Gironimo - Riding the Very Terrible 1914 Tour of Italy by Tim Moore

Tim Moore first came to my attention in 2003 as the author of the excellent French Revolutions, a book that frequently features in many lists of top 10 cycling-related books covering his attempt to cycle the full Tour route in 2000.

This book about the Giro is a highly entertaining account of an unnecessarily difficult journey on an unsuitable bike by an ill-equipped rider – but it is exactly those factors that provide the stories that make the book what it is. It has to be that way to provide the sense of adventure and the extreme fluctuations in fortune, so that we can join him in wondering at the “ludicrous enormity of the task”.

What inspires anyone to undertake such a project you wonder as you start reading his journey beyond the desire to gain enough material to write a book.

The journey involved riding the route of the 1914 edition of the Giro d’Italia, which was chosen because a Google search convinced Tim that it was the hardest ever cycling Grand Tour. The statistics would certainly support that, eighty-one riders started the 1,964-mile race.  A 36-hour rainstorm erupted soon after the start, washing out roads. Eight appalling stages later, the average length of each being roughly the distance from Lake District to London, eight riders crossed the finish line.

The race set records for the longest ever single stage distance and stage time amongst others, but there were plenty of other hardships: road conditions, team rivalries, weather conditions, injuries, and locals putting nails on the road. The cyclist-hating public threw tacks on the road, although cycling fans weren’t much better: They threw vegetables at racers they didn’t like. Riders, meanwhile, rode across Italy on a network of white gravel roads astride rudimentary machines ill-suited to swift mountain descents and without the benefit of today’s understanding of nutrition or technology.

Once the year had been determined, the task was to find an appropriate and authentic old school machine to complete the picture of “old fashioned grit and old-fashioned kit”. The story of Moore acquiring his initial choice of bike makes for great reading, but eventually he does take a slightly easier option and plumps for a more complete Hirondelle No.7 Course sur Route.  However, there are still plenty of opportunities for mechanical mishaps and running repairs.

Tim Moore in period dress

Not content to merely write about it, Moore assembled his period-correct bicycle and rode the route himself, chronicling his beleaguered progress as he chased the ghost of Alfonso Calzolari, the workhorse cyclist who won the 1914 Giro. (And then lived to the age of 95.)  This is not merely about suffering, but about reclaiming the lost pure heart of road racing, the one before energy gels, titanium and coldly efficient pacing of the modern-day peloton.

Those of us made of less stern stuff would have baulked at the prospect of recreating Calzolari’s 1914 victory, but Moore opted to coerce his period Hirondelle into some semblance of life, encouraged by the authenticity of the time.  Resplendent in a wool jersey, wool shorts, ancient leather shoes, white cap and a pair of goggles he set about his task, ready for all the trials and tribulations that would follow.

One such example comes from the cork brake pads that are required for the wooden rims: they don’t really work, and they don’t last long on mountain descents. One solution was to create new brake blocks along the way from the corks of Prosecco bottles. The book is full of little anecdotes like this, repairs ‘on the go’ as Moore had to find innovative ways to keep his bike going and roadworthy.

The bike...before it was built by the author

From the Alps to the Adriatic the pair relive the bike race in all its misery and glory, on an adventure that is by turns bold, beautiful and recklessly incompetent.

Ultras by Tobias Jones

I have just finished reading this comprehensive book which focuses on the Italian Ultra scene and sheds light on the whole Ultra phenomenon.  


Ultras are often compared to punks, Hell’s Angels, hooligans or the South American Barras Bravas but they are a truly Italian entity.

In the late 60s and early 70s, teenage football fans rebelled against Italy’s sedate supporters’ clubs and went to stand, and sing, behind the goal. 

The word “ultra” implies “extreme”, “beyond” or “other”.  At its foundation, the movement was largely far-left, with names inspired by global partisan struggles. Petty criminals and political extremists were drawn to the terraces’ carnival atmosphere and the huge customer base. Most ultra groups are now fascist in inspiration and many have overlapped with organised crime. 

Ultras are comparable to, but different from, British football hooligans. They relish drinking and fighting, but are much more hierarchical and disciplined, with a sober strategic analysis of the group’s sporting, and economic, interests. Despite their reputation, there are ultra groups that are inspiring, charitable and inclusive.

Italy’s ultras are the most organised and violent fans in European football. 

Many groups have evolved into criminal gangs, involved in ticket touting, drug dealing and murder. The book identifies two of the biggest clubs in Italy as being the main players. The Irriducibili (The Die – Hards) of Lazio and The Drughi (taken from the Droogs of A Clockwork Orange) of Juventus.

In August 2019, the death of Fabrizio Piscitelli, the notorious former boss of Lazio’s Irriducibili, ended a 30-year career of thuggery, crime and extremism . He was nicknamed “Diabolik”, after a cartoon thief and assassin.

A man dressed as a jogger – wearing a cap and neck-scarf – ran past the bench and fired a 7.65 calibre pistol into Piscitelli’s left ear. He died almost instantly, sliding off the bench as the murderer ran off. It had all the hallmarks of a professional hit.

The murder brought to a close one of the most incredible careers in the history of Lazio’s ultras. The club’s fanbase has always been very politicised: during Italy’s “years of lead” (its extremist terrorism) in the 1970s, it was very common to see, among the white-and-sky-blue colours of Lazio supporters, many of Benito Mussolini’s symbols. It was an era in which Lazio Ultras became both victims and perpetrators of political assassinations.

The purist ultras, however, say they are insurgents fighting against a police state and modern football.  Only amongst ultras, they say, can you find belonging, community and a sacred concept of sport.  They champion not only their teams, but their forgotten suburbs.

Telling the story through the ultras, Tobias Jones crafts a compelling investigation into Italian society and its favourite sport. He writes about not just the ultras of some of Italy’s biggest clubs – Juventus, Torino, Lazio, Roma and Genoa -  but also about its lesser known ones from Cosenza and Catania.

The main thread throughout the book is the author going in search of a rounded picture, and Jones immersed himself in the world of the Cosenza ultras of Calabria, chiefly because they were a group that had always rejected fascism. The Cosenza ultras, cheerfully named I Nuclei Sconvolti (The Deranged Nuclei) are a riveting read. With nicknames like Drainpipe, Boozy Suzy, Chill and Skinny Monica they are colourfully portrayed.

But all are eclipsed by Padre Fadele, the monk who takes them all under his wing and encourages them to help immigrants and the homeless in soup kitchens.  He even leads the chanting at most home games. 

While the Cosenza ultras continue to dish out soup, the ‘Ndrangheta (Calabrian mafia) controlled Juve ultras, I Gobbi (the hunchbacks) are busy touting tickets received from the club in a blackmailed fuelled deal, threatening ground closing riots and supporters’ strikes if their demands are not met.

In a sinister nod to neo-fascist politics, the Gobbi banner is inscribed with its Bs back to front, so as to resemble 88, fascist code for HH (Heil Hitler).  

Quite a journey of fandom but a riveting read nonetheless.