Oil lamps marking the track flicker in the
half-light before dawn. The gravel road winds up through the trees with barely
a letup. My legs pump away at the pedals as my lungs struggle to keep up.
Finally, the sky lightens and the brooding bulk of Castelo di Brolio hoves into
view. I’m up.
To say Tuscany is beautiful is like saying
Monica Bellucci is ‘ a bit of a sort’. From the terrace of a classic hilltop
villa, or even the safety of a car, Tuscany’s rolling hills are a scene of
wonder. Even in early October every turn of the road brings another spectacular
view.
On a bike it is a different matter of
course. Those hills can be tough and although long grinding climbs can be
rewarded by thrillingly sinuous descents, there is always the knowledge that
what goes down, must always go up too.
It was Chris who first switched me on to l'Eroica.
After one of his regular one-handed Internet searches he said he'd found a
mythical bike race in Chianti, Italy over the old, gravel roads of the region
using only 'retro' road bikes. I was sold. The cost of only 40 Euros to enter
was too good to pass up, so we registered and worried about how to get there
and where to stay later.
L'Eroica (The Hero) was dreamt up as a conservation project. It seems the
rough, gravelly white roads of Chianti - the Strade Bianche - were gradually
being tarmaced over. This was a bad thing. The people of Chianti like their
traditions and to prove that the roads were perfectly adequate as they were,
decided to hold an annual ride featuring pre-1987 road bikes: More
specifically, bikes that have their gear shifters on the downtube. In its first
year, l'Eroica attracted around 200 riders. This year 4,500 enthusiasts crammed
the tiny streets of Gaoile - testament to the power of a great idea and an
awful lot of Italian passion.
L’Eroica is now much more than a retro bike
ride. It’s a pilgrimage for men of a certain age (and waistlines) looking to
recapture a time when things were much simpler. The idea of pitting old road
bikes with their skinny tyres and inappropriate gearing against the perils of
the bianche is ridiculous but it’s precisely the combination of nostalgia,
passion and challenge that attracts riders from all over the world.
And Tuscany is a perfect place to be in early
autumn. Last year the temperature touched 40 degrees but this time it’s a balmy
24. Chianti glows in the sunshine and the grape harvest is in full swing.
Vineyards stretch away in every direction. There’s nothing better than leaving
a cold, damp England for a pavement caffé in a charming Tuscan town and waving
the world by with a glass of fine Brunello.
Back in Gaoile, the days before race-day
are a riot of retro bike culture. The tented marketplace that has sprung up
around the event plays host to a growing number of vintage bike merchants. From original woolen jerseys to the
elusive component that will complete a bike project, it’s all here. And all
around are the bikes: vintage Colnago, Gios, Casati and Bianchi litter the
streets – the cycling equivalent of Ferarri, Maserati, Lambo and Lancia, gleaming
in the sunshine. Riders parade their machines up and down Gaoile’s narrow
streets; many take care over their own appearance too. Aside from the
obligatory retro jerseys, tweed, plus fours, flat caps and moustaches abound.
It’s mainly men of course, but women are
making inroads too. Elsewhere, the staccato singsong of Italian is being
supplemented by glottal German, American twang and rounded English vowels as
l’Eroica welcomes growing numbers of foreign entrants.
What everyone is here for is the ride of
their life and there are four routes to choose from: 38km, 76km, 135km and
205km. The latter two are now permanent routes and are way signed so you can do
them anytime you like. Most first-timers opt for the 76km version, which sounds
like a ride in the park for most club riders, until you factor in the heat and
the hills of Tuscany and of course the perils of the bianche.
But first, the rules: l’Eroica’s organisers
are uncompromising on what constitutes ‘heroic’ bikes. Aside from the need for
all frames to be pre-1987 and equipped with old-school shifters, only open pedals
and toe straps are allowed, while brake cables must be visible.
The previous year we had pulled our 'retro'
bikes from a variety of sheds, garages and other cobwebbed places in
preparation for 76km of l’Eroica. This year we are back to tackle the much
tougher 135km and have vowed to be better prepared.
As it was everything once again came down
to the wire as our bikes lurched through the preparation process. My Peugeot
had been given a full respray and acquired a new set of wheels. That’s right, a
bike plucked from a widower’s garage and bought for a glass of wine had been
pimped to the max at a cost of over £750. Last year, the tyres wouldn’t stay on
the original steel wheels, which is alarming when you are careering down a
rutted dirt track, hence the new hoops. Gearing had also been upgraded with a
12-28 cassette on the back allied to a modern 50-34 compact chainset on the
front: Nerdy? You bet!
Sunday at 5.30am and we are on the road to
Gaoile, joining the pilgrimage in the pre-dawn darkness. At the final turn
towards the town we wait for a break in the long snake of riders making their
way out onto the 205km route – their lights forming a glittering procession. For
us the ride starts with a double espresso before wheeling to the start line as
the sky begins to lighten. With our registration cards stamped we’re off, but
not before Chris is DQ’d on the line and his number removed for having his
brake cables covered by his handlebar tape. It seems the ‘heroic’ rules require
cables to arc gracefully up and over the bars in homage to the bikes of
yesteryear. Chris shrugs and rides anyway.
The route out of Gaoile winds downwards for
two kilometres and then begins its inexorable rise to the Castelo di Brolio
over 7km away. As I ride I get a sinking feeling – literally! My seatpost is
gradually disappearing into my down tube and my thighs are starting to flame.
Fortunately, I've got the right spanner with me and the disaster of riding
135km across Tuscany like I’m on a BMX is averted.
But even with the saddle at the right
height, my mechanical problems aren’t quite over. On the first stretch of bombed
out bianche the headset – the bit that connects the forks to the frame – starts
to come loose. It’s all I can do to continually finger tighten the things as I
go along.
The Bianche Strade is a wicked,
unpredictable thing. In places it’s as good as a paved road, in others more
like a dried up riverbed. Rutted, rocky and home to dangerous drifts of gravel
that catch out unwary riders, the bianche is also very, very dusty. In places
the surface has been so badly corrugated by farm vehicles that riding over it
shakes the fillings from your teeth. It is the most unforgiving surface I have
ever ridden a road bike over.
But we continue across hill after hill and
towards the medieval town of Siena and the first feed stop at Radi. Despite the
contours it’s blissful riding on quiet roads through sleepy hamlets and past
achingly beautiful scenery.
As we ride a procession of 1930s/40s cars
rattle past – it seems everyone is getting in on the retro act.
With hot sweet tea, pastries, ham and
cheese inside us the next leg to the tiny village of Asciana is a breeze. Down
here at the southern tip of Chianti the roads are flatter and the landscape
more open. We whiz along thinking “It can’t be like this all the way”. We’re
right, it can’t.
At lunch, and somewhere around 80km in,
l’Eroica gets up and slaps us in the face. The road home is barred by a vicious
stretch of bianche that rears up from the feed zone in a series of brutal
ramps. It’s a one-way ticket because once you’re on the trail you either ride
out or push your bike to the next bit of tarmac over 10 miles away. There’s no
shortcut and you can’t exactly call a taxi to come and get you from some
unknown dirt track in Tuscany, so it’s time to be a hero and get pedaling.
Easier said than done though when the gradient starts to hit 20% and torture
for an 18 stone ex-rugby prop like me.
My legs now have all the tensile strength
of the spaghetti I had for last night’s supper. My hands are numb from trying
to grip the handlebars as I bounce across the ruts and I’m covered in a thick
film of dust and sweat. It’s not long before I’m pushing the bike up the
inclines, which doesn’t feel much easier than riding. Most of the people around
me are in the same boat but occasionally some grizzled hard man of the hills
rumbles past, thighs bunching with the effort, eyes fixed on the horizon as he
grinds his way up the seven ramps to the top at Monte Sante Marie.
It’s now an exercise in survival: of
getting to the finish. There’s no other way because the sneaky l’Eroica crew
have arranged it so you have no choice. The bastards will make heroes of us all.
Finally, we break out of the backcountry and back to the tarmac. The final feed
stop promises rest and recuperation. Home is only 32km away but in the shape
I’m in it might as well be the moon. But on we go and thankfully it seems the
worst is behind us. Only the final slog retracing our route back to the Castelo
di Brolio stands between us and glory and as we stand at the top looking back
down the road we grunted up over 10 hours ago, we realise it’s nearly over.
Back down the dirt track and out onto the
road – 6km of glorious tarmac stretches out downwards. In seconds I’m cruising
the curves and busting through the turns as the effort of the day is lost in
gravity’s embrace. At the bottom it’s a scant mile to the finish but with
triumph in our hearts and the small of beer in our nostrils it’s a breeze. We
roll into Gaoile and accept the good-natured applause of the onlookers.
As we sit and swap war stories over a cold Moretti or two we bask in the glow
of a challenge accepted and completed. Sure, we had to walk a bit, but we made
it, in one piece and without a puncture between us. One thing's for sure; you
really do need to be a Hero to finish either the 135km or 205km routes of
L'Eroica. Even the 76km is tough enough and bike prep and practice is a must.
Will we back? You betcha! For the rest of year, we will talk incessantly about
getting back to Tuscany. It’s an amazing place even if you don’t want to ride
bikes but add in the retro feel-good vibe of l’Eroica and it’s just magical. All
you need is a mouldy old 1980s racer and you're in!
