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I am a lover of history. Always have been, since understanding the concept of how the past plays out in all of our lives. It was my chosen field of study in college and, I suppose, an important link to my professional journalism career. The way I viewed it, reporting the news is basically presenting the history of current events.
And, now, my passion for the past is manifested through my keen interest in cycling. An examination of my book collection quickly reveals story upon story on the kings of the road from the 1940s, '50s, '60s, and right up to the present-day. Written words convey wonderful details about the riders, but I also really enjoy perusing the old photographs.
I cannot get enough when it comes to escaping into the bygone days, when roads were rough and bikes were brittle. No one should be surprised, if they follow my blog postings, that author William Fotheringham tops my list of writers who gets me daydreaming about racing against — or even simply going for a ride — with the likes of Eddy Merckx, Jacques Anquetil, Tom Simpson, and others.
And the British cycling journalist captivated me again with my recent reading of his 2009 publication, "Fallen Angel: The Passion of Fausto Coppi." I will readily admit that my enthusiasm for the past sometimes drives me beyond the words and the pretty pictures.
As I wrote in my previously published review of "Fallen Angel," Coppi — in life and in his death — was revered by everyone. His greatness and the associated recognition in the late 1940s and throughout the 1950s, especially in Italy, was beyond measure. Even to those unfamiliar with the world of cycling. Estimates of those lining the road to witness his funeral procession in 1960 were upward of 50,000 people.
To his gregari — the Italian word for support riders, servants; the equivalent of domestiques in French — Coppi was God. As one said: "(Being near Coppi) was like being next to Jesus Christ. I don't want to speak ill of Jesus Christ, but Fausto was a bit like him: a being outside the norm, a saint in flesh and blood."
For me, I dearly wanted to have a connection with that part of cycling history — a piece of Fausto Coppi's past. Just like I did with another fallen angel ... Britain's Tom Simpson.
So I returned to eBay, in search of an autograph of il campionissimo (Champion of Champions). After studying nearly a dozen offerings, I settled on a dealer in Milan, Italy. There was an exchange of emails, over such things as a negotiated price and making sure there was a certificate of authenticity, which by the way is in Italian. He stated that he obtained the autograph from "an old man who collected sportsmen's signatures."
As you can see with today's blog photograph, I did, in fact, acquire an item with a direct link to Coppi, one of the greatest cyclists of all time. I consider it the top prize of my collection, along with the signatures of Merckx and Simpson.
Upon reflection, I sometimes cannot believe I am so fortunate to have such treasures gracing the walls of my man cave. And I am also grateful I have the means to obtain such relics of the past. As I've said before, parts of history that are now a part of my history. Stay safe!