The Adventures of Campy Girlymann Continue

The old men gathered around Campy and his bike. Talking among themselves, pointing to some component or piece of the frame, they admired the bike. One in the group who spoke the best English, asked the bike's owner a question. "Beautifully restored, you did this?"

"No mate, but a friend of mine in Italy did. I'm on holiday and stayed with him a bit before going to France. He loaned me this bike when I told him I wanted to race."

"What's your name?" The old man asked.

"Mick." Campy answered.

"I'm Alain. I raced myself many years ago on a local team here."

"Ah, the man I came to see. Can you get me on a local team?"

"Oh, it is not that easy. But in the small river village ahead will be a group of racers there at an outdoor cafe. I will introduce you if you like."

"Thanks.  I raced down under and was pretty good too. My mates said I should come here and see about racing in the Tour de France."

The old man chuckled, well Jean Claude, the winner of this year's race lives in our town."

"It must be my lucky day!"

"Don't get your hopes up, but I will introduce you." Alain looked Campy over, the touring shorts, the old style shoes that needed to be strapped into the pedal and said, "You know Mick, this style of racing is from long ago, today the bikes are much lighter with more gears and the clothing is different too. Why not enjoy yourself in our beautiful country. I... "

"Oh, I know mate, I'm a bit different, queer you might say but I would still like to meet the blokes."

"Yes, yes, ride with us and when we get there, I will introduce you and your Pogliaghi. But I can't say they will ride with you."

"I understand. Not everybody takes to us Aussies."

"Yes, well, come lets ride together and talk."

Campy shook the old man's hand before they mounted their bikes and rode toward the riverfront.