Tuscany Road Journal: Part Two — Finding Our Feet (& Wheels)

If you read Part One, you know the journey was a disaster. Uber breakdown on the M25, Paul Smith at Heathrow, Pisa car hire bureaucracy, missing seatpin wedge. The Factor O2 VAM arrived in one piece. I did not arrive with my seatpin clamp, so the saddle cannot be installed, and the bike cannot be ridden.

Tuscany absorbed all of it.

The problems of yesterday dissolved. Pistachio gelato in the sun. Gabriele sorted a hire Wilier from his local shop, Gippo, while Rob at Factor Bikes UK arranged a DHL priority shipment of the missing component. Both of them saved the trip. Thank you.

The hire bike is ready late morning. My usual 5am start is not on today.

“Put me back on my bike.” Tom Simpson’s last words. I understand the instinct.

06:00 Friday 14th August

My to-do list for Tuscany is longer than Adam Blythe’s stem. Bike-free morning: I took Becky to Siena. The Piazza del Campo, the Duomo, the start and finish of the Strade Bianche. The cypress trees cast long shadows on the empty road as we drove. Every one of them looked like it should have a cyclist underneath it.

“I should be on my bike, not driving.”

I thought it. I did not say it.

Siena before the tourists arrive is a different city. Tranquillo. Locals taking a passeggiata, the ritual morning walk. Delivery trucks stacking up at the restaurant backs. Pigeons on the Campo. The bells of the Duomo.

We went to Nannini, Siena’s finest pasticceria. Cappuccini e pasticcini.

This is when I lost my white privilege. The locals were at the bar, talking, relaxed. I walked up in my face covering and was redirected immediately: “YOU. GO OVER THERE.”

I understand it completely. Italian newspapers were reporting 40% increases in COVID cases caused by tourists and nightlife. In the Tuscan countryside, Becky and I were treated as honoured guests. In the cities, we were a risk vector. The distinction was honest and I respected it.

Italy was taking COVID more seriously than the UK at this point. Everyone kept a mask on their arm when not wearing it. Not in a pocket. On the arm, visible, like a band of respect for the people who had died. Becky and I adopted the same etiquette and kept it when we returned home.

We walked Siena while it was still empty. Gothic architecture. Elderly couples arm in arm. The bell tower. A window into the future.

As the tourists arrived, we slipped away.

Stopped at Gippo on the way back to collect the Wilier. As hire bikes go: molto bene. I suffer from bike-fit OCD to a level that Eddy Merckx would recognise, if not in terms of power. I will never feel completely at home on a hire bike. But having a rideable bike was all that mattered right now.

Gabriele mentioned a ride tomorrow: to Castellina in Chianti with Team Bike Racing Certaldo. I was immediately in.

07:00 Saturday 15th August

Gabriele is a Nibali fan, of course. We set off from Colle Val d’Elsa to Poggibonsi to meet TBRC. Textbook Italian riding from the off: full circles, high cadence, steady pace held all day without surges. Medio throughout. The Italian way of covering miles as a group.

We met Wendy on the road somewhere on the climb to Castellina. Her energy broke the silence immediately. The chain chatter was suddenly accompanied by conversation. Stern faces found smiles. The group changed character.

This is what I love about Italian cycling culture. The togetherness. The unspoken tradition of it. It reminded me of the club riding I grew up in.

Before lockdown, every Tuesday and Saturday: cigarette-paper-close pacelines, unconditional trust, the rider on the front snaking around every pothole and guiding the group through every bend. Back in TBRC’s wheels on a Chianti hillside, the lockdown fog started lifting for the first time. I had been holding my breath without knowing it.

Passing through Castellina, Gabriele pointed at a restaurant door: “Gareth, you take your girl here.”

Gabriele’s recommendations have been correct every time. Local knowledge beats any travel guide.

He detoured us home through Monteriggioni: the perfectly preserved medieval walled town. Castle towers above the walls. Exactly as it would have looked 700 years ago.

Back at the cottage, Becky asked: “Are you happy now you’ve been out on your bike?”

She already knew the answer.

That afternoon, I took her to Sotto Le Volte. Gabriele nailed it again. I was relaxed now, which probably made me marginally better company than the evening we arrived.

Becky took one sip of the Chianti Riserva and said: “WOW.”

Same feeling. Different medicine.

Tomorrow: a tour of San Gimignano with Gabriele. And, with luck, my seatpin wedge arriving in the post.

Ciao. Gareth.