The Last Word...Or Two.
(Disclaimer: The story you are about to read is true. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.)
It started out innocently enough. A grade 10 student (we will call him Pal), approached one of his teachers and asked if the teacher, an experienced cyclist, would be willing to take he and 18 of his friends on a bike ride into the rugged Chianti hills. The student declared that he and his friends preferred something “strenuous” as opposed to the planned excursion, a pastoral walk in the country. The teacher asked if the boys were fit. The student guffawed. Once permission was granted by the ISF administrative team, the teacher held a meeting for all interested potential cyclists. Eighteen boys gathered to sign up, and as soon as the teacher mentioned the distance, 50 kilometers, the number was quickly reduced to 6. The day of the ride, two more dropped. One boy, we will call him Bran, said his knee was sore. Another boy, we will call him Ducky, reported a slight chest cold and preferred not to sweat. The bikers would meet at 8 a.m. for breakfast at Bar Varenne in Galluzzo.
And so they did. The teacher showed up on his custom-made 7 kilo racing bike, Campy groupset, the boys on their high tech, 15 kilo mountain bikes. The boys, we will call them Pal, Ant, Mal and Seb, laughed at the old teacher and told him they would call an ambulance for him if he needed one. They pedaled away from Galluzzo at 9 am in the direction of Greve-in-Chianti. 10 kilometers down the road the teacher glanced back. One boy was already M.I.A. The teacher asked Pal to take the lead and raced back to find Seb struggling, his tongue dragging along the ground. “Mister, I haven’t ridden a bike in a year,” he moaned. The others at the front of the peloton slowed the pace and the teacher and tired boy caught up. Shortly thereafter they came to the foothill of their first major climb, an unforgiving CAT 1. The only climb more difficult is an HC – Hors Categorie (above category/brutal). As the climb stiffened and grew ever steeper, Pal powered past the teacher and grinned: “See you at the top, Mister.” The teacher returned the smile, and let Pal pull ahead. A look back revealed Mal and Ant in relative agony. A master at motivating young men, the teacher called to them, “Have a little heart, ladies.” It worked. Mal and Ant gritted their teeth and hammered at their pedals. Seb was nowhere in sight. The teacher looked ahead. Pal was attempting the breakaway. The teacher shifted into a smaller gear and called on his old legs, 55 years each, and attacked. In less than 90 seconds Pal was eating his dust. And coughing. The teacher waited at the top of the climb for the boys to arrive. Ate an energy bar and drank down some water and made a phone call. Pal finally arrived. “Mister, I haven’t ridden a bike in a year,” he said. Mal and Ant showed up 10 minutes later, worse for the wear. A tractor came growling up the hill. Seb was holding onto the cart behind it. The downhill was less demanding, but tortuous. Steep up, steep down. Pal took off, risking life and limb, anything to beat the teacher. He looked back when he got to the bottom. No teacher in sight. Ha ha ha. The teacher was already waiting at the bar in the main square at Greve-in-Chianti.
By 1.30 pm, 55 kilometers later, they rolled back into Galluzzo. The adventure was over. The boys proved their mettle and the men ate a dish of pasta to celebrate the ride.
Mr. P.