This article was first published in Rouleur Issue 143
Some records go beyond numbers: they become history. Milan’s is one of them. In 2026, the city will host a stage finish of the Giro d’Italia for the 90th time. It all began here, in 1909, at 2:53 in the morning. The race lasted eight days and finished in the same city where it had started.
Milan has changed profoundly over the course of more than a century. Factory chimneys have gradually given way to skyscrapers – a true architectural revolution. For decades, the Duomo remained the undisputed centrepiece of the city’s skyline, in keeping with an unwritten rule that limited the height of buildings to that of the Madonnina, the golden statue of the Virgin Mary atop its highest spire.
Milan began to look upwards in a new way as early as 1923, with the construction of two Art Nouveau buildings around 40 metres tall, overlooking Piazza Piemonte, where I arranged to meet Valeria Ciardiello, a journalist and television presenter known to Italian audiences for her analysis and commentary on football in programmes such as La Domenica Sportiva and 90° Minuto.
This is no coincidence: just a few steps away stands one of my favourite sculptures, which I discovered not all Milanese people know – perhaps because no one ever stops to read the plaque. It is called Il grande ciclista (The great cyclist) and is by Aligi Sassu, a 20th-century painter and sculptor best known for his depictions of galloping horses and for a dynamic, vividly coloured painting style.
The bronze sculpture depicts a cyclist with muscular legs. The body commands attention first, while the bicycle only emerges later, carved on the back of the base.
On our bikes, Valeria and I head towards CityLife Park, the result of a major urban redevelopment, where three now-iconic skyscrapers stand. This was once the site of the Fiera Campionaria (Milan Trade Fair), which for decades hosted the International Cycle and Motorcycle Exhibition – the place where the latest innovations on two wheels were unveiled.
Valeria used to come here often with her mother, Giuditta Longari, who was part of the first Italian women’s national cycling team at the 1962 World Championships. Over the course of her career, Longari won the Italian national road title in 1970 and also raced for GS Giambellino, a team linked to the Milan district of the same name, made famous by Giorgio Gaber, one of Italy’s most influential singer-songwriters.
“I went to the Fiera Campionaria many times with my mother. For us, coming from the outskirts, that area was one of the most beautiful parts of Milan. She was a nurse and very dedicated to her work, and going there was always a special occasion. She would say to me, ‘Look how beautiful these buildings are.’ It was a different world from ours, but she loved taking me there to discover it,” says Valeria.
We stop to fill our bottles at one of Milan’s distinctive green fountains, the public drinking fountains locals call vedovelle, named for the continuous stream of water that resembles a widow’s tears.
One track, many stories
We get back on our bikes to reach the Maspes-Vigorelli Velodrome, now mainly used for American football. For Valeria, this is a place where sporting achievements and family history come together: her mother raced here.
Over the course of her career, Longari won three consecutive Italian national track titles between 1968 and 1970, racing at velodromes across Italy.
“I imagine my mother, very young, arriving at track races utterly unprepared – this is not a joke. They simply told her to keep pedalling so she wouldn’t fall, and she, despite never having raced on a track before, went on to win her first Italian championship. With today’s level of athletic preparation, it almost feels like science fiction. But that victory says a lot about who she was: a courageous woman, deeply passionate about cycling, with uncommon physical and mental strength,” Valeria says.
We walk along the Swedish pine boards of the track, feeling the incline beneath our feet, then sit in the stands. It’s natural to think of the athletes who raced here, driven by the same determination Valeria describes: “My mother and the other women cycled with a spirit I would describe as both self-aware and spontaneous. They knew they were devoting themselves to a passion considered ‘for men’, yet they found the strength to overcome every obstacle. They were driven simply by their love for what they did. That is the true meaning of asserting a right: if something inspires me, I have the same right to pursue it and to achieve self-fulfillment as anyone else. Otherwise, there is a risk of falling into the opposite cliché – that of female superiority. The spirit with which my mother and her companions paved the way was pure and genuine, and it left an important legacy for future generations.”
Journalists of the time gave those cyclists the nickname “ragazze sprint” (“sprint girls”). In hindsight, that label – which may have been coined with a hint of irony – can be read differently: the speed was not only that of the final sprints, but also that of a new story they helped to write. It became a symbol of readiness and initiative, of young women determined to pursue the sport that had captured their passion.
We leave the velodrome and cycle toward Sforza Castle, passing near the Arch of Peace, one of the symbols of Napoleonic Milan and now a popular meeting spot, with bars and outdoor tables in the surrounding area. We cross Sempione Park, a green lung in the heart of the city, before stopping in Piazza Castello, now pedestrianised. What hasn’t changed is the historic fountain, which Milanese people call the ‘wedding cake’ for its tiered shape that resembles a bridal cake.
I share with Valeria a memory that takes me back to 2004, when Nicole Cooke won the women’s Giro d’Italia, celebrating exuberantly right near the fountain. She then tells me hers: “My parents used to take me and my brother to the start of the Milan–Sanremo. In the evening we went to bed early because we had to get up early the next morning. It was a Friday ritual, ahead of the race on Saturday. We would come here, to Sforza Castle, by bike or by metro. We stood behind the barriers to watch the riders.”
The memory grows richer in detail, and she recounts it with emotion as she adds: “My father knew them all: he could recognise them from afar, simply by looking at the colour of their jerseys, and would immediately say who they were. Every time a rider passed by, my mother would clap enthusiastically, cheering them on with great emotion. I saw her moved to tears more than once over details that might have seemed insignificant to others. She would always say to me, ‘Do you have any idea how much effort, how much hard work goes into this?’ She felt it deeply and was able to pass that same emotion on to us.”
Surface tension
Some of the city’s streets have changed since then. The Milan-Sanremo has also gradually moved its start outside Milan, most recently to Pavia. In recent years, the Municipality of Milan has introduced targeted measures: in some central streets, cobblestones have been replaced with asphalt to improve safety. The stone slabs, often unstable near tram tracks, pose a risk for those travelling on two wheels.
In 2009, during the Giro d’Italia stage in Milan, on the circuit designed to celebrate the centenary, riders protested about the conditions of certain sections, considered dangerous due to cobblestones and tram tracks. The stage was largely neutralised, with the peloton proceeding at a reduced pace before the final sprint, won by Mark Cavendish.
Cobbles can be treacherous, especially in the wet, as the final stage of that Giro also showed. In Rome, Denis Menchov slipped and fell in the final kilometre of the closing time-trial. The crash cost him around 20 seconds, but he got back up and still managed to secure the pink jersey.
“I remember the Giro time-trials we went to watch,” Valeria recalls. “We would pick a spot and start cheering for the riders even before knowing who they were. You could see them coming from a distance. A chant would rise, and everyone would shout ‘olé, olé, olé’. It was a moment of great celebration. It was fun to cheer – only afterwards would you try to recognise them.
“And then, with my brother, we would go hunting for souvenirs: today we’re used to having everything, but back then you’d come home with a race bib, a water bottle, a cap, a keychain… or even just a pass with a lanyard, and we were thrilled. We loved collecting them; we kept them in our bedroom.”
There’s no need to go back to defining moments, such as the first edition of the Giro or the postwar years: personal memories alone are enough to grasp the changes.
“Sometimes you could even stop the riders and maybe take a photo with them. Back then, it was easier to get close to them than it is today. My parents and I kept doing this until we were teenagers. I remember there weren’t all the facilities you see today, like hospitality areas and catering. There was the publicity caravan, but everything felt simpler,” Valeria says.
Cycling, we make our way to the Naviglio Grande, used for centuries as a waterway for transporting goods and materials, including the marble destined for the Duomo. We then continue toward the Church of San Cristoforo and the nearby iron bridge, the latter a testament to 19th century industrial Milan: on one side runs the busy road, on the other a strip of asphalt along the canal, frequented by cyclists and runners, a route familiar to every cycling enthusiast who lives in Milan.
“Going to the Navigli from where we lived felt natural, whether for a bike ride or, sometimes in the evening, for a walk. ‘Where shall we go? To the Navigli’. It was the perfect place to ride and go on an outing, maybe as far as Pavia, or to train, as my mother had done many times. For me, coming here means feeling at home.”
Ciao for now
Before saying goodbye, we step into a bar for coffee. We promise to see each other again soon. Meanwhile, the conversation turns to what remains beyond sport.
“When I stumble in life, I think of my mother. I remind myself that I am her daughter, and I say to myself, ‘I can’t give up.’ It’s a legacy that pushes me to get back up and keep going. Her journey was shaped by sport and cycling, of course, but I believe that our parents’ sacrifices teach us something valuable, beyond their professions or passions.
“Sport makes these values clearer and more tangible, perhaps more than other fields. Today, young people often look elsewhere for role models, but I don’t think there’s any need to look far. Very often, what we’re looking for is right beside us, in the people who raised us. We just need to learn to see it, recognise it, and let ourselves be inspired.”
The stage set to finish in Milan on May 24 is flat and seems tailor-made for a sprint. But it’s not just about sprinting. The Giro has reflected Italy’s social and economic evolution: in changing urban landscapes, in the way cycling is told, and in the stories that for years remained on the margins.
