EROICA: Pedaling the Legend
Bar Lo Sfizio di Bianchi, Gaiole in Chianti (SI)
It’s a cloudy day in Gaiole in Chianti, and my friend Leo from Montreal is visiting. After strolling down the main street, we found ourselves at Lo Sfizio di Bianchi for a break. Leo was debating between an espresso or gelato when I saw the perfect opportunity.
"Leo, have you ever tried an ‘affogato’?" I asked.
"A what?" he replied, puzzled.
"An ‘affogato,’" I explained, "is a scoop of gelato drowned in a shot of hot espresso. 'Affogato' means 'drowned.' It’s the best of both worlds!"
As we indulged in the perfect harmony of hot and cold flavors, I couldn't help but bring up the event that had shaped this village into a cycling legend: the Eroica. "Leo, you're sitting in the birthplace of something extraordinary—L'Eroica. Do you know what that is?"
"No idea. But I'm guessing it’s not another dessert,” he grinned.
"Close, but it's much more thrilling. Let me tell you about it."
What’s the Eroica?
L'Eroica is a cycling event that celebrates vintage cycling culture, taking place every October here in Gaiole. Picture this: cyclists from all over the world, riding bikes made before 1987, dressed in retro gear. The event isn’t just about cycling; it’s a celebration of tradition, history, and community. The routes range from 50 km to over 200 km on mainly rough, gravel roads known as “strade bianche”. It’s tough, but it’s beautiful. And the participants stop at various points to enjoy local food, wine, and, of course, good company.
"So, it's a vintage bike race?" Leo asked, intrigued.
"Not quite a race," I replied. "It's an adventure. The tagline says it all: 'La bellezza della fatica, il gusto dell’impresa'—'The beauty of effort, the taste of adventure.'"
The Greg LeMond Bike
"Speaking of vintage, ever seen my bike? It’s a steel-frame Greg LeMond, I nicknamed it Canarina, because of its yellowish color. It’s like the one Greg LeMond rode to win the Tour de France in the '80s. I participated in the event two years ago and made sure it was Eroica-approved, with the original toe clips, downtube shifters, and all. But getting it ready wasn't as easy as I thought."
Leo nodded, sipping his ‘affogato.’ "So, you just show up and ride, right?"
"Not quite," I smiled. "The real challenge started the day before the ride."
The Saturday Before the Ride
I got to Gaiole on October 1, 2022, to confirm my presence and pick up my event kit including my bib number. The little town, with a population of just 2,500, had swelled to more than 10,000 for the weekend. People from all over the world filled the streets. A DJ in a vintage Fiat 500 was playing loud music from the ‘70s and ‘80s, encouraging the crowd to sing and dance.
Further down the street, a “Bersaglieri” band performed Verdi’s “Va, Pensiero” from “Nabucco”. People dressed in era-appropriate clothing, and a street barber was busy trimming beards and moustaches styled after those worn in the golden age of cycling.
"Sounds like a party more than a cycling event," Leo said.
"Well it’s both!" The atmosphere was infectious, and I almost forgot I had to be up early the next morning. So, reluctantly, I made my way back for a good night’s rest. But not before a little shopping spree to ensure I had the right vintage gear: a wool jersey and shorts, a leather helmet (which offered more wind flow than protection), fancy bike gloves, Eroica socks, and an old-style cap.
Eroica Sunday
By 4:45 AM, I was up and ready. As I drove through the dark Chianti hills, I wondered if I could make it through the entire 106 km route I had signed up for? Would I get a flat? How brutal would the hills be? Would my bike hold up at the checkpoints?
When I arrived, the starting area was buzzing with excitement. A checkpoint station was placed just before the starting line. One by one, we made our way toward the inspector verifying the bikes. And this is where my heart nearly stopped.
"I ran into an issue at the starting line," I told Leo.
"Uh-oh, what happened?" Leo leaned forward, interested.
"My bike didn’t meet all the vintage requirements.” The inspector told me:
“Mi dispiace, la tua bici non passa”— “I’m sorry, your bike doesn’t meet the requirements.”
“Ma scusa, I followed all the rules!” I replied, panic setting in.
“I cavi debbono essere esterni e alti sul manubrio. Dammi il tuo libretto di partecipazione.” (“Your brake cables must be external and high above the handlebar. It doesn’t qualify. Give me your Route Book.”)
"No way! After all that work?" Leo gasped.
I couldn’t believe it. I had been dreaming, training, and preparing for this for months, and now, because of a few inches of cables, I was out? I took a deep breath, calmed myself, and resorted to diplomacy, explaining the situation in my best Italian: “I understand the need for strict rules to preserve the vintage atmosphere, but I came all the way from Canada, 6,500 kilometers. After all, it’s only a minor issue. Is there anything I can do to participate?”
After a moment, he softened. “I’ll let you go, but without your Route Book, you won’t be officially recorded, and you won’t get your medal at the end without stamps from the checkpoints.”
Disappointed but relieved, I thanked him and got on my bike. Not being registered and missing out on the medal was better than missing the event altogether. So, Leo, I got on my bike, blessed myself, and awaited the starting signal, I was happy as can be. Leo shook his head.
A few minutes later, a man on a platform beside the start line raised his hand and waved it down, shouting, “ANDATE PIANO!”— “GO SLOW!”
The Ride
The crowd of cyclists slowly thinned out as we set off on the winding road. The first 7 km were easy, a gentle downhill slope. But then, the gravel kicked in, and the terrain turned steep. Soon enough, most of us were walking our bikes up a hill, where the gravel felt more like mud or quicksand. Gee hope the rest of the 100 km are not all like this, I thought.
The morning chill gave way to heat as the effort of pedaling made my wool jersey feel heavier with every kilometer. But the views, the rolling green hills with vineyards and olive groves, the blue sky dotted with white clouds, made it all worth it.
I arrived at the first checkpoint in Siena around 9:30 AM, about 33 km in. Riding into Piazza del Campo was exhilarating. Leo, I had goosebumps all over. I approached the inspector, who asked for my Route Book. I explained the situation with my brake cables, and he simply said, “Girati” (“turn around”) and stamped my bib beside the number 2082. “Vai, vai”—“Go, go.” And off I went.
Bike in hand, I walked over to the Torre del Mangia, where a long table was laden with local goodies and drinks. Refueling felt great, but I soon got back on my bike, headed towards Monteroni d’Arbia, the midpoint of the day’s route. Going downhill on gravel roads was far more challenging than uphill. The bumpy surface, varying gravel thickness, and small tires on vintage bikes made me nervous, and I could feel the tension in my upper body.
"You must’ve been exhausted!" Leo exclaimed.
More Than a Pit Stop
I arrived in Monteroni around 11:00 AM. After passing through the inspection station and having my bib stamped again, I indulged in a double serving of ribollita soup, goat cheese, fresh Tuscan bread, and olive oil. And, of course, I joined the party. People were dancing, eating, drinking, it was a full-on celebration. I almost forgot I had another 53 km to go. So, I got back on my LeMond and pedaled off, realizing that maybe the ribollita with the cheese and wine wasn’t the best idea, it left me feeling sleepy and tired, especially on the steep hills ahead. I’ll learn for next time to stick with fruit and water… maybe!
"Did you finish?" Leo asked.
Il Traguardo: The Finish Line
As I got closer to the “traguardo” sign, I could feel the fatigue setting in, especially during the last 10 km of steady uphill climbing. The 1,700 meters of elevation gain and 106 km were taking their toll. But as I approached the village, the crowd’s cheers pulled me through. At the finish line, a team of people was asking for the Route Book before handing out medals. I told the young lady I didn’t have mine but had all the required stamps on my bib. She took a look and put the medal around my neck. “Congratulazioni,” she said.
I walked proudly towards the center of the village where the party had already begun, or should I say it never stopped. And Leo, that’s when I understood the meaning of their saying: "The beauty of effort, the taste of adventure," and why they call it Eroica, meaning heroic.
Leo nodded. "Wow, now that sounds like a story worth telling."
"And that's why I wanted to bring you here, Leo," I smiled. "It’s not just about cycling. It’s about celebrating life’s struggles and victories, the true spirit of being 'heroic.'"
Arrivederci until next Saturday—always observing, always sharing, always sipping, always a tale from an Italian coffee bar and beyond.
It was a real treat to share the story with you Leo. Enjoy Venice
J’adore découvrir tous ces événements italiens si originaux! 🇮🇹