Chapter II – Two old friends

Chapter II

Two old friends

Alcide closed the book, looked at the watch and lit a cigarette, the first of the day as the doctor had advised him to “Never smoke before 11 am”. He was slow reader who liked to stop every few pages and think about what he had read. For this reason, he preferred short stories and avoided crime stories of Swedish authors like Stieg Larsen In which he’d get lost with the unpronounceable names of the main characters. At that time the first mother was arriving to the park with their stroller. For many years he was a perfect grandfather, punctual, loved by his nephew. But during the years even that role had lost meaning, Giulio wasn’t a child anymore, he was going to university, sooner or later he was going to be a lawyer. Sooner or later. Because Giulio was actually a good guy but a little late with his exams. Sure, law is a very difficult department and Giulio was a little distracted by the football match and by his “girl friends”. He called them one-night stands, girl he met on holiday or at a disco. He didn’t see a future with these girls and wanted only the pleasure of few hours together. After all, what’s wrong with that? Giulio was still very close with his grandfather. He often visited home in his countryside house, in particular after the death of his grandmother Rina. Alcide was left alone in that house which felt too big, too empty, too noisy. He discovered that in a house where you lived and loved, every dish, every piece of furniture, every detail talks to you. It’s the language of silence, of loneliness, of the memory that sometimes can become a noise. For this reason, Alcide left the house every morning and went to that bar, far away from the noise of his countryside house. The scratchy tongue of Brio reached his hand and made him jump. Carlo, with his Italian bracco, was standing in front of him. “Oh, Alcide, are you sleeping?” “So, what’s up?” Carlo took a green plastic chair to sit. “Can I have a coffee?” he said to the barman. “This morning, Brio seemed risen, I took him to the wood and he started to hunt. He must have heard some steps, maybe a pheasant, whatchamacallit…” “It’s the love of hunting. It’s in his blood” answered Alcide, stroking the long hear of the bracco. Actually

Brio wasn’t just a great hunter, he was also a great athlete. When he sees Carlo holding the cart to the car he starts to get excited, moaning with joy and spinning around. They usually depart while it’s still dark, toward Tollara, a zone for dog training in the province of Alessandria. There Brio shows all his value as a setter: he usually starts with wide laps, always trotting because the Italian bracco, when they hunt, don’t gallop. The setter is a sprinter, the Italian bracco is a marathoner. It seems like he wants to take his time and enjoy the action knowing that sooner or later, he is going to find that pheasant. Maybe, among the thick brambles, or in a pile of wood, but he is going to find it. When Brio seems to have learned the borders of the area of research, he starts to restrict his field of action. He slows down his gait, sometimes turning around to see if Carlo Is still there, within reach because a good hunting dog knows very well that without his owner, everything would be useless. “I’m going to find the pheasant” – he seems to say – “but then It is your turn”. Then, suddenly, Brio smells the prey, his body tremoring. Then he freezes in a statuesque position, his foreleg raised from the ground, tail extended and nose up. Many times Carlo would wait and stand still to first admire this splendid roan specimen expressing his hunting characteristics. Then he slowly approaches Brio, who, reassured by his presence, would crouch down and start the “guide”. It’s a very gentle action where the dog must approach the animal: pheasant, partridge, quail or in the right season, woodcock, the queen of the wood. Brio could move, closing every way out till the flap. The rest was done by the Franchi double-barrelled shotgun of Carlo. At that moment Brio ran in order to take slaughtered animal: he held the animal in his mouth without tightening it so as not to damage the meat and deposited it in Carlo’s hands, as though it were precious goods. “This is for you – Brio seems to say – your caresses, congratulations and maybe some dog food as reward would be good enough for me”. Brio’s skill was absolute and his victories in setter championship brought him to conquer the title of CACIT, the best international award. Brio had become a legend for the sport hunting world and his victories, well paid, had allowed Carlo to buy a new FIAT-Panda. “Poor animal, he suddenly has aged. Just like the owner”. “No, you’re wrong - said Alcide - you have aged a lot faster”. “And you…what are you reading?” “Nothing, just a book” “Ah, I thought it was urine analysis”. “A book, short stories, stories of champions, Coppi” Carlo put half a bag of sugar inside the coffee. “By the way, my house or your house?” “It’s a loving proposal?” “Oh, Alcide, wake up!! The Milan-Sanremo, Sunday… where do we see it?” “Wherever you want. Last

year where were we?” “At my house” “Nibali won, didn’t he? Let’s see it at your house, maybe brings luck”. “Oh my God, I can’t wait. For me it’s the most beautiful race of the year, better than the Giro d’Italia, the Tour de France, or anything” “There is no comparison. And think that it was born as a foot race”. “What do you mean?” “That’s right, oh we are talking about many, many years ago. But it was unsuccessful, just a few participants, maybe afraid of the idea to walk all that way, even if the race was split in two laps: from Milan to Acqui and from Acqui to Sanremo. Then the year after they thought try the race with bikes. The idea was of a journalist, Tullio Morgagni, but at the beginning there were just about thirty cyclists. Too cold, too windy, too much struggle”. “What a story. By the way the Milan-Sanremo must often come to terms with weather conditions. I read that in 1910, during a day from hell, cyclists were trying to take refuge inside the house along the way. Just try to think how the streets were in those years and those cyclists were knocking to farmers’ houses to ask for shelter, a blanket, a cup of broth, In the end only seven out of sixty cyclists finished the race. A massacre. Not only, but I read that the winner, a French cyclist with the name of Christobal…Christope… well something like this, was convinced that he had gone the wrong way. You know, at that time there wasn’t a great support service along the way, signs were few so this poor man just passed the hill and recognized the beach houses of Sanremo. At that point he realized he was on the right track and he looked around, saw he was alone and thought “I’m going down, then we’ll see”. He jumped downhill, he finished the race and realized to had won”. “Crazy. Maybe he went a few more miles”. “Ah, maybe, you know the radio reportages of that time leave much to be desired. And then began Girardengo’s era” “A great man, short, but with a big heart. Six victories in the Milan-Sanremo”. “Did you ever see him cycling?” “What are you talking about, he’s from the ‘20s” “Go Giradengo, go great champion, no one follows you on that main road…” Alcide looked at his friend raising an eyebrow “It’s a song by De Gregori, stupid! You know nothing about music, do you?” “Basic stuff. Something classic…”

“I understand, but we are talking about De Gregori, a star, what the hell…By the way when you were young, you saw the passing of the race, right?” “Definitely. I even saw Bartali, in ‘39, I was on my father's shoulders. He was very fast. And even the year after, he was unique” “Even if, the true king of the Milan-Sanremo was Eddie Merckx” “We are talking about a true champion “ “In your opinion, do we have any hopes this year?” “It’s very hard to say. The Milan-Sanremo has no favourites, in fact often the winner is someone out of the odds” “Just like Nibali, last year, I wouldn’t bet a penny on him, and yet…” “Let’s see. All right then. Sunday morning at your house” “Let’s go, Brio, it’s time to go back home” Carlo got up a little unsteady. His hip surgery had succeeded but if he sat for too long, he struggled to get back in motion. “Will you take care of the coffee?” “Of course, the usual Ligurian” “I’m just a poor pensioner” “Yeah, and I am a member of the royal Windsor family instead!

I believe that a good doctor, along with the best drugs for diabetes, should always prescribe physical activity, on the prescription pad, according to possibilities and needs of every patient.Of all the sports I practiced, cycling brings the most benefits to glycaemia, to compensate and stabilize the insulin. The message of the TNN’s pros is exciting from this point of view and strongly encouraging for those like us - diabetic and amateur cyclists. We take from them the inspiration that makes us feel good and desire to chase our dreams. From the beginning we at Ciclismo & Diabete are fans of those guys and we support them in person during all their races in Italy.“

Andrea Guerra President of “Ciclismo & Diabete”

Andrea Peron Professional cyclist Team Novo Nordisk