The sun is setting behind the Apennines and I still have 15 miles of hard cycling left before I reach the Roman spa town of Bagno di Romagna. My legs are as flat as my bicycle battery but there is a bar opposite the church where I can have a couple of beers while man and machine take sustenance.
I’m in Emilia-Romagna to ride the first two stages of this year’s Tour de France, which starts at the end of June. Most years, the world’s biggest cycling event starts in a country other than France. And this time it’s Italy’s turn.
I set off on the 260-mile journey from Florence, the start of the first stage, and cycle through the rolling Tuscan countryside before climbing, climbing and away into the mountains of Emilia-Romagna. My e-bike, a Pinarello Nytro racing bike, offers moderate assistance, but you still have to give it plenty of power on steep inclines.
Tired and very relieved, 90 minutes later I am at the Santa Agnese Baths. It’s an old spa hotel and I soon sink my tired butt into the warm thermal pool.
Most years, the Tour de France cycling event begins in a country other than France. This time it’s Italy’s turn. Mark Porter (not pictured) sets off on the first leg, a 260-mile journey from Florence through the rolling Tuscan countryside (file image)
Mark took his Pinarello Nytro electric racing bike around cities and towns.
Bagno has been a spa town since Roman times and white-clad health tourists float through the ceramic-lined halls like fluffy ghosts. Dinner is a hearty affair and, with the help of wine, wipes the slate clean of the virtue accumulated during the hours of the day. The first climb the next day is from Mercato Saraceno to Barbotto, about three miles and 1,700 feet of grueling climbing. Near the top, a man on a regular bicycle happily rides past me, not even out of breath.
No matter, I make a good pace and stop at the top of another climb to admire the medieval village of San Leo, which sits on a 2,000-foot limestone escarpment and offers views of the surrounding mountains and plains towards Rimini and the Adriatic. I’m meeting a group of cyclists in nearby San Marino for a late lunch. Among them is Bernard Hinault, a five-time winner of the Tour de France in the late 1970s and early 1980s, and the greatest cyclist of his generation.
The mountains and buildings of Emilia-Romagna are the setting for the first two stages of this year’s Tour de France
San Marino reaches the end of my fourth climb of the morning. My battery has enough charge to make it to the top, where I fall off my bike in front of a crowd of tourists at the castle gates, not having forgotten to release my feet from the pedals.
San Marino is an independent state completely surrounded by Italy. Founded around the same time as San Leo, it is the third smallest country in Europe after the Vatican and Monaco.
The next day I take off to visit Rimini and ride a bike with the gregarious Monsieur Hinault. Later we had dinner with some French cyclists at the Lungomare Bike Hotel in Cesenatico, where we will all stay. The cycling festival is here to promote the Italian launch of this year’s Tour. I’m here to test the route on my new Pinarello, but join in the fun and games of the cycling pros.
I ask Mr. Hinault what is the key to being a champion. ‘A mix of physical and mental strength. Once you’ve proven you’re really good, of course,” he says. Bernard is a compact man, about my height, but made of marble instead of sausage meat. “And don’t forget to lubricate the gears daily with a good red wine. “. Which is exactly what we’re doing. He’s the only one in the deadly serious cycling group who isn’t dismissive of my electric racing bike. “Do whatever it takes, but just go out on the bike and have fun.”
Cesenatico is next to Rimini and has a beautiful medieval port designed by Leonardo da Vinci. From here I head to Ravenna, where the poet Dante died in exile in 1321.
My trip ends the next night in Bologna with dinner at the Caminetto d’Oro, in the heart of the city. This is a favorite of film director Martin Scorsese, and one can see why. Hams, wines and cheeses spill from a jumble of doors in countless alleys, while trattorias of evident excellence call like sirens.
Long live the electric bike and the freedom it has heralded, even for a fat old man like me. And long live beautiful Emilia-Romagna, far from the Tuscan crowds.