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by Scott
Rated: E · Fiction · Sports · #2286564
Two old bicycle racers meet in a shop
The Cinelli Men
by Scott Laughlin
Copyright 2022

Brent is an old man. Eighty something, I’d guess. He comes to our bike shop often but he seldom engages with anyone in conversations, nor does he buy anything. He just passes through. Considerable time passed before I came to realize that long ago he had participated in the Tour de France. And that our Cinelli bike frame hanging from the ceiling was what attracted him. Perhaps he had known the owner who brought the frame in for reconditioning and painting? The boss says the frame was there before the previous owner of the bike shop passed away. Nobody knows how long it has hung there.

It is a blustery autumn evening when Brent comes by for another visit, pushing his walker. We were in the midst of closing, and he was heading for the door when a slender man near Brent's age limped into the store on a twisted leg.

His ruddy complexion suggested that he hailed from the British Isles. He stopped short when he spotted the Cinelli frame.

"Ah, I'd heard about that. I had to see it with me own eyes. I met Cino once," he said quietly.

"Who?" Brent asked.

"Cino. Cino Cinelli I met him in Milan in 1940. He'd just taken first place in an Italian bike race and he was pumped. I was thirteen. That was the year he started building Cinelli bike frames like that one," he said, pointing with his cane.

"Your leg?"

"What?"

"Your leg," Brent repeated. "What happened to your leg"?

"Aye. Me leg. Well, a good day turned bad at the Tour. I might have won the jersey had a fella from Belgium not gone down in front of me. Me and my Cinelli went over the guard rail and tumbled into a Pyrenees Canyon."

"Was your bike like that one?”

“Aye. An even match, it was," he said, turning to leave.

"Mine, too," said Brent. He tried to follow, but in his haste his walker catches on the row of street bikes. By the time the walker is free the man has climbed into a waiting car and is speeding away. Disappointment in Bent's eyes is obvious. However, he is back the following evening. He knows the fellow with the crooked leg would be back.




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