Why are rental cars always crap?

I pick up the rental car from the airport, a truly terrible Saab estate, how is it possible in today’s world to make such a bad car? At least it is a diesel and cheap to run.

I drive back to Slim's house in Crema with the aid of his sat nav, that is a marvellous invention, almost completely takes away the anxiety of driving in unfamiliar places.

We load the car up and as usual leave 3 hours later than we hoped to. Slim does his best to pick up time, he has assimilated into the Italian culture well judging by the state of his driving, 100% Italian attack mode everywhere. We decide to make for San Remo on the Italian Riviera. 180kmph get us there quite quickly, the last 40km are on the most extraordinary roads I have ever travelled on. Down from the mountains to the coast, it would seem the road engineers were in fact just doing this roading job in between building Grand Prix tracks! Twisty, tunnels, viaducts... it had it all, absolutely stunning, the poor old Saab just couldn’t cope.

San Remo is the finish town of one of cycling’s most famous races – Milan San Remo. San Remo is stunning in a eurotrash type way. We stay at the ‘Imperial Hotel’, Winston Churchill’s favourite. It obviously is exactly the same condition as when Winston stayed there, but it’s fabulous in a grand and shabby way.

We do what every cyclist should do when they are San Remo, which is to ride the last 30km of the Milan San Remo race route. We ride through the town dodging scooters and rush hour traffic and ride along the coast. We get to a small town called Cipressa, we do a u-turn and we are now on the race route of MSR, we turn up the Cipresa climb, its long and surprisingly steep, it doesn’t look that way on TV, I feel awful and climb slowly, over cooked it yesterday. The descent is incredible the road is super fast, like a piece of spaghetti through onto the hillside.

Back onto the coast road we quickly get to the Poggio hill, it is surprising how flat and how short it is. There is loads of cycling star names painted on the road – including Pantani’s. I stop to take a few shots feeling like a bloody cycling tourist but I’ll get over it.

I take the shot of Pantani’s name not because I like or admire the guy – he was a cheat. But it seems right to see his name here.

The climb even goes downhill in areas, but kicks up near the top. Slim has long since disappeared he’s doing his best impression of a MSR race winner. We stop at the cross roads at the top of the hill and take photos. The Poggio decent is even better that the Cipressa’s, it would require real skill and nerve to go down this fast. The descent drops you into the middle of San Remo, for a few seconds I imagine myself soloing into the town to take the victory. It has been a great ride.

The Crema 'training' ride

One day I am training solo in 6 layers with gloves and booties and the next day its 120 guys in the bunch, I am in shorts, jersey and its 35c! That is what you get when you travel exactly half way round the world I guess.

Slim (Andrew) and I ride through a maze of flat roads to meet up with the race – I mean training ride. It is typical Italian affair, everyone is super relaxed, lots of talking, lots of shiny bikes, lots of guys looking a million dollars. The leaders of the ‘training ride’ know Andrew, having the two of us their raises a few eyebrows. We get going, zigzagging through the countryside, I quickly lose all sense of direction, it’s hot, it is fast there is no wind and there are no landmarks like hills to key off so getting lost is very easy. I feel okay considering I have just spent 35hours travelling.

Everyone is on sparkling bikes wearing the coolest kit, blinged to the max. What is unusual is the amount of American bikes being ridden, Cannondale and Specialised are the most common bikes here, I guess they sponsor a couple of Italian pro teams and the punters want to ride what Bettini rides.

Andrew and I have a few goes at getting up the road but nothing was going anywhere and when I did get up the road solo, I had no idea where to go so staying in the bunch was the smartest option. We picked up more and more guys and the last 20km was like a race-sized peleton with 120 or more guys there. Moving up in the bunch constantly bought me back to racing the European way. Most of the skill of racing in Europe is positioning yourself in the peleton, at home a big field is 60! I vividly remember my first race in France with 200 starters.

I attacked near the end of the ride on the only ‘hill’ got caught a few kilometres later, Slim came past and yelled ‘2km’ which seemed to be about right as it was pretty quick and guys where attacking and then blowing up everywhere. That was enough heroics for me I sat in the first 10 until the finish, Sim meanwhile was lining himself up for the sprint, I think he snagged a 3rd. The sprint signalled the end of the ride but not the speed, the warm down was run off at 45kmph! It must be hot because even the locals looked cooked, a few litres of water later I felt fine.

Crema, Italy

Woke up at 7.00am to a huge thunderstorm, cooler than the 35c+ heat of last night, so promptly rolled over and went back to sleep in what would have to be the smallest hotel bed I have ever slept in. I felt kinda like a Goldie Locks and the 3 bears, but it was comfortable enough.

9.45am and the room cleaner wakes me up by letting herself into the room, I guess seeing a sleeping near naked pale white man sent her away pretty quickly. Down to a late breakfast which the hotel rustled up for me, I had forgotten that an Italian breakfast consists of coffee and cakes, which sounds like the most perfect breakfast - as long as you are not a diabetic like I am. I did find some of the strange euro packaged hard toast bread slices, they weren’t too sweet but taste like cardboard.

It’s weird that of all meals breakfast is so different from one culture to the next, the Dutch eat cheese and meat, the Brits do bacon and eggs, New Zealander’s do Weetbix, the Italians cake, why the difference? I did notice the ubiquitous Corn Flakes on the menu – even in Italy.

I set about unpacking the bike. After doing the bike mechanic thing I walked through the old part of Crema, to meet Andrew’s wife Nicki at a café. I found a money machine nestled amongst 16th century architecture. Here I am using the same cash card that I use in New Zealand and instantly getting Euros from the money machine – small stuff like that is amazing, no traveller’s cheques nothing, card in - money out, anywhere or almost in the world. In theory it means you could travel the world with just a cash card – think about it, that’s cool!

Coffee and Panini with Nicki, it’s too hot to sit outside and do the Italian outdoor eating thing so inside with the air con whirring away. Nicki offers to take me on a ride into the country on their terribly cool ‘town bikes’ complete with Brooks saddle and cane baskets.

I spot a Martini Rossi livered Lancia Integrale, a car that I have always lusted after, I have to stop and take a photo of it – my sad 80’s car buff is alive and well. 

I have the digital camera with me and am determined to take tonnes of photos, I have been a crap tourist in the past, the places I have been to and have no record of is tragic, maybe it is an age thing I regret not having any visible record of those experiences.

The countryside around Crema is flat as a pancake with lush green cornfields and tiny villages dotted about the place. We get back in time to relax and prepare for the Crema evening ‘training’ ride, it is also 30c+!

New Zealand is a long way from anywhere

Any trip from New Zealand to anywhere else in the world is a big one, when you are situated on the edge of the globe it takes forever to get anywhere.

Departure day arrives I wake up to a severely stormy Sunday, it was so bad it was a little alarming. Flights were being cancelled, the wind was gusting to 120kmph and it was only 3 degrees!

It was with some relief I got on my local flight to Auckland and gritted my teeth for the international flight experience. The whole customs pre-flight checking process is now a right pain-in-the-arse, everyone is so terrified that they will be falsely accused as a bomber, so the experience is a tense one. As a result getting on the plane and flying is now such a relief that the flight is relatively pleasant.

Unfortunately we had to stop in LA. US airports have a unique smell, a combination of toilet disinfectant and stuffiness. The US customs process has always been unfriendly but they have now upped the ante to down right hostile, here we were as transit passengers and yet we had to endure retinal scans, finger printing and intense scrutiny from non-English speaking angry as hell passport control guys. We are transit passengers, it is not like we want to visit the States at all, oh well may be it’s just LA.

London.
The new terminal5 at Heathrow is fantastic; when the Brits do something well they do it brilliantly. Whenever I am in Britain I feel connected to the centre of the world, it’s vibrant, energetic and a totally cool place.

The Brits truly value design, god is in the details in Britain, the signage is designed beautifully, the packaging of products is beautiful, the newspapers are a joy to look at and read. Everything has an inspired quality – except for the food and coffee – I guess you can’t have everything. And hey and I am only in the airport!

Milan.
Italy, I hadn’t been to the place for 25 years, but it is exactly as I remember it, a combination of style, chintz, chaos and organization.

Linate airport and 38c! A little different from the 3c day that I had left back home.
When you travel half way round the world to ride a bike race what do you need most? Your bike, I waited and waited.

I was looking forward to seeing Andrew again and finally beginning the holiday.

But supposedly the bike was coming on the next flight, yeah right! It did, I couldn’t believe it!

Finally we had Andrews Mini loaded to the gunnels with a huge bikebox and were driving to Andrew’s new hometown of Crema on a beautiful 30C Italian summer evening.

I’m loving this holiday already!

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The Good Madonna Sends Help to Slim

By Andrew Meo, Crema, Italy

After my 26 year hiatus from racing in Italia, and my season opener back in May in Robbeco d’ Oligi, I quietly put my tail between my legs and headed home to Crema.

Yep, it was going to be a long season.

Week after week I fronted up amongst the glamour boys of Northern Italian cycling desperately trying to carve out a name for myself. Each week they slapped me around the ears, kicked my ass and sent me home, my head hanging lower than a scolded dog.

Yep, it was going to be a long season, and with each start I was becoming more and more dejected.

Lodi, June 2008. It’s unbelievably hot, my fan club of Nicky and Felix has been boosted by the arrival of my Mother, things are looking up, three supporters this week.

I am in great form; I’m ripping the legs off everybody, that is, until I miss the break again. Man, I’ve never missed so many breaks in my life, week after week, what is it with me. I even thought I was quite good at this bike racing, but now, I think I’ve lost it.

Lodi, June 2008. About 50KM away, in the hills behind Como, the Madonna Ghisalo, the patron saint of cycling, clearly heard my cries of anguish and decided to answer my calls.

The good Madonna sent help, the good Madonna sent Giuseppe from Capergnanica.

Giuseppe, 78 years old, on the bike every day, more wires coming out of his chest than the Terminator, after his recent heart attack, strode into Lodi. Giuseppe from Capergnanica looked doubt in the eye and sent it packing.

Now given my spate of average performances, Giuseppe could see something that I was beginning to doubt, existed any longer.

So, now it’s the that guy from New Zealand that keeps missing the breaks, with his 78 year old Director Sportif. Yeah the circus is coming to town.

Our act is all set for centre stage in the big top after the August vacation, yeah they’re going to laugh us out of town again alright.

Ombriano is my first race back, Giuseppe’s there waiting when I arrive. It was fine disappointing myself, but now I’m about to disappoint an old man as well, yep its getting better and better.

Well bugger me, I’m in the break and we don’t get caught, 6th. Giuseppe’s ecstatic and I’m introduced to every old boy at the finish line, yeah I’m the new guy in town. I even get my post race Coke and espresso chaser paid for in the Bar, this is more like it.

Pianengo: Now I’m the break again, this time with my new idol, Angelo Denti, a power house of Italian racing. Today I’m suffering like a dog. Angelo is putting me under so much pressure I crack like a plate at a Greek wedding. Back into the bunch, yep that scolded dog is back in town, head hung low.

But giving up is for sissies, so two laps later, I’m in another move and bugger me, we aren’t catching the front group and smug old Angelo. 8th, Good old Giuseppe’s as pleased as punch, me, I’m just trashed.

Bertonico; Monday afternoon, I deserve a half day to go racing. Everbody deserves a half day to go racing when they live in Italy, or so it seems, as there are about 80 on the start line. I’m on fire; in the break again and we stay away, I can only manage 4th. I’m estatic, Giuseppe’s estatic. Not the podium, but I’m on a roll and with every race I’m more and more confident.

Saturday, Mullazzano. In the way home in the car, all Giuseppe has to say is Madonna, Madonna, over and over again, clearly my placing did not please him. Today you should have won he tells me. 5th I was quite happy, not my Director Sportif though. In order to placate him, I tell him I’ll race again, tomorrow. We’ll win tomorrow I tell him, Madonna, Madonna..

Forty Six years old, and I’m racing back to back days. After I drop Giuseppe off, the whole idea is starting to sound incredibly stupid. Bike racers can’t just call in sick, it’s a hard mans sport, you crash you get up. A couple of quite hail mary’s to the good Madonna is whats needed here.

Sunday, Barbata. I pull into town and it’s seething bike racers, the circuits 7km in length, 10 laps. Great, just what tired legs need, is a short tight course, it’s going to hurt today.

Two laps into it, I jump across to a small group that’s just off the front. We really drive it, 7 of us, I’m feeling pretty good all in all.

The bunch aren’t letting up, and through the corners I look back to see them strung right out in the gutter…sure sign they’re chasing hard. I’d say we’ve got 15 seconds, you can almost feel their breath on the hairs on the back of your neck. Bastards, we aren’t going down without a fight.

Two to go and we’ve started to crack them - we’re out to 20 odd seconds.

Well bugger me, I’ve won the bastard. It took a 78 year old man before I managed to get it right. Yes the good Madonna’s a powerful woman.

Slim aka Andrew Meo
Rocket Espresso Limited
Milano, Italy
+39 3401 3606 63
andrew@rocket-espresso.com
www.rocket-espresso.com

Why Italy Produces Cycling Champions

By Andrew Meo, Crema, Italy

My fascination with this subject began many years ago.

Aged 11, I would thumb through copies of International Cycle Sport, the glossy English magazine that had more attraction than a Playboy magazine in those days.

The centre fold would inevitably be of the current Italian superstar resplendent in his Rainbow jersey as Champion of the World.

In 1982 after crashing and then pulling out of the amateur road race at the World Championships in Goodwood, England, I watched Beppe Sarroni storm up the final climb that was my demise, to become World Champion and pull on the converted Rainbow jersey that he would wear all year. What's worse, he made it look so easy and for the following season, he rode through the peloton looking like he was wearing Armani.

The Cricket, Paolo Bettini, back to back wins - back to back wins, can you imagine how difficult that must be? Sure Armstrong won 7 tours in a row, but he had a month of racing to get it right before crossing the finish line in Paris, Paulo had just 7 odd hours to perfect his trade and he has managed it twice.

Now I'm 45 and Felix is 11, he's not so keen on Bettini, thinks that Tornado Tom Boonen looked better in the Rainbow jersey, but he now has his chance in the Italian sun.

His new Celeste Bianchi, and white Sidi shoes have place of pride in his bedroom, his racing licence is authentic, issued by the Italian Federation and the Cremasco Squadra have his training schedule mapped out.

Tuesday evening, we rode down to the industrial zone for his debut training session, arriving a little after starting time.

The perfect evening, 34 degrees, and not a breath of wind, the only noise was the buzz of a motor scooter coming down the road towards us, and sitting comfortably in its draft were 15 odd budding Bettini's aged 9 to 13, all lapping it out behind the scooter, round and round the block. Unfortunately the scooter was too fast for the other 15, who were aged from 5 years up, and they sat behind an older rider, round and round the industrial estate each pedal revolution inching them closer to the rainbow jersey and the centre pages of International Cycle Sport.

The commitment to the development of young riders in Italy should be closely watched by many developing cycling nations. New Zealand's national team often get a big slice of the sporting funds come grants time, but what is being done to foster young talent.

Crema population 35,000 has a major youth development programme, and each weekend there is a race on with up to 100 starters in all grades in the greater region. The lyrca is all brand new and ablaze with sponsors names, as the club supplies the total package including helmet and shoes.

Should you want it, the bike is also available free of charge. My sponsor, back in the International Cycle Sport days were poor Antonio and Helen, and every punctured tubular bought tears to their eyes I'm sure, not mention the smashed wheels and frames.

I got Felix settled in behind the scooter and a lap later he had that grin so big that he should have been standing in the top step of the podium, arms held high wearing the Rainbow jersey.

After 15 years of marriage, Nicky thought her days of hearing about, dropping him, attacking him, big ring this, Bora wheels that, were coming to an end, but now Felix rides through the door Tuesday and Thursday nights with a new vocabulary derived from the language of a generation of future World Champions.

It's little wonder Paolo managed the double.

Slim aka Andrew Meo
Rocket Espresso Limited
Milano, Italy
+39 3401 3606 63
andrew@rocket-espresso.com
www.rocket-espresso.com