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.