A couple of years ago, I had the privilege of cycling in Sicily. It happened because my niece and her husband were christening their daughter in a town just west of Messina. Our family was invited and it took us 30 seconds to accept. While planning for the trip, I dreamt about being invited to bike with my nieces’ new family. This dream occured because at my niece’s wedding, I had a long conversation about cycling with her new father-in-law. Thinking back, I’m not sure it was as much a conversation as a string of words related to the sport we love. He doesn’t speak English and I don’t speak Italian. But, cycling is a universal language. Words like carbonio and Mario Cipollini pretty much mean the same thing in any language. When he learned I was coming for the christening, he not only arranged for me to use a very nice de Rosa, but also set up a couple of challenging rides with my new famiglia.
I think the vision of owning an Italian bike came while we were climbing to Novara di Sicilia in the Monti Nebrodi. Perhaps the vision took shape because of dehydration, the altitude, or the sight of old Italian women dressed in black heading to church. But, does it really matter? Because in between praying for the climb to end and humming Verse’s cycling theme from the Tour de France, the vision had me leading the Peloton in a new Pinarello. This started my quest to own an Italian bicycle. Like all things related to biking, it became a question of when, not if.
My pursuit to own an Italian bike took on real meaning several months ago. I was reading the web site of the owner of the bike camp we soon will be attending. I saw the magic words, “If you're interested in purchasing a handmade Italian frame or complete bike during your trip to YCI, please contact us to learn more about the process and available options.” I was sold. Apparently, I’ve never fully recovered from the dehydration of climbing to Novara di Sicilia.
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