When Giovanni Pinarello opened a small shop in the 1950s, he could never have dreamt that more than 60 years later, his name would be proudly emblazoned on the world’s best bikes. It’s a success story that his son Fausto is very proud of – and one that he’s intent on continuing.
Often in Chianti, usually when toiling up one of the many local grades, I found myself envying the grapes. They get to sit still, after all, baking in the Gaiolian sun. And eventually they end up as wine. The luckiest ones reside in the vineyards around Lecchi, where most of the local fruit is destined for the stainless-steel fermenters at Castello di Ama, the winery just up the hill. For Ama is not just another Chianti producer, but a very special place.
His fondness for maple syrup is matched only by his knack for long rides. Racing all over the globe the past decade, Ted King gleaned a few handy tips. Here’s one for every pro year he raced.
The words Strade Bianche takes me back to a two hundred metre stretch of greasy stone slabs. Screaming fans adorn the barriers to my left and to my right and the Danish rider Michael Valgren is at my side, handlebars swinging as we muster all the leverage available to conquer the final arduous metres.
I woke up early on the 12th of June. It was a cloudy, rainy day, and I went for a little walk around the hotel before breakfast. We had a hard day ahead of us – starting straight into a big mountain – and I was a bit nervous. I’ve never liked stages like this: A big climb early and more than 2000m altitude gain. Plus, I’d just come back from a crash where I suffered a broken collarbone, and my form wasn’t good yet. So I’m sitting at the hotel with my breakfast and coffee when I see an ashen, nervous face coming into the hall. It was obvious that Mister João Correia was just as anxious about the day’s ride as me.
Let’s be honest, The Coast Ride isn’t entirely accurate unless your bicycle shares characteristics with that of a hovercraft. We discussed yesterday that the freshly felled section of California coast makes it impossible to complete the Monterey to Morro Bay route entirely within a seven iron’s distance of the Pacific, so we took a short detour upward and inland. Today’s final section is anything but a ultimate day’s parade stage — rather, 128 miles of California heartland was on the docket.
Having lived overseas for nearly a decade, I’m semi-literate in a handful of languages; converting metric to statute translations is also one my many skills. I can tell you that 100 miles is 160 kilometers. So what’s 160 miles? A really, really, really long way to ride a bike.
