The early season is well behind us now, the Spring Classics have been kicked off in the harsh North of Belgium and even Italy itself. Alas! no longer does it hold the pride of place as the proper Season Opener, and yet it still holds the first spot on the calendar of the most prestigious of prestigious races. It has been nicknamed La Classicissima, “The Classic of Classics,” and O! how it lives up to such a title, for Milan-Sanremo is the first Monument of the year. Truly, truly, the races that compromise the Five Monuments, the Three Grand Tours, and the World Championships itself really are the most special races on the calendar. All the Monuments—Milan-Sanremo, the Ronde Van Vlaanderen (in English: the “Tour of Flanders”), Paris-Roubaix, Liege-Bastogne-Liege, and il Lombardia—predate both the World Wars, they are the five races that get the most press, they are the longest and most grueling affairs, and year in and year out they are the races that are prone to cause the most exciting racing. Yes, yes, these are the reasons that the Five Monuments are a cut above the rest of the prestigious Classics. The term “Monument” is a relatively modern distinction to ensure these five races’ superiority is recognized above the others. Now, the beauty is that these five were never Chosen or Voted upon to earn this upper-echelon Monument status: like a great myth distilled down after tens of thousands of retellings and adaptions, over a century of “Edition-al retellings” each these mythical races were simply universally acclaimed by the cycling world to be the most important, and only a universal canonical stamp of approval was needed to name them the Monuments. And thus, the first Monument of the season is upon us: always it is Milan-Sanremo; and truly, it is unimaginable to have it any other way.
With the exceptions that some editions were cancelled because of the World Wars, and a recent pandemic delayed and pushed one edition back to August, every year this race has always been held in mid-March. For a few decades in the mid-twentieth century, the pious Italians decided to hold the race exactly on March 19th in conjunction with the national holiday for the beloved Feast of St. Joseph. O! Surely, that great Carpenter, that Workman of Workmen, would have enjoyed such a spectacle: seeing young craftsmen of similar meager and humble backgrounds as himself trying their hands—sorry, legs—at a second trade to make a more substantial living, la Gara di San Giuseppe, “The Race of Saint Joseph” indeed! But whether it is held exactly on March 19th or on the nearby weekend, truly every year I take the Milan-Sanremo as a sign that Spring is truly in the air…and hence another of its famous nicknames: La Primavera, “The Spring.” Yes, it is the Italians’ greatest race as it welcomes back not only Spring after a long Winter, but welcomes back each season the greatest champions of the generation on top form for the first time. And in what was probably its greatest edition, its Ultimate-Finest among Many Finest Hours, the race meant so much more to the Italians than just the start of the cycling season. With the help of Italophile John Foot’s book Pedalare! Pedalare! I quote from Pierre Chany writing for L’Equipe recalling the ginormous gravity of a small event that transpired midrace in that ultimate edition:
“The tunnel was of modest dimensions, just 50 metres long, but on 19 March 1946 it assumed exceptional proportions in the eyes of the world. That day it was six years in length and lost in the gloom of the war…A rumbling was heard from the depths of those six years and suddenly there appeared in the light of day an olive-greenish car stirring up a cloud of dust. ‘Arriva Coppi’ the messenger announced, a revelation only the initiated had foreseen.”
Yes, in 1946, it was il campionissimo—“the Champion of Champions”—Fausto Coppi who reopened the cycling calendar after the drought of the Second World War with his stupendous long solo breakaway victory. Second place was some fourteen minutes behind, such a winning-margin in cycling terms is equivalent to a gulf of two lightyears. He broke away early on in the 300 km race with a small group, and rode more than half the length completely solo when those few early companions were dropped. John Foot adds in Pedalare! Pedalare!: “At that moment, Coppi and Italy became one. They were fused together. A myth of endurance, of a superman in peasant’s clothing, had come into being, and for many it wiped out, if only briefly, bad memories of the war.”
Yes, you have heard me rightly—it was not a typo—even still today in this modern era of shorter but more intense racing, still the Milan-Sanremo bucks such trends and keeps its full 300 km race distance. Unlike so many races that no longer live up to their name—dare I mention all the Paris races that start there not and only finish in Roubaix or Tours or Nice—Milan-Sanremo still starts in Milan, at the center of Italy’s North, and finishes in the Mediterranean riviera town of Sanremo near the French border. O! It is quite a hellish day in the saddle to be sure, the longest day of the year. O! How the distance saps the legs, it is a war of attrition unlike any other on the calendar. And yet, despite the length and Coppi’s 1946 solo exploits of great fame, Sanremo is considered the Sprinters’ Monument: not because a pure sprinter always wins, but because this is the only Monument a pure sprinter can hope to win.
From Milan, the race strikes predominantly south making its way towards Genoa on the coast. On a traditional route, the only climb of note is the Passo del Turchino that comes at about the halfway point of the race. With such great distances still to go, the climb does not play much of a pivotal role unless Winter has not yet receded from its slopes. In the modern era with over a century of history and data, all the professional teams know this is a race that plays out only in the very final kilometers. Thus from Milan to the Turchino and even along most of the beautiful coastal towns, all the teams do their best simply to shield their leader from the wind and allow him to save every bit of energy he possibly can for this greatest of Finales. On a sunny day, the coast is gorgeous and the whole last 100 km make for beautiful viewing. But it is not until literally some 90% of the 300 km race is completed that the first riders with any sort of real ambitions to win will reveal themselves on the Cipressa climb. The Cipressa comes 270 km into the race, with only 30 km to go from the finish, give or take a few kilometers depending on each year’s edition. The Cipressa is the penultimate climb of the race; it is about a 6 km climb averaging 4% in gradient, with a maximum gradient of 9%. To be frank and speak in the parlance of our times: such a climb would appear to be a “nothing burger” compared to the giant climbs that feature in the Summer Grand Tours, but at the end of a 300 km race where the body is already exhausted, and many teams are trying to keep their sprinter in contention it proves a perfect test. Always on this climb, someone tries their hand, someone who has not the speed to match the best sprinters, nor the punch to match those who can unleash short bursts of extreme power over the smaller climbs. In some years, these Cipressa-hopefuls get a gap over the top of the climb, in some years they stay away to the bottom of the descent, in some years they make it another 10 or 15 km before the sprinters’ teams in the peloton organize and chase them down, in some years they even maintain the gap to the base of the ultimate climb: the Poggio.
I am not sure anyone can name the last time a Cipressa attack succeed to stay away to the finish, I say it as a pleasantry and out of politeness that the men who attack on the Cipressa have a chance of winning—in reality they are but pretenders. It is only the last climb up the Poggio that really plays a factor in deciding a race winner. The climb comes with about 10 km left in the race and crests with some 6 km to go; yes, by that math is only about 4 km in length and its average gradient is only some 3.7% with only an 8% maximum gradient. Like the Cipressa, those statistics strike little fear into our hearts…and yet, at the end of such a race it always does play O! such a pivotal role. Yes, because of this race: the Poggio is one of the most famous climbs in cycling. All cycling fans that fawn over L’Alpe d’Huez, the Stelvio, Mont Ventoux, the Motirolo, the Zoncolon, and the Angliru have a special place in their heart for the Poggio as well. If you were to average all the finishes of each Monument and Classic, many would acknowledge that Milan-Sanremo and its Poggio finish would have the highest mean score. Here is what makes it such a beautiful race—even in the years where rain and snow batter the riders and landscape—there is still all to play for at the base of the Poggio. Seven hours of racing all comes down to the last exhilarating fifteen minutes each year. The peloton will still be a big group containing all the favorites, but not all the favorites are pure sprinters. The Poggio is the last opportunity to shell out these pure sprinters—who usually by definition have trouble with the climbs. Thus, it is usually teams who have a sprinter that can somewhat climb that push the pace early to drop those pure sprinting rivals. These teams set such a high pace, at points the riders must break going uphill on the climb’s many sharp and extreme twists and switchbacks. And yet the possibilities end not here, in the mix too are ambitious Classics men and even a daring climber or two who can show a fast pair of wheels at the finish among an exceedingly small group reduced of all the better sprinters who cannot climb. Towards the top of the Poggio, usually only a kilometer or less from the summit, the climber or puncheur or Classics man with the best legs on the day launches one big massive race-winning attack….and here is where the unpredictably really only begins.
At this point, are any pure sprinters left in the reduced bunch weaving up the climb like lightning? How powerful was the definitive attack towards the top of the Poggio? How many riders were able to latch on and follow in the slipstream of that most ambitious attacker? Two? Three? What’s their gap to the peloton? Ten? Fifteen seconds? How many riders compromise the peloton behind? Twenty? Thirty? Forty? Fifty riders?
Yes, these are the questions we need answered within a minute of the first men cresting the Poggio climb with 6 km to go in the race. To predict the answers beforehand is truly impossible. Some have called this race a lottery, others a crapshoot. It truly is one of the hardest to win because riding up and over the Poggio there are so many variables—I have not even mentioned if people had mechanical issues. But over the top, the race is by no means decided! The Poggio is not only famous for its ascent, in fact it is more famous for its harrowing descent. To be sure, it is utterly stunning and beautiful to see the Golden Hour sunlight starting to bask its final rays of the day on the Mediterranean coastal hills, but O! what hair-rising viewing it is. Should your muscles not tighten, should your palms not sweat, then please never ride a bike or drive car again for you must be legally blind. It is a 4 km descent of narrow curving roads and horribly tight 180 degree switchbacks, at least a dozen corners are so sharp and dangerous the organizers set up cushioned barriers out of them to make sure no one smashes into a stiff metal guardrail that stops one from diving over the side of a cliff. Yes, it is the reward for staying in contention over the Poggio, the riders have qualified for the unofficial descending World Championships. It is the greatest test in cornering the cycling world has to offer. It is beautiful and breathtaking to see these bike riders cut the apex of the turns to such precisions mathematicians and physicists using parabolas and coefficients of acceleration would shed a tear at the magnificence. The escapees have to throw everything at this too: throw themselves into every corner and empty the tank as best they can on any bit of straight. Finely balanced, touch-and-go, surely this is the race were such terms were invented. Over the top it is usually a small elite group of one to four riders with a larger peloton chasing from ten to two dozen seconds behind, or it is sometimes a ten or so man group over the top and if that is the case that will contain the winner of the day. But should it only be a pair or trio of riders, the suspense builds to see if they can stay away to the finish from the sizable chasing peloton.
After the harrowing descent there is one final test, the last 2 km is a flat run in. For a solo rider, the objective is simple: Full Gas! Empty the Tank! Ride the greatest mini-Time Trial of your life! But should there be two or three, things can get cagey quickly: what is the precise measure of output on the front needed to make the group stay away from the bigger chasing peloton sure to have domestiques ready to sacrifice themselves to bring back the escapees and set up a sprint for their fastest man left. Meanwhile that pair or trio of escapees do not want to work too hard on that last flat run in and deadened their legs for the final sprint. It can be the ultimate show of cat-and-mousing, and rarely does the most honorable and hardest-working workhorse in the group bring home the bacon. Yes, all these unpredictable elements smashed into the last fifteen minutes of a 300 km race are what create so much hype and drama! In an archetypal Sanremo, to cap it all off: on the Via Roma finishing straight the race is so close, whether in a sprint between the escapees only a handful of seconds ahead of the peloton breathing down their necks behind or even between a reduced peloton come back together, a photo-finish is certainly required. Yes, it’s a special race, in what other race can you have Grand Tour and climbing champion Vincenzo Nibali win two seconds ahead of pure sprinter Pocket-Rocket Caleb Ewan?
Yes, its spectacular finish is not just spectacular for the thrilling spectacle. When the winner crosses the finish line, it sinks in: he realizes his name shall now be alongside all the former Italian great champions and legends. This was the Italian Spring Classic won by Luigi Ganna who won the first Giro. Constante Girardengo, Italy’s first il campionissimo won it six times. Alfredo Binda twice. Learco Guerra once. Coppi thrice. Gino Bartali outdid his archrival with four. Felice Gimondi got his one. Guiseppe Saronni and Francesco Moser each have a single win of it on their palmares, the same goes for Gianni Bugno, Claudio Chiappucci, Alessandro Petacchi, and of course Super Mario Cipollini. And yes, as stated Vincenzo Nibali cemented his place among his legendary compatriots as well taking such a victory. But all of these Italian greats were outdone by the savage one, the Cannibal Eddy Merckx won this race a record seven times—surely, a record never to be bested! Yes, since its inception it has attracted international stars and champions like Lucien Petit-Breton, Eugene Christophe, Henri Pelissier, Lousion Bobet, Rik Van Steenbergen, Rick Van Looy, Raymond Poulidor, Tom Simpson, Roger De Vlaeminck, Hennie Kuiper, Sean Kelly, Laurent Fignon, Erik Zabel, Oscar Freire, and Mark Cavendish. All legends of the sport, and their victories helped add to that legend as well. Yes, to win the Milan-Sanremo will make a rider’s career, to win it twice or certainly thrice shall catapult a rider into rarified air and upper-echelons of all-time greats. It is one of those races where it is too hard to believe any one individual can actually win it, and yet every year someone must. Shall we see another first-timer making their name? Or shall we see someone add another top result to their palmares and strengthen their resume and portfolio to become a living legend of the historic sport?
Cycling Odysseys 