Big Wednesday Fantozziana chronicle of a day of sacrifice in order to race on Sunday (captain all to me ...) Lying in a ditch, with the trust Suzuki RGV flipped over me, I enjoy the heat of the hottest days of 'summer wearing a single question: "What the hell am I doing ???". Answers, until Sunday, I did not come.
The day was actually almost started well, one of those rare days when you experience the magic and astral alignment almost impossible for which you are free from work and family commitments also, to me, was working alone in the company, and family in the mountains, it was not true seemed to be able to cut a precious day of training, just three days after the stroke of Bazzano. Ready
away at a quarter to nine are at the racetrack in Castelletto, but I forgot his socks so I have to spin at the mall in Voghera, elbowing the entrance with a bunch of compulsive shoppers ferragostani, then travel back at the racetrack.
I can do my four shifts, turn to August was a real buzz because the drivers are at sea, and I'll get to go to a fort. The heat is oppressive, and willingly give up the last 3 minutes of the last round, reloading the bike more than satisfied.
Thinking it is just the one, and maybe I'll have to work late Friday, the elaboration of a diabolical plan, I'll go from Castelletto Bazzano, sleep a few hours to chill in the shade and then go up a little test with Gammon Road.
said than done, are on the way to Parma. An hour later, I remain without gas in the middle of the field, the heat is through the roof, and under the blazing sun, van exhaust to recover Suzuki, already, but then as I bring the diesel, because I need two hands to guide ? In some way I can put on 5 liters in the mirror, wearing shorts and motorcycle boots (for more, I just flip-flops, of course) I must seem very strange, around fortune (or misfortune) and there is no one around quite a bit looking for a distributor. In the end I find it less than a mile from the van, fill the 5 liters and I get back on the freeway at 10 mph, holding the precious container with his left hand, passed continuously by tractors loaded with tomatoes and watered by diesel at every jolt.
tired reloading, Viviani phone to revise the procedure for filling the injectors, and run for allotment Bazzano. Arrival twisted around 16, I park on the roadside in the only patch of shade to sleep not even mentioned, then drain the Suzuki, while holding down the ramp a faithful two-wheel slide in the ditch on the side pulling hereinafter ' beloved little bike.
And here, as tired as a fossil of the Mesozoic, the fatal question I pose in the beginning of this story.
The rest (six climbs, and then at home I do not stand up) is all downhill to reach the happy ending on Sunday (probably my best race with 250).
Dear friends, I'm not sure the fastest rider on the climb, but as a passion (Let's call it that) ...
