On the run alone on the Aubisque. Full descent from the Galibier. Accompanied by cycling athletes. Exhorted by spectators on foot. Him, bent over the pedals, cap with visor, blacksmith glasses, rain cape, calves dug from the climbs, face caked in mud, gaze lost in fatigue. And those old eyes even though he was thirty. Not just the sepia and black and white photos of him, but also his bikes and his jerseys. And then the front pages of newspapers and magazine covers. And then the stickers and cartoons. And then the stories and articles.
Ottavio Bottecchia has started his new tour, this time of celebrations and celebrations, works and tributes, on the centenary of his first Tour de France victory. Sunday, in Pordenone, in Palazzo Gregoris, the inauguration of an exhibition promoted by the Ottavio Bottecchia cultural association, with the collaboration of Fausto Delmonte, Renato Bulfon and Enzo Manfrè, the support of local administrations and the support of generous local patrons. A prestigious space, an overflowing passion, an elegant attention, a time machine in memory, in myth and – referring to death – in mystery.
Bottecchia was a champion, still forgotten, often underestimated, too overlooked. He was twenty years old when he began fighting not for victory or placement but for life and death. His role, in the First World War, was that of an assault scout, then an orderly cyclist, he was often left in the rear – he and the machine gun – to shoot and slow down the advance of the enemies. Three times captured, three times escaped. When they asked him why on earth he had brought with him a heavy, bulky and unusable machine gun, he replied: “It’s not mine, but the government’s, and it costs a lot of money.” Heroism was also moral, ethical. A few years, the competitive ones, but stellar. In 1923 the revelation: fifth in the Giro, but first among the isolated ones, those who at the finish line had to find a dinner and invent a bed, and second in the Tour, but only because he was boycotted by his own teammates. In 1924 the triumph: the first victory (the first ever for an Italian) at the Tour. In 1925 the apotheosis: the second victory (the first consecutive overall) at the Tour. In 1927 the will to rise again after a disappointing 1926. And instead the death, many hypotheses and no certainties.
Bottecchia had a face that spoke of poverty and will. His smile was more of a grimace, his eyes sharp, his teeth hungry. He was a convict of the road, like all the runners of that era, and his strength lay precisely in his poverty and his will, the blackest poverty, the most iron will. The exhibition – it’s called “A vae mi!”, I go ahead: it seems that he said this to his companions when he decided to go on the run – it gives us the atmosphere of pioneering, the taste of suffering, the charm of adventurous if not unfortunate races, immense challenges in terms of distances and conditions. Gratitude for Bottecchia has not yet faded, it has never run out. And the pride, Treviso and Friulian, Italian, has not died out either.
The exhibition (Friday 3.30pm-7.30pm, Saturday and Sunday 9am-12pm and 3.30pm-7.30pm, free entry) will close on 9 June, at the end of three days of meetings, rides and the screening of a documentary (previewed: beautiful) edited by Franco Bortuzzo. For information and registration, tel. 3356265537, www.acottaviobottecchia.com.
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