La Classissima

Peter looking happy

Appearances can be deceptive I was just knackered!

Most people are aware of the great three week cycle races. The Tour de France, the Giro d’Italia and the Vueltata a Espana. Along side these races the cycling calendar is punctuated by a number of one day races. The best of these are called ‘The Classics’ and for many at the very top of this list is a race called ‘La Classissima’. Milan-San Remo is the longest one day race on the professional racing calendar it is a shade over 185 miles long.

In the summer of 2018 Liz and I found ourselves in a magnificent apartment. We were some 6 floors up on the side of a hill overlooking the sea in the town of San Remo. We had arrived there by chance. We were in fact in the general region as we had entered a famous sea swim in Nice. We both have the tee shirts for this event but in the end we decided not to take part for a variety of reasons. Very hot, bad race organisation and also a desire to get out of Nice which was somewhat overpowering in high summer.

San Remo came up on an Air BandB search and thanks to a cancellation we secured a wonderful place to stay. Riding our bikes along a very pleasant, if somewhat chaotic cycle way along the towns seafront we entered an old railway tunnel which for a mile or so not only allowed cyclists to navigate a difficult part of the coastline but it also served as a museum to the history of the ‘Milan San Remo’ cycle race. The walls and ceiling carried pictures, mementoes (cycle jerseys etc) and loads of written information regarding the race that once a year, in early Spring, finishes in the town.

Liz and I instantly recalled watching the event on TV. The first 70 miles or so of the race are across the fertile plain that leads from Milan to the coast. The next 20 miles involve climbing and then descending the mountain range that defends the coast from the interior. The final 90 miles are undulating along the coast in and out of various resorts. Similar in appearance yet very different in character. The final 20 miles are punctuated by two detours up two climbs whose names are well known to all in the cycling community. The Cypressa and The Poggio.

We found the two climbs and we marvelled at the fact that after 170 miles of climbing the racers took on these challenges which, while not precipitous, were certainly not easy. Perhaps the most remarkable feature of both climbs was the hair-raising descents back to the coast road around hairpin bends.

Through our cycling club, ACE, we had decided to identify and take on a number of The Classics via the independent races that take place along the same routes as the professionals. Milan San Remo came up on a search although to be absolutely honest we forgot about how far it was. Before long our entry for the race was accompanied to some fellow members Matt Collins, Rob Allen-both young and proper cyclists, Phil Bayliss And Phil Rees (Ironman of the parish) and finally Liz’s younger brother Pete who is around 11 years younger than his sis. Pete got a bad rugby injury as a young man so his athletic achievements have been limited which is a great pity given his talent. For someone who normally exercised twice a week in a spinning group the very idea of entering this race was somewhat precocious but as it turned out Pete trained hard and took on a number of challenges in the UK that meant he was reasonably well prepared for the event.

The wonderful Phil Bayliss sadly no longer with us.

Back ground done. We arrived in the outskirts of Milan in the middle of a housing estate. It was horrible but not as horrible as the hotel we were to stay at. At some point in its history there must have been some grown up plans for the area as the hotel which sat at the centre of the community was a circle some six stories high with hundred of balconied bedrooms. The decor was late seventies maybe eighties. We deiced not to look too closely as we feared in might be non too clean. The car park was a litter of old cars and broken glass and we were glad to move our valuable bikes to the security of our rooms. Liz and my room had a very noisy air conditioner in it. Many of our team members were to sweat. The noise of the unit was, it turns out a benefit as local wedding reception meant that few of the are participants enjoyed a good nights rest. We went out for a pre race carbo loading session and being Italy we felt sure that pasta would be but a few yards away from the hotel. In fact we could only find a desperate pizzeria that served up some utter rubbish such that by the time we got to bed our collective moral was low.

There were 5 waves starting the race each with its own motorbike escorts. We had already ascertained we had completely ‘over clubbed’ as most participants were young stick thin and obviously ‘proper cyclists’. Bobby Allen and matt Collins were both able to keep up with their various groups who covers the fish 80 miles of the race at and average speed over 20 miles an hour. Our sub group, the two Phil Liz Pete and I were cut adrift around 200 metres from the start. Riding in the wind shadow at the back of a Peloton makes for an easier ride, if you can get there in the first place that is. For us this did not happen and the only sight we had of these groups were when the fifth snd final group passed us (we were in the fourth group).We did see a section of this fifth group once again when we came upon a multi bike pile up. perhaps 10 miles into the raceAmbulances were everywhere dealing with bleeding cyclists and moving broken bikes to the side of the road. We navigated our way through the carnage and went on our way. It was all rather lonely almost scary and we formed the view that unlike similar British rides that are open to riders like us the organisation was non existent. This was not quite the case however as Liz denied she needed a pee and entered into cornfield to relieve herself. It was in truth a very funny sight as her bike helmet appeared just above the rows of grain which afforded her privacy. Within moments out of nowhere a flashing blue light announced the arrival of an Alfa Romeo police car. Two officers sprang from the vehicle shouting at Liz to stop what she was doing. We received a collective warning before they ent on their way.

After 15 miles or so Phil Bayliss announced a problem with his saddle. he elected to stop but insisted we go on as it was just a case of adjustment. the road was clearly marked so we pressed on. after an hour or so of constant turning neck craning Phil B did not appear and his phone diverted to answer. Phil Rees elected to find his friend peeled of and retraced his steps. We were three. Now at this stage I want to offer Pete my deepest gratitude. For the next sixty miles he sat on the from towing us both along at a very respectful speed. It was lovely to hear brother and sis constantly encouraging each other. It gave me some comfort as ,reasonably, their Mum fearing I was leading them to disaster, had given me a serious pre-emptive bolllocking-‘if anything happens to them ….”!

The first feeding station was after 80 miles no less at the foothills of the climb up the coastal range. We tucked into cakes and sandwiches. I had been studying Italian for three months before the race, 2 hours a day, it the hope that it might come in useful. Trying to communicate that we had ‘lost’ two colleagues was pointless as it was greeted with the inevitable Italian shrug. We climbed up 10 mile so of a stay 8 degrees slope. Phil Rees appeared from behind benefitting from his leg strength but as a young man chasing sheep in the Welsh Valleys as a boy. The news was not goos re Phil Bayliss. God knows where he is but as we crested the peak of the hill Phil Reece’s phone rang it was Phil B who had somehow teamed up with A South American man who spoke no English but who Phil later told us, surprise surprise was ‘very nice’.

We swept down to the coast Phil Rees electing to wait for Phil Bgoing into the city of Genoa. We turned right and set off up the coast road. I looked down at my speedo and considered the fact that with 90 miles done, close to the longest one off ride I had ever done we were in fact about half way. I gulped as apparently so did we all. After several mile sLiz announced she was turning her Garmin off as it was ‘doing hr head in’. the coastal road navigated a series of similar looking town typical we rod downhill on to the sea from navigated a series of crossings and junctions before heading up out of the town to the next one. We had expected that e would be respected as we had race numbers on our bikes but non of it. We were honked at gesticulated at at verbally abused,I assume. In one moment of anger I launched a banana at the open window of a mail van whose driver had tried to kill me. Sadly it missed hitting the side with a dull thud. The driver reached on his brakes and hurled abuse in my direction. I signalled my response.

We stopped for a loo break in a cafe and as we did Phil Rees swept by. Phil B and he had decided to go at their own pace. We shouted but he did not hear us. On we went becoming progressively exhausted Pete pulled out a lead which Liz and I were unable to follow and we willed the ordeal over. The mighty Cypressa arrived and we turned off right up the hill. Three miles up and three miles down. Liz, who is an excellent climber pulled away from me and I gritted my teeth. Pete was churning up the hill when he heard a bike coming up behind him. At first he was surprised but then delighted to see his sister. They rode up the rest of the hill side by side. Half way up a heard the tones of Phil Bayliss. ‘Hello Dennis’ , ‘what a lovely ride` I meet this South American man called Roberto he is very nice I will see him at the finish’. ‘Phil please shut up’. I moaned as I struggled to turn my now exhausted limbs. Don the hill along the coast road and as we did I caught site of Phil Rees sitting in a cafe sipping a coke. I shouted he jumped up and singled he would catch up.

The final assault of The Poggio was one hell of an effort as we were all completely knackered. Pete and Liz encouraged each other to the top and waited in the village square to welcome firstly Phil B quickly followed by Phill Rees with me bringing up the rear. Out of nowhere ‘support arrived’ As I rode up the hill a van came along side me and small cans of coke were offered along with some genuine encouragement. I am afraid I had picked up enough Italian in my studies to realise I had been given nickname by the race organisers.- The fat man!!. As I rounded the corner I was very emotional. Seeing the uniform of The ACE of Clubs in that famous Italian square was quite a sight and to see a brother with his had on his sister’s shoulder was quite special. After 180 miles of riding that should all end up in the same place at almost the same time was quite remarkable. We rode down into San Remo very much as a team. I had practiced riding with no hands arms in the air in preparation for a photo op at the finish line. But truth behold by the time we arrived the finish line was being taken down and there were no pictures. Thankfully a race official organised a medal presentation for our group and each of us was adorned with a precious medal. Thank fully a German woman stepped forward and made a speech. It was largely directed at Liz but she told how she was supporting her husband and had seen us at breakfast. She told us she was amazed to see us taking sort in such serious event and as a result she had followed us off an on during the day. She offered Liz some particular congratulations which we all echoed because as usual Liz had not once during the day offered anything but positivity and encouragement. Bayliss set off to find the pasta party but he was disappointed as it had finished some two hours previously.

We were not last either as on tensional two climbs we had overtaken around a dozen completely exhausted participants. We did in the circumstances what any rational person would do after riding 185 miles, we went for a beer, well several actually. In a small alley we sat down exhausted and mumbled away to each other. The soiree was punctuated by a an interloper who demanded we buy him a beer. We did of course an the told ud his tale which was basically that of a foreign national who had lost ‘his papers’ and as such was ‘illegal’ in Italy. It tuned out he had lost his passport etc as a result of an overdose of ‘magic mushrooms’. Not sure how you impart a n unfortunate event such as that to the authorities.

The ride up to the villa we had rented was hell but soon showered and changed we were tucking into pizzas beer and a simple pasta. Matt and Rob had of course finished way ahead of us and probably were in bed. We sat around a large table looked each other in the eyes and reminisced on a truly amazing day. Adventure and Camaraderie are the words that the first two letters of the ACE logo represent. The third stats for ‘Elegenzia’ which means ‘style’ in Italian. In our own way for so many reasons we had completed a remarkable event with what I would call a lot of style. A special event, some very special people and the most memorable of days.