Tuscany Road Journal: Part Three — A Tour of San Gimignano

07:00 Sunday 16th August

“So, today we are going to San Gim-ig-narno?”

“No. San.”

“San.”

“Jim.”

“Jim.”

“in-yano.”

“in-yano.”

“San Gimignano.”

“Bene.”

I cannot speak Italian. My vocabulary is: grazie, sì, bene, ciao. I promised Gabriele I would come back semi-fluent. I downloaded Duolingo. I am still learning to say “The boy eats the apple.”

We cannot speak each other’s languages. But we both speak Cycling. Two strangers from different worlds and a common language that does not need translation. Gabriele was taking me on a Magical Mystery Tour of San Gimignano. He had said: wine, gelato, porcupines, cycling. I was in.

Piano, piano. Steady pace to save my legs for the Strade Bianche later in the week.

Gabriele pointed at the horizon. “San Gimignano, over there.”

I could see tiny towers in the distance.

“It looks like a Disney castle.”

“Yes,” Gabriele said. “Disneyland in the natural.”

This was one of the most memorable days I have had on a bike. I had no idea where I was going. After several days of constant problems, handing control to someone else entirely was a relief.

We climbed into the walled city. Gabriele showed me the market square, the towers, the Duomo di San Gimignano and the 12th-century Collegiate Church containing the Santa Fina Chapel. Saint Fina (1238-1253): a young Christian who developed a paralytic illness and spent her remaining years on a wooden pallet, where Saint Gregory allegedly appeared to predict her death. Miraculous healings were later attributed to her remains. We took a moment.

In the square, Gabriele pointed at a small, unassuming gelateria. Dondoli. From the outside, no indication of what it is.

“Gareth, take your girl here. You try Crema di Santa Fina.”

Sergio Dondoli is a multiple Gelato World Champion. His walls are covered in awards and photographs of everyone who has made the pilgrimage to his gelateria. The shop is the antithesis of its reputation: quiet, simple, small.

(I have named this photograph “Devil in Disguise”. A careful study of ironic ring-light composition.)

Into the Countryside

We left Disneyland in the natural and headed back roads to Cesani: a winery hidden off the track, exactly where you would expect to find the best wine in Tuscany.

“Gareth, you take your girl here to buy wine.”

“Why don’t we buy some now?”

Gabriele looked at me as if I had suggested something unreasonable. Then: “Okay.”

Sunday morning. They were not expecting visitors. The universal language of cycling opened the door. Vincenzo Cesani met us in the reception and let his legs do the introduction.

Becky drinks red. I asked Vincenzo for his recommendation and put the bottle in my back pocket. He said: “You real Italian.”

I am teetotal. When I declined his invitation to taste the wines, I thought he might ask us to leave. Instead I misused the phrase “pane e acqua” (bread and water: the pro cyclist’s code for riding clean). He nodded with respect. That misfire worked in my favour.

I wanted to buy Gabriele a bottle to thank him for his kindness and for sharing these places with me. He would not hear of it. He insisted on carrying his own bottle home.

The problem: Gabriele’s pockets were too short to carry a wine bottle safely. His solution: tape it to the top tube.

I objected. A heavy glass bottle bouncing on carbon fibre on a rough road is not a sensible arrangement. I pressed him to let me carry it in my pockets. Gabriele would not have it. I let it go. We waved goodbye to Vincenzo and his daughter and rolled out.

The road away from the winery was rough. We descended over broken tarmac, picking lines, trying not to bounce.

“Attenzione!”

Gabriele pulled over hard, stopped, turned around. He pointed at a scattering of black shards on the road.

I looked at them and thought: “Fuck.”

The bouncing glass bottle had shattered Gabriele’s top tube. This was exactly what I had feared. This was my fault. I should not have let him carry it. I started apologising but there was confusion.

Gabriele pointed at the shards again. Then pointed at the roadside.

A dead porcupine. Hit by a car. Its spines splayed across the asphalt.

Not carbon. Porcupine quills.

Porcupine spines are used as artist’s quills in Tuscany. Gabriele picked one up and put it in his pocket. Gestured for me to do the same.

Perhaps they bring good luck.

The road home was flat. Gabriele went to the front and did not come off it. He rode like Franco Ballerini, the Paris-Roubaix champion. Other riders latched on as we passed them, taking the wheel of this Tuscan powerhouse until the group behind us had doubled in size.

Wine intact. Top tube intact. Back at the cottage, I gave Becky the bottle and the story behind it. She was pleased with both. For once, my ride debrief was not about training numbers or how good my bike is or how hungry I am.

Today I had a story worth sharing.

I showered, got dressed, and drove Becky straight back to San Gimignano so she could see it properly. More importantly, I had been waiting all morning to try the Crema di Santa Fina: cream flavoured with bourbon vanilla pods, San Gimignano saffron pistils and Pisa pine nuts.

It is worth booking a holiday to Tuscany just to visit Gelateria Dondoli. That is not an exaggeration.

We walked the town in mutual silence, absorbing the scale of it.

Back at the cottage, a knock at the door.

Could this be the seatpin wedge? Could I finally ride my Factor O2 VAM?

Stay tuned.

Gareth.