Nearly 2,000 riders were preregistered for Max Lelli’s Gran Fondo. They were organized at the start into sections determined by registration numbers. Each section was gated, and entry was controlled by a bouncer checking everyone’s race numbers. By virtue of Marco’s close association with Max, we got to stage in the first section. We also had “Max Lelli” team uniforms. After standing around for more than half an hour, listening to announcements and introductions (and watching guys jump the barriers, crushing into the first section to get a head start on the rest of the 1,700 suckers), the race got underway.
There weren’t many women at the gran fondo, but I was warned to watch Number 158, a woman named Barbara who apparently wins a gran fondo almost every weekend in Italy. In the chaos of the race start, which wound through the town and then down a long and curvy hill in a whoosh of sound and fury, I felt so focused that I was almost detached. The scent of nervous perspiration and burning rubber assailed my nostrils; my senses were heightened by adrenaline. This race start was unlike anything I’d done before: hundreds of lycra-clad maniacs bombing down the hill in single-minded pursuit, apparently, of the pace car. Although I’d been staged in the first section of 100 riders, after the first few curves when the view opened up, I saw a river of cyclists in front of me, shoulder to shoulder across the narrow road for probably a quarter of a mile—at least 300 of them. Somehow, I’d lost 200 positions in the first mile of the race.
I had also completely forgotten to look for Number 158—not that I could have, since my attention was entirely occupied in pedaling furiously into each curve, then braking violently (along with the rest of the peloton) to scrub speed before frantically pedaling again to prevent the streaming mass of riders behind from passing us. Towards the bottom of the hill, there was a small crash. The pack parted to avoid the downed riders, and we began tearing up a short hill. The grade helped sort things out a bit, and soon I was passing people left and right. My eyes were peeled for 158; I was pretty sure she was the only woman still in front of me, and soon, I saw her up ahead. But next was a flat section with a ferocious crosswind, and everyone was strung out in a long line. The line broke somewhere in front of me, and by the time I saw the gap, I couldn’t cross it alone. Suddenly 158 was ahead and gaining.
