrong side” of the road, I only shot across 2 junctions the wrong way, and managed a great emergency stop at an island when I was about to go left instead of right.

Italy, specifically the Manerba area was serene in the spring sunshine. Gilberto (my friends dad, who owns the place) took us to our apartment and with the aid of google translate on the phone, told us what was working and what wasn’t. It didn’t matter that the gas heating wasn’t, as the weather was so mild we were sure not to use it.

While sampling the local fare at a nearby pizzeria the mother of all thunderstorms raised its head over the adjacent dolomites and proceeded to drown the town. Temperatures dropped and our night’s sleep was anything but, because of the rapidly forming icicles on our noses.

Up at about noon, feeling a bit despondent – A quick hot shower thawed the mood. Unfortunately the weather was appalling.

It was no different in the mountains where stage 19 was cancelled due to heavy snow and torrential rain. It was the right decision because the descents would have been suicide!

I drove us down to the banks of Lake Garda to find a ghost town. Everything apparently shuts at 1pm. Do these Italians not do lunch? We ended up having a burger and chips take away, after which, we retired to our beds with books. Only surfacing around 7pm. I’m not complaining, the relaxation was wonderful, but it was hardly a taste of Lombardy. (Incidentally, “7 Deadly Sins” by David Walsh is a must read book. Not just for the hatchet job on Armstrong but the extent of the drugs problem throughout sport as a whole.)

Talking of a tast of Lombardy - straight out at 7.30 for Red Wine, Calamari and roast veg - much more like it.

Up early on Saturday to drive up the coast of Lake Garda and then doubling back towards Manerba del Garda; a larger town on the southern shore of the Lake. A little wonder around the town and a great pizza lunch among the Ferraris and Lamborghinis in the spring sunshine lifted our spirits. I was desperate to find a place showing the Giro, and this town wasn’t it, luckily on the way back I found a bar in Manerba which had a big screen. Google translate on, I proceeded to ask the bar staff if they wouldn’t mind putting the Giro on.

Couldn’t have been more accommodating. They must have been impressed that a British Red Neck in the middle of no where actually cared about the result of their national race, and what’s more was cheering for Nibali. (I did have money on him)

And what a race it was, Nibali won by nearly a minute after an awe inspiring solo effort in atrocious conditions - tactics which came straight from the Eddie Merckx’s text book. Numerous attacks folded under the strain of climbing Passo Giau and the white out conditions, but Niabli bided his time and struck when all around were falling away.

Sky rider Uran came in a creditable third, but Cavendish lost his Red jersey to Nibali. For Cav (Who suffered more than I have ever seen him) it wasn’t all bad news, he should be able to get that back tomorrow when the Manx Missile arrives in Brescia at roughly 45 mph. And the Yellow Jerkey himself will be there resplendent in CCCP Tour de Farce regalia to welcome him.

As long as the GC order remains (which it should) Nibali, Uran, Evans, then I have two of the top three on my betting slip and the Yellow Jerkey will be celebrating alongside the jubilant Italians.

Bike Porn and stacking it on the Telegraph

Giovanni Visconti took Stage 15 in dramatic style, in fact in a style reminiscent of Pantini himself, riding at the front taking the Telegraph in his stride then suffering to the max on the Col du Galibier. Nibali retains pink after some shadow boxing with other GC contenders on the final climb. My heart felt commiserations goes out to Domenico Pozzovivo, the diminutive climber from AG2R - he had felt the full force of the curse of my betting strategy - yes I bet on him for this stage, and he promptly stacked it on the Telegraph and could only get back on to the main peloton nursing cuts and bruises.

Great finish though, in absolutely atrocious weather conditions and I'm still hopeful for Cavendish for the points jersey although there have been rumours on twitter about him not finishing the race. Come on Cav, without Wiggo I need someone to cheer in Brescia!

Anyway the CCCP were out in not so full force, Happy Moorey went solo later on, while the Yellow Jerkey and Chesh sent off on a 50 miler through Lichfield and beyond. We took in some of the biggest hills around here, but because Chesh can get a bit competitive, and I've been known to, it turned into a bit of an ass kicking competition in parts. Quads were burning like hell by the time I got home, but it turned out to be a great ride, toughest and hottest of the year so far. BTW I highly recommend Mammoth cycle shop at Milford for coffee and carrot cake at £2 - good coffee at that. Can anyone beat that?

While I was waiting for Chesh I was bored and decided to do an impromptu photo shoot of my trusty steed - sexy little number called Sharon, shown below.

Quella attracting bike store partners

You have got to give this guy credit, starting from scratch in a chicken shed or some other farmyard building, Mark Langley builds fixed gear bikes. Bloody good fixies that are not only functional but are fast becoming a bit of a fashion accessory. I for one am unashamedly waiting for my free sample model to review under solemn oath that I will return it. (Yeah right) Quella is fast becoming the de riguer of not just the commuter fraternity with people using them for training sportives and even track I believe. And national retailers are queuing up to stock em - Anyway click HERE to read the full story.

Victoria Pendleton's legs, Wiggo's tribulations and Happy Moorey's climbing boots

"When you were young do you remember pretending to be someone while you played a sport? And is it wrong to still do it? Today im out on the bike with the cccp so I'm going to shave my legs and be Victoria Pendleton."

This was this mornings facebook comment, meant entirely as joke. I don't have a perchance for appearing as a female olympian but I will admit to shaving my legs occasionally, although its a bit of a chore considering the work required - see photo!
The response I had from the comment was interesting and at the same time disturbing.

Anyway the CCCP did a quick 50 over to Ironbridge Gorge and back this morning and anyone who knows Ironbridge will know why its called a gorge! And to the amazement of the squad, Happy Moorey's training paid off and he managed to get up that monster hill without getting off for the first time ever! Another first was the appearance of "Motorbike Mike" on a hybrid, but showed good form - when he gets his roadie he'll see a massive jump in performance.

This occurred to a back drop of Wiggins hanging on by his nails trying to keep in contention at the GIRO. Lead home by his squad, he had to make up nearly a minute to get back into the Maglia Rose group, but nearly lost it on the descents. His fall this week seems to have knocked his confidence and the rest of the peleton know it - pushing on at the front to inflict as much pain as possible, both going up and descending! My money wagered on Wiggo looks like going the same way as most of my other bets, but I'm taking heart in the fact I will be able to actually see my money being lost live in Brescia on the final day!

5 members of the CCCP Squad this morning, Happy Moorey, Scissorhand John, Motorcycle Mike, Chesh, and The Little Bear:

Rejoice for I have wealth beyond your wildest dreams

Forget the riders of the past that who have broken collarbones and legs, dismiss the horses that have fell at the final hurdle, take no notice of the Sagen photo finish loss at the San Remo.... I have won a bet at long last! Cavendish is responsible for increasing my personal wealth to the handsome tune of £6.50 from a £10 bet. Well done Cav, I shall be toasting you with a pint and bag of crisps.

Quella - the man, the machine