Lisa and Jim both have good days on the bike. They win some surprizing prizes. WARNING: An extra long post since a really rainy day caused Stage 2 to be postponed until Wednesday, which was supposed to be our rest day. Future posts will be much shorter!
At 10:10 a.m. a throng of cyclists funneled into a single line to pass over the Winning Time timing pad which would emit a high-pitched squeal to register the timing chip attached to the bike or around the ankle of each participant. Even though the race wouldn’t start until 10:30 a.m., people started lining up near the timing pad well before then since the first people through the timing pad would therefore be first on the starting line. And when there are probably over 500 competitors, it’s important to get a good starting position.
I forsook my usual pre-race spin to stand in line figuring it was worth more to have a semi-decent starting position than to be adequately warmed-up. Still, it seemed like there were more than a hundred cyclists in front of me as we were squished together 10 riders to a row along a narrow road near the hotel. “Hey Dewar’s where ya’ from,” someone shouted. Realizing this was directed at me, I turned to see a guy a few rows over with a goatee. “Seattle, how about you?” I yelled back. “New York, but I live in Rome,” was the response. We exchanged smiles and concluded any further conversation conducted by shouting would be boorish.
Then, I looked over to my left up to a familiar-looking face and a very tall guy said with a slight German-type accent, “Maremma, two years ago right.” I then remembered that Lisa and I had met a very nice Swiss couple two years when we did the Granfondo Maremma in Tuscany. He said, “I’m Sandro…you must like this race very much. I remember you talking about this race.” I responded, “Yes, I did the race again last year too. I like it very much.” Then he introduced to his young-looking friend Phillipe, also from Switzerland.
Race director Tonino Scarpitti shouted some instructions through an electronic megaphone while gesticulating with his free hand. The lead motorcycles revved up their engines. Phillipe and Sandro touched their fists together while exchanging “In bocca di lupo” (into the mouth of the wolf).
The Giro di Sardegna had started. It was an all-out sprint to the intersection of the hotel road and SS 125, a two lane highway. We made a right-hand turn. The road was reasonably flat but constantly turning. With over 500 cyclists and many of those trying to move forward in the pack to improve their position it was chaos. We were constantly braking or accelerating. Around 5 km into a race a rapid deceleration caused the guy next to me to crash.
The race wouldn’t break up until we hit the first climb in the town of Sinascola some 25 km into the race. I looked for the road signs, “Sinascola 10km,” then “Sincascola 5km.” The town and the big hill behind it came into view. While I couldn’t wait to get through the nerve wracking first portion of the race, I knew the next section of the race would be nasty: a 10 km climb with 600 meters of elevation gain.
We hit the climb and the solid pack of riders disintegrated into a string of groups and single riders. I didn’t have a great position going into the climb. It seemed like there were maybe 100 riders in front of me. I could see some groups pretty far in front so I figured I wasn’t going to get a decent result today.
My legs felt good though when I looked at my heart rate monitor and saw 182, 183, 184, I started to worry that I was going too hard and would pay the price later. I kept my pace and started passing riders and catching riders. At one point, I was coming up on a rider and looked at his race number (which also has the rider’s name imprinted on it and age category) and saw the name Ewald Wolf. I remembered that this guy won our age category last year while putting a lot of time into me. He was struggling and breathing hard as I passed him. That gave me some encouragement although I also knew he might not be in the same shape as last year.
Towards the top of the climb, I was with a group of six or seven riders and we managed to attach ourselves to another 10 riders or thereabouts. I knew there were riders ahead of us but I couldn’t tell how many.
Following the top of the climb, we immediately made a sharp descent down a twisting road. I haven’t ridden a technical descent like this since last year and I was tentative. I soon found myself at the back of the group with a couple of other guys who didn’t look like good descenders either. At one point, in a hairpin turn another rider and I almost collided which, from my perspective, happened when he took a really stupid line. I almost got gapped-off a few times but ultimately held on.
We went through a small town perched on the side of the hill but I was so focused on the wheel in front of me I didn’t notice much. In fact, I hardly remember much about the terrain at all since I was concentrating so hard on not getting dropped.
The road finally flattened out but for only enough time to take quick swigs of Hammergel and Endurox before the road tilted up for the second climb of 17 km and 700 meters of elevation gain. We rose out of saddles stamping on the pedals. The lactic acid generated in the first climb pulsed through my legs tightening them up. The pace was hard but I felt like I could hang on although I knew I had the ability to blow sky high with little to no warning. I checked out the names and age categories of the guys in the group. I saw the name Fausto Sorbi on the back of medium-sized guy with a little soul patch in a jersey emblazoned with Nuova Corti. He finished second last, not far behind Wolf. I saw another rider in a Nuova Corti jersey with “D” on his race which indicated he’s in the same age category as me. (I would swear that I saw several other guys in the group with “D” on their race number but it would turn out not to be)
There were a few surges but we stayed together to the top. Unlike the first climb, there’s no immediate descent. Instead the road continued along the top hill with farmlands and herds of sheep nearby. After a few kilometers, we began another fast technical descent. This time I vowed to ride toward the front of the group and in fact ended up taking the lead for a fair amount of time. And nobody sped by giving me a “don’t you know how to ride a bike downhill?” look.
We bombed into the small village Bitti along roads paved with large cobble stones but then found ourselves climbly steeping through the narrow village streets. “Ouch!” screamed my legs. It was a short climb but seemed like it would never end before started another descent. This descent wasn’t technical at all and I was finally starting think that I would be able to finish with the group. I knew there was a small hill outside of Oresei around 15km from the finish so I steeled myself to hang on until then.
Our 17 rider group powered along the flat roads heading to Oresei with nobody missing a turn at the front of our rotating paceline. There was no chit-chatting in this group. It was serious business to get to the finish as fast as possible.
We rode through the bumpy streets of Oresei as the carabineri (police) stopped traffic at all of the intersections. People applauded and cheered us on. Out of the corner of my eye I saw two guys in white shirts and colorful skirts (traditional Sardinian outfits for some Easter celebration is my guess) shouting words of encouragement.
Exiting Oresei we rode on a straight flat road surrounded by acres of agricultural land. We could see that the road would soon go up a slight curving road to a plateau above. I knew someone would attack on this climb so I started near the front. If I had good legs I would try to go. If not, since the hill was so short, starting at the front would allow me to drift back but still maintain contact.
Sorbi attacked. I had nothing to respond. But I did have enough to hang on to the rear of the group. We reeled him in but there were other attacks. They produced nothing. We arrived on the top of the plateau but the road was still slightly uphill and into a headwind. More attacks. I was struggling but knew that if I could just hang on for a few hundred meters the road would flatten out and I should be able to sit in. A small group managed to detach itself but I saw that Sorbi and his teammate were still with us.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to outsprint those guys so I had visions of maybe attacking myself. But I had so little in the tank I resolved just to hang on into the finish. We saw the 1km to go sign and then took a right hand turn on the road to the hotel. We started to spread out in anticipation of the sprint. I was right behind a guy in a sold blue kit with Team Scout inscribed in big letters. He was Marco Barsazi, a rider in his 20’s or early 30’s who I remember from before. He had been aggressive in our group and sure enough, I saw him start to wind it up to for a last minute attack. I told my legs to give it everything but I just couldn’t hold his wheel. He gained two bike lengths and I knew it’s over. The finishing arch came into full view and the group swarmed around me and I crossed the line a couple of seconds after them.
I made it although I had no idea where I finished. I was certain there were more than three “D’s” in our group and there may have been some others up the road so I figure I didn’t make the podium. But I was still really happy with my ride. The race was hard and I struggled at the end. But I felt quite a better than last year’s first road stage where I made the front group on the first climb but totally blew up later on.
At 6:10 p.m., after watching the finish of Paris-Roubaix on TV, Lisa and I wandered in search of results. Walking under rainy skies, we spotted a group of people clustered in front of the small building where we had picked up our race packets. They were examining the results. Peering under arms I saw my name in 23rd place over and third in category. Yes! I made the podium. Lisa found her name too. Yes! She was third in her category too. Hooray.
I frankly don’t care much about results. But in races in Italy, they make a big deal about the awards ceremony and so I knew that we would be able to stand atop an actual podium and receive a real prize. That would be a real kick.
I thought I had heard that the awards ceremony was at 6:30 p.m. so we shot back to the room to put on better looking clothes and get the camera. We then rushed off to a large rectangular meeting room. There probably a couple of hundred people milling about or taking seats. On the stage at the front of the room were rows of tall packages covered with brightly colored shiny wrapping paper, which were presumably the prizes.
Tonino Scarpitti went to the microphone said something which I didn’t understand and turned things over to the awards host. “Buona sera” he boomed. “Buona sera” responded the audience. I think he made some jokes and other patter before he finally got down to the business of handing out the prizes.
The prizes for the mediofondo (medium course) were first. “Categorie Hacca” he said. “Terzo premio Lysa Paters” he continued. Lisa went up and got up on the third step of the podium as she was handed one of the tall gifts. The second and first place women joined her at the podium as the crowd applauded and cameras were snapped.
A few minutes the granfondo (long course) prizes were given. The words “Categorie D” resonated through the loudspeaker. “Prima premio Hettori Yames,” to which the crowd shouted, “No no terzio premio.” I walked up to the podium shrugging my shoulders as the announcer corrected himself. After two pecks on the cheek by the podium girl (actually she was more liked a pretty well dressed woman in her earl 30’s) I was handed another one of the tall packages. I shook hands with Sorbi and his teammate and we walked back to our seats.
We returned to our room to unwrap our packages and see what was inside. I thought I heard the announcer say something about flowers since it was Easter while Lisa thought she heard him say something about chocolate. Lisa was right though we were both taken aback to discover the contents were a gigantic chocolate Easter egg. We had a good laugh and went to dinner without sampling our prizes.
At dinner I sat next to a very friendly woman from Cuneo in northern Italy. She’s a schoolteacher but is taking English classes. She practiced her English on me while I practiced my Italian on her. She saw us get our prizes at the awards ceremony and asked what was inside our eggs. “Inside? I didn’t know there was anything inside” I said. “Oh yes. There are always prizes inside the eggs” she responded.
When we returned to our room we immediately broke them open. Was it is something valuable or really special? Well, not exactly. Lisa’s prize was a 36 piece puzzle while mine was a plastic ice cream cone. No silver cups or pieces of crystal. But still, my trophy case at home is pretty empty so I’m thinking about my ice cream cone bronzed.
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