The weather is raining. And one wonders what else he could give given that for a few days autumn has been seriously autumn. For those who love cycling, the cold of the early morning, the Po Valley mist and the rain are not the best travel companions. It’s not that you can’t ride a bike… Many pedal anyway, cover themselves and go. Spotless and fearless heroes who never give up, never give up. Woe betide anyone talking about reels: “Reels? Reels don’t exist.” Always pedal, in any condition and despite everything to keep your legs moving and your will trained. And they make you envious. Because one tries hard to find the beauty of a bike ride when the sky is low and swollen and you know very well that sooner or later you might even get water. A little, a lot, almost always a lot doesn’t make too much difference. And not only the one that comes down, but also the one that comes from the side that the cars raise, the one that comes from the wheel of the person in front of you and hits you precisely in the face, the one that drips from your helmet. Cycling in the rain is a shock at first then, once you get wet, you get used to it but there’s no fun. The beauty of cycling is summer. It’s 35 degrees in July when the Pyrenees are climbed at the Tour and you train thinking of doing the same thing on the climb near your home. The hot air on your face, the water on your head, the water bottle with ice melting after the first 500 metres. And it’s as if I had the yellow shirt. The bike is the kilometers in the heat that cooks your brain when the world travels with full air conditioning. These are the builder’s tan lines that when you go to the beach your wife pretends not to know you. It’s the sting of sweat in your eyes. The bike is a sleeveless bodysuit and a fully open zip. It doesn’t last long, but it’s an intense emotion. And when, suddenly, you feel the need to roll up your sleeves, cover yourself with a newspaper or a cape, it’s all over…