Cycling! What have you done for me?

Louie, Louigi, Louigini?

Through the years cycling has meant many things.
Some obvious;
Good physical health, social network, competing against others  …
Some not so obvious;
Good health insurance, travel, competing with myself, spiritual well-being.

The change has been gradual, relentless, never stopping, just like time, ticking on.
Not so long ago I was beating the hell out of my legs in order to get in good shape for … hang on, NOT so long ago?? It was 27 years ago …. And 27 years later, no more 30 ciggs-a-day, 5 kids, one battle with Cancer and thousands of rides … I find myself looking back at all the memories cycling has given me during this time ... … and so … to one such memory.

26th April 2013. Ride of Hope Italy was on it’s 4th day of cycling in Tuscany from Via Reggio to Poretta Terme. http://www.funbeat.se/tracks/shownonav.aspx?RouteID=2806665
The 4th day was my favourite the year before, beautiful climbs and sweeping decents to the finish.

We headed North-East out of town and followed the road inland. After 20kms we were to leave the road and head due North into the hills and the tiny village of Fanio. A wonderful climb with small serpentine turns in heavily wooded hills, Just this day the year before was another remarkable story but that's not for this post.
San Martino in Freddana was the name on the sign that marked this splatter of houses we were to cycle past. Nothing of note to see other than a rather pretty church … and there, in the field … I happened to notice and elderly man, rake in hand, gathering freshly cut grass.
His celeste-green Piaggio sported an array of different gardening tools and this gentleman was oblivious to the fact that I had stopped, gotten off my bike and was striding down towards him:
”Parli Inglese?” I blurted out all happy.
The non-plussed faced looked up and shook his head.
”Ok?” I asked, pointing at my mobile phone and miming taking a photo.
One head nod and a smile later and I was back on my bike chasing down the group ahead.

When I got back to the hotel (damn what an evening that was) the picture, with a bit of cutting and editing was on Instagram and receiving likes. Quite honestly I was surprised myself by just how much I liked it … and looking through my Instagram account I noticed that some of the pictures were actually quite good.
Most of them cycling related, but not all obviously about cycling. Places I’ve been to whilst out on the rides.

No sooner home than I started to get them printed onto canvas and put around the house.
Each one with a story of its own. Like this one, taken on the east coast, before Nove Colli 2011 when I crashed hard in the hills up to the right "Panaramavägen" anyone?

Misano Adriatico . Panaramavägen out to the right in the distance on the road to Fano.

Each picture brought to me by my bike (well, all but one).  The man in the picture I took at the top I refer to as Louigi. Louigi hangs in my kitchen next to a picture of Tower Bridge (taken on another cycling trip in London). 

Tower Bridge and HMS Belfast

Every day I see that mans face and I can’t help but smile. Every line holds a story I'm sure.

I made myself a promise that if I was ever out that way cycling again I must find out where he lives and get a copy to him. In October 2014 I stopped at the village and asked around. A neighbour gave me his name and address. Now I could refer to him as Louie J
Unfortunately I’ve not been able to get out that way on the bike since then, and it was starting to bother me.  So in my best spontaneous manner I thought ”F*** it!” I booked myself a flight and a hotel in Pisa. Arriving late I hit the sack and slept hard on an unfamiliar bed in a room with a ceiling so high that Sergei Bubka would have been hardpressed to vault it.

The following morning I took one bus: Well it took me … the driver finding the speed-ramps more of a challenge to accelerate rather than a warning to slow-down, and suspension is obviously something only reserved for horror movies, certainly not town busses. The train to Lucca (Pinnochios home town) was far more pleasant and less white-knuckeld and then finally a bus to San Martino in Freddana.

Once I got off the bus and walked through this familiar territory, canvas under arm, it suddenly struck me that I don’t actually know this man at all. Sure, I’ve seen his face just about every day for the last two years but I’ve only met (if you can call it met) him once. He certainly won’t know me, and will most certainly wonder what the hell I’m up to. ’What’s the scam?”

Well, finally I made it to the door, there’s room for a few more chapters between the bus and the door but I better keep this short.  A door-bell-ring and a few hearty knocks later and I was met by someone who was chubbier than I was expecting. The age was right and something in the eyes … but … surely no …. The conversation was rather Pythonish;
ME: Louigi?
HIM: something in Italien & Louigini
ME: Parli Inglese?
HIM: Some more Italien and pointing in the air (Here I show him a picture from my phone and he studies it carelfully)”Si … Louigini” some more Italien and he walks back in to the house leaving the door open.
I took this to mean I was welcome to enter but ... "LouiGINI?".
The kitchen I entered was dark, and dank. I was given a chair with a newspaper as a cushion to sit on and the man threw some logs into the iron oven and shut the heavy door with a resounding clang.
The wood started to crackle, pop and hiss as he slowly left to make his way upstairs.

After listening to two men shouting for a short while he came back down, and 20 (!?) minutes later small footsteps could be heard on creaking wooden floorboards, and finally, into the kitchen, shuffled Louigini.

Looking like a newly hatched eaglet his eyes wandering back and forth to his brother and me, I couldn’t quite see the man in the picture I had been looking at every day for 2 years. Extremely confused, I showed him the picture in my phone and pointed at him saying ”Si?”
He looked at me, the picture, his brother, me and back again and didn’t seem any less confused or bewildered than when he first entered the room.

Then I remembered the passport trick. "Check his ears" I thought to myself. After checking his ears (more confusment as his eyes darted to the side and straight ahead) I decided it was infact him, and then I proceeded to unwrap the brown-paper clad frame and present one extremely non-plussed Italien with the picture. His brother and he were no doubt dumbstruck by the whole event.
Louigini even asked how much he owed me! 

Me and Louigini, a few years older, a little bit worse for wear :)

Are you kidding? And in my worse Italien I said very slowly ”Un regalo, da me, a voi”
”A present, from me to you” To which he smiled and very softly said.
”Grazie mille" standing up he looked at the picture, looked at me and said "Grazie mille … Arrividerci … ” and waving a hand, went back upstairs, canvas under his arm to his TV
.
I smiled … I left the house, made my way in the pouring rain to the bus stop for the 45min wait and smiled some more, now I could put both hands in my pockets :) ... The next morning I drank coffee 100 meters from the Leaning Tower and wrote my postcards.

Morning coffee and sunshine

I spent a fantastic 36 hours doing something just for me, with no expectations, and no idea of where it would take me, The one thing I was sure of was, that what ever happens, it'll be a step into the unknown and it'll be worth it.
Mission accomplished.





Edit: Now read this again, and replace Louigini with Lauren Mayberry (exclamation mark)
Things that make you go hmmmm!