This article was first published in Issue 138 of Rouleur
There are places where history can be felt in the air, and Milan’s Jamaica Bar is one of them. It was opened in 1911 as a simple wine shop serving wine and home-cooked meals. From the 1940s, it became a gathering place for artists and intellectuals, thanks to its proximity to the Brera Academy, a fine arts school. Among its regulars were Nobel Prize winning poet Salvatore Quasimodo, poet Giuseppe Ungaretti, artist Lucio Fontana – famous for his ‘slashes’ on canvas – and photographer Ugo Mulas, who documented the Milanese art scene in the middle of the 20th century.
At one of the outdoor tables, Mario Molteni carefully lays out a series of photographs that tell the story of his family: his grandfather Pietro, his parents Ambrogio and Olga, and his sister Pierangela. And of the all-conquering cycling team that, for 18 years, carried their name.
“Today, even though the Molteni team no longer exists, it still holds the record for the most wins by a single-sponsored professional team: 663 races,” says Molteni, glancing at his wife Cristina, who is seated across from him.
The Molteni story begins in 1958, when Pietro, a meat entrepreneur, created a professional cycling team. That team, bearing his name, left a mark on postwar cycling, not only because the brand was present on riders’ jerseys from 1958 to 1976, but also due to its consistent results.
“When my grandfather founded the team, he chose the colours based on the company’s delivery trucks: camel and blue. They were never changed. They always remained the same – unmistakable,” he continues, as waiters begin setting tables for lunch around them.
There are stories that can be told in reverse – starting at the end. The Molteni story is one of them. Today there is no team, but its legacy is still very much alive.
Cycling as social commitment
Mario Molteni and his sister Pierangela created the Ambrogio Molteni Foundation, which supports young athletes whose careers were interrupted or compromised by accidents, as well as former professionals facing financial hardship or serious injury.
“In 2018, my sister and I decided to create the Foundation in memory of our father,” he explains. “It’s entirely self-funded, and our goal is to offer tangible help to those who’ve had less luck. We used to support basketball and football too, but the requests were overwhelming. So we decided to focus our resources where they were most needed.”
The Foundation was created both to preserve a family memory and to act on a vision of sport that doesn’t stop at the finish line. Cycling is something fans carry inside them. You either love it, or you don’t.
“We launched the Foundation at RCS [the media group that organizes the Giro d’Italia], inviting former team members like Gianni Motta, Michele Dancelli, Davide Boifava, and Eddy Merckx,” he says. “Felice Gimondi was there too – he was a family friend.”
A bright smile lights up his eyes. Mario Molteni’s words aren’t nostalgic – they reflect a sense of responsibility. A way to give back to a world that gave him so much.
“In cycling, even those who fall behind deserve to be guided to the finish. That’s the spirit that guides us,” he says. “We don’t want to host events or work with larger foundations. Too often, the funds don’t reach the people who need them. We prefer a direct approach. Friends, commentators or people in the cycling community tell us about cases. We discuss them, and then we act. That’s our mission.”
The project was officially presented in October 2018 at London’s Olympic Velodrome in Stratford.
“We chose the Six Day event, and a pair who weren’t favourites – we wanted to start humbly, quietly,” he recalls. “We invited the Italian press, too, to share the beginning of a journey that felt deeply personal. Since then, every year we try to keep the Molteni name alive by giving back to cycling a bit of what it gave us.”
Molteni is clear: the Molteni team name no longer has any commercial value. The family’s charcuterie business, now in its fifth generation, operates under a different brand. Everything the Foundation does is non-profit and purely for solidarity.
Most of the people the Foundation helps are unknown to the public, and their names are usually kept private.
Recently, the Foundation supported Fabio and Chiara, two visually impaired teenagers from a small town in Lombardy. “They love cycling, and we’re happy to help them. Training in tandem at the Montichiari velodrome takes money and planning. When you meet people like them, when you see their joy and zest for life, you realise how small our own problems are,” he reflects.
With support from the Italian Cycling Federation, the project offers concrete aid, like in the case of Samuele, a top junior rider whose promising career was halted by an accident.
“The Foundation gave him a handbike so he could keep training and aim for the Paralympics. The project later ended, but everyone has the right to choose their own path. That’s okay,” says Molteni.
One phrase from Samuele stuck with him. “When we first met him, he told us about the training ride when he was hit and lost the use of his legs. He said something we’ll never forget: ‘I still want to feel the wind on my cheeks.’ Those words, said with such conviction, will stay with us forever.”
Looking ahead, Molteni poses an important concern: “I wish cycling a prosperous future. But today, few kids ride bikes, and those few need support, guidance, encouragement… Cycling is a tough sport. It’s hard to make it. But I’ve always believed this: a kid who’s been a rider, even if they quit, can do anything in life. The discipline, grit, and determination you gain on a bike – you take that with you everywhere.
Whether you become a worker, truck driver or executive, the tenacity of a cyclist is hard to find elsewhere.”
Cycling from the team car
Talk turns to how cycling was lived from the inside, in an era when the Giro d’Italia was a national festival and always made headlines in La Gazzetta dello Sport.
“The Giro was a celebration for fans, athletes and everyday people,” says Molteni. “You were always on the move. In the morning, masseurs made sandwiches and filled bottles. After the race, riders washed themselves with a cloth in the car, then off to the hotel. There were even concerts and shows. It was what we’d now call a media event – a national happening. It’s still great today, but it’s changed.”
It’s a kind of cycling light years away from today’s hyper-technical, high-tech approach: “The jerseys were made of wool – they’d get soaked and weigh a tonne,” he adds. “They wore another layer underneath. No one complained. They used to say: ‘If you don’t like wind and rain, go play cards.’ Before a descent, the masseur would hand riders a newspaper at a specific point, to keep warm. At the Giro, Molteni fielded 10 riders, two directors, two mechanics, and a retired guy driving the van. Today, teams like UAE travel with massive staff.”
After a coffee, Molteni recalls his childhood immersed in cycling, from the unique vantage point of the team car.
“I was lucky to live inside the team,” he says. “Even though it wasn’t allowed, dad and grandpa brought me along. I spent days at the Giro and the Tour. I was in the car when Merckx won Milan-Sanremo, and again at Tre Cime di Lavaredo, during his last Giro win, when he held onto the pink jersey with just a 12-second lead over Baronchelli.
“I’ve seen a few stages since then, but I don’t go as much any more.”
He picks out three photographs from a pile of black-and-white and colour prints, some glossy, some matte, some timeworn.
“This is from when I was little, in the car at the Six Days. This one is the day Merckx came to our house to sign his contract, in 1971. And this one is from when I was older – we visited Panini, the sticker company, to watch a race.”
The story of an era
It’s not just stories of champions and victories, but of daily life, human relationships, and little gestures that define a time. The team was like a big family, where every person, from mechanics to masseurs, played a key role.
“One of my best memories is from a time trial in Forte dei Marmi,” says Molteni. “I went with my grandfather, and it was the only time we ever swam in a pool together, during a Giro stage. After swimming, we got gelato with the riders, mechanics, and staff. That’s what stuck with me most – the human side. Like seeing the riders in their rooms, on the massage table. A view no one else had.”
Even the technical details tell stories: wheel changes in seconds, bottles handed off from the car.
“I remember when riders came to the car asking for bottles. Or when De Rosa literally pulled me out of the car so he could hop out and change a wheel. I saw many wheel changes – back then, it took two seconds. Near the finish, De Rosa and Colnago were already out of the car with a spare bike. Today, with disc brakes, if you get a flat five kilometres from the finish and your car’s not nearby, you’re done. You won’t catch up.”
Back then, the connection between riders, mechanics, and builders was personal, almost family-like. But even then, there were rules, especially when buying bikes. “You had to buy your bikes. Whether it was Colnago or De Rosa, you paid. One year, Merckx had 47 bikes. Ugo De Rosa told me himself. I was close to his family – I’d fall asleep in his lap during transfers. It was a real friendship.”
Big companies later changed cycling, with different financial models.
“Cycling changed with Squinzi and Mapei. From then on, everything shifted. Before, single-sponsor teams paid for everything themselves.”
Next to the table is the bike Merckx used in the 1974 World Championships. It still wears the team’s colours. The blue handlebar tape is in good nick. His face appears on the frame, framed by the rainbow stripes.
“The brakes are drilled, the pedals have toe cages, the shifters are on the downtube. The worn saddle has a tag hanging from it, like in a museum. This is the bike Merckx used to win the Montréal World Championship. The following year, he gifted it to Pope Paul VI, who then passed it to Cardinal Montini, a cycling fan. After his death, the bike returned to the family and was donated to the Ghisallo Museum, alongside bikes from Bartali and Coppi. It’s a De Rosa, but that year, Merckx asked for a longer stem, which happened to be from Colnago. Nobody ever changed it. It’s still just as it was. When you see it, you know you’re looking at a piece of history. I loaded it into the car last night, very carefully.”
It’s time to part ways. Mario Molteni gently gathers his photographs, like closing a family album. On the table lies a folded camel-and-blue jersey. On the collar is the rainbow. Unzipping it reveals a tiny tag: number one. Two small details that say everything.
We leave the Jamaica Bar and are drawn toward the courtyard of the Brera Art Gallery, almost instinctively, before strolling into the heart of Brera, where galleries and boutiques line cobbled streets. Molteni pushes the bicycle by hand, as if it were the most natural gesture in the world. And even those passing by know: that bike is not just any bike.
