First, I need to bring you to the starting line. After I arrived in Italy and had begun training regularly, I asked my friend Max to help me find some good riding. He replied, “I have a special place to take you, we need to ride to the Madonna del Ghisallo.” I had never heard of it and he didn’t explain much, except, because I had just started to get my riding legs back, we’d be sure to go the “easy way”. It didn’t take me long to figure out that my first ride in Italy was going to take me to one of cycling’s most revered places. And when I got there, I realized it was going to take a little more than the “easy way” to appreciate why.
The little chapel is found in the hamlet of Magreglio, along the spine of the peninsula that splits lakes Como and Lecco. It’s really not much to look at. Actually, having given me the lead on the final “easy way” climb, Max nervously called out as we approached, “There it is!”, afraid that I’d ride past it. If you don’t want to wait for “My Madonna of Bicycles, Part II” to see what’s inside, I’m sure you can Google-up a few pics: old bicycles, riding jerseys, and other “relics” strung along the walls and ceiling. And, of course, there’s a small alter with candles and an old frescoed Madonna on the wall behind it. “Neat”, you might say.
But what struck me the most was the way Max walked and talked about the place. I recognized the hesitation as he stepped into the chapel - like somebody getting up to take communion, knowing very well that they hadn’t been to confession in ages. Then back outside, he smiled at the two memorial busts standing where the road drops down the “hard way” climb from Bellagio, and said, “Look, isn’t that nice? Together again.” I looked, and smiled too, and didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about. I knew that I was at the Sanctuary of the Madonna of Ghisallo; but, why was she the Madonna of Bicycles?
Considering that I’m writing from Roman Catholic Italy, I’ll leave the “Madonna” part of that question to a study of the 1,949 years (and 9 months) leading up to Pope Pius XII’s proclamation that Mary has a soft spot for the pedaling types.
Instead, I’ve wondered “Why are the Italians so keen on cyclists?” And, considering that competitive cycling had been around since the turn of the century, “Why was 1949 the year to pick up such a spiritually lucrative sponsorship?” Finally, “Why here?”, at what would seem to be a rather insignificant little chapel on a hilltop. So, I’ve done my best to answer those questions by contemplating the sanctuary’s relics and studying the names they honor; following the string-of-pearl conversations I’ve had with local cyclists; and, using my Zio Tony, superhero, X-ray vision into Italian history and culture.
This being Italy, there isn’t anything especially revealing in a 14th century story about a miraculous delivery of a devout soul from an imminent danger (in this case, a band of good-for-nothing robbers) by appealing to Mary from a mountain top (in this sense, “Virgin Mary” could be considered a really potent superhero crime-fighting name). Instead, the preordained glory of that miracle seems to lay in its choice of location, 1745 ft above Bellagio at the crux of lakes Como and Lecco. Perhaps no more than a foot path when the fabled Count Ghisallo fell to his knees pleading for deliverance, the narrow switch-backed road, at whose crest the commemorating shrine has stood for the last 600 years, is now a permanent fixture on Italy’s Giro di Lombardia. In 1949, it wasn't more than a gravel strewn “strada bianca” (white road).
In 1949, you can imagine that wasn't the only thing gravel strewn in Italy where the post-war years passed in an alternate-universe to America’s baby-boom boon-time. In contrast, I imagine that the post-war Italian psyche suffered from severe economic depression, moral humiliation over Axis complicity and the failures of Fascism, and disillusionment in faltering political reconstruction. [1948 saw Italy usher in a new republican Constitution and it’s first post-war parliamentary elections; but, the historical consensus seems to be a big, “So, what?”, as the Constitution suffered from political expediency and the old guard gridlocked institutional reform in the name of staving off those nasty communists.] Sounds pretty bleak, huh?
But have no fear, from the midst of despair, a pair of wings appeared, named
Bartali and Coppi, to lift everyday Italians above the ashes; and, just like those millions who were too poor and whose country was too devastated to afford anything else, they rode bicycles. The significance of that communal connection to the bicycle is best exposed through the cinematic lens of Vitorio De Sica and his 1948 time-capsule classic, “Ladri di Biciclette” (The Bicycle Thieves). So, at a time when other headlines were certainly more distressing, the Italian populace reveled in front-page coverage of Gino Bartali (1914-2000) and Fausto Coppi (1919-1960) battling over classic cycling races like Milano-Sanremo [1946(Coppi), 1947(Bartali), 1948(Coppi), 1949(Coppi)] and the Giro d’ Italia [1946(Bartali), 1947(Coppi), 1949(Coppi 1st, Bartali 2nd)]. Perhaps most significantly, Bartali took home the Yellow Jersey at the 1948 Tour de France and as teammates they dominated the 1949 Tour: Coppi 1st and Bartali 2nd, while also taking the top two spots in the climbing category.
In Italy’s “darkest hour”, the hands (or, I should say “piedi”) of popular heroes like Bartali and Coppi transformed the bicycle from a vehicle of despondency to a vessel of honorable patrimony and a mode of quasi-redemption among nations. In doing that, the story of delivery from distress has a familiar ring. So, it seems that 1949 was indeed a very good year to garner the Madonna’s good graces; and, it’s legacy can be felt in the passion for cycling that the Italians hold today.
But, I can’t help having pondered too long on this subject not to discourse on another, less secular theme. Of course, the dichotic concepts of despair/redemption and suffering/salvation which surfaced in the first half of this story are certainly not new territory. They certainly are not 2,008 years new. Nonetheless, they do happen to be somewhat central to the doctrine of the Roman Catholic Church. So, because this story does take place in Roman Catholic Italy, forgive me (and if you don’t at least the priest will) if I explore that theme deeper into the significance of the bicycle and the chapel’s location.
Christ climbed to Calvary. Cyclists climb to Ghisallo. Cycling is, in fact, a multifaceted sport whose specialties range from individual time-trials to indoor team racing. But, it’s the Climber whom the Italians respect the most - the one who suffers the longest, under the most grueling conditions, to achieve a triumphant rapture at the summit. Now, I don’t sit here writing as a Mark or Paul in spandex, butt-padded tights. I'm just saying, as a keen observer of the human spirit, you’ll make as much progress trying to convince a cyclist of the futility in a long suffering climb as you would trying to talk the Pope out of finding salvation in the Crucifixion.
The climb from Bellagio to the Madonna del Ghisallo shrine is not the most difficult in Italy, but, it is arguably the most storied and emotionally charged and is one that aches the legs (and spirit) of any cyclist, professional or amateur. “Il Ghisallo” debuted in the 15th Giro di Lombardia of 1919 and has played a crucial break-away or fade-away point throughout the subsequent 86 editions (suspended in 1943 and 1944 because of the war) and where today the Lombardia, also known as "The Classic of the Falling Leaves", concludes UCI’s World Cup Rankings.
So, the reason why this little chapel on a hilltop became the sanctuary to the Madonna of Cyclists is because the history of Italian cycling had suffered, and would continue to suffer, the climb leading up to it.
POST NOTE: I recently returned to the pilgrim's climb, seeking proof that the passion for Ghisallo is still very much alive: Cadel's Evan 2009 "Maglia Iridata", hanging in a very honerable spot, reflecting his performance as this year's reigning World Champion.
