The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

Campy took a deep breath before he steered the red Pogliaghi through the Garden's gate and into the alley. There he mounted and rode toward the main square of the town. He was looking for a familiar sight, a group of cyclists grouping for their Sunday ride, an after church tradition among Europe's cyclists.

There was also an unspoken law of which group you fell into: the old men's ride, the mix social riders and the proud racer--ex or otherwise. One soon learned what group they fitted with best. Especially if it came to the race group. They, of all the others, had the latest jersey, the newest in bikes and, the one true mark, shaved legs.

Even though each met at a different site at the square and rode at a different pace, they usually met at the same place at the turning point in the ride, a town or cafe not too far away and yet far enough to make for a pleasant bike ride. The race group sped through the countryside, while the old men and lovers took a more leisurely pace. The racers, of course got to the destination first, unless one of them broke down and the other groups came upon them as they replaced a tire, or mended a chain. It was expected to stop and offer help to the race group but not to expect the same in return, usually due to the racers being out front. He watched them gather into their groups, riding to the square in every direction. To the right side of the town's fountain were the racers, proud, lean and powerful. Over toward a small coffee shop along the square gathered the old men. And near a statue of Venus surrounded by a flower bed met the couples.

Campy waited, taking out his camera, like any tourist, and shooting photos of the area, the fountain with the racers, Venus and her lovers, and the old men, some paunch and skinny legged, wearing proudly, jersey's from their past and riding vintage bikes, lovingly cared for. He watched them as they grouped, waiting to see who left and where they went. First the racers took off, toward the road that led west from town. Soon after the lovers left, riding in small groups and then the old men, after their group finally gathered together. They all took the same road.

Once they left, Campy took a few more photos, placed his camera in his knapsack slung on his back and left town using the Western Gate.

To be continued.....