He heard the voices from the other room and quietly entered. They were all sitting there, the whole family, sitting around their huge table. Outside it was a dark night, a few weeks had passed since the season ended and the boredom respectively tranquility of the regeneration phase had set in.
For most people, but not in a home of italian nature. His dad shouted in italian, his grandfather argued in curse words in italian, his grandmother prayed, in italian. They were passionate about cycling, but the more they were passionate about Guido's future. Both his father and grandfather looked back at a career, contrary to Vague, Visconti was born into this sport and did not choose it.
As he entered, none of them noticed him since the light was so dim around the table. With some italian dishes lying on the table, they drank excellent red wine. Both his father and grandfather shared a passion for wine, too, but neither looked like a drunk. They both had kept the sportive nature of their youth, wish he could say that same about his mother, or grandmother as a matter of fact. "Well", Mama said in her broken italian, trying to follow the conversation: "If you want Guido in Italy to train, than there is no reason for him to stay in Cyclo-Cross, is there?"
That was true, and Guido had casually fallen in love with CX. Not that he'd do it forever, but it had become his roots and it was something where he wanted to stay in. But the opportunities were narrowed down in the last season. So his father's sentiments were clear: If he stayed belgian, it'd be hard to pass Francis or Milan. We'd probably have to switch teams at some point, and why not do a Mazzarelli. Become an outsider of the sport altogether.
"No, no", Guido said and explained: "Don't you see? Here I have the best infraststructure, the best coaches and bikes." They nodded. "And if I pass Vague and Milan, I know I am there. I will be on top." He pumped his fists, he was determined to train harder. He lied. He wasn't that kind of guy, that kind of Vague.
His grandfather smiled, and then shugged his head: "But you always come back so slow into gear, the third year now you have had a slow build. We know you can make wonders and miracles on the bike. But why do you need
so long? We are here to support you, but I also worry about you, Guido."
He understood what he meant. Guido has had his fair share of discussions with his teammates, his team managers, his family. Even fans had their opinion about it. Yeah, Guido had some fans actually, hard to believe. That he was too lazy in the summer, and never did enough training. He is evident by the fact that once he got into racing rhythm, his second half of the season was always better than the first. It's than the moment that his fitness was right on par with the others.
Guido of course always said he had been a good boy and did all the training, but truth be told, he was a lazy kid and it probably wouldn't change for the better anytime soon, as long as people didn't remind him of that. He'd have to do better than that. He wanted to, but the summer was beautiful and there was much to enjoy besides racing and training and suffering. He took the bottle of wine and pour himself a glass. Like red italian wine. He began to share this passion too.
"Guido, listen! Lotto-Fidea was very satisfied with your season", his father said and Guido interrupted him. "I know that!" - and Raphael continued: "But maybe it'll be good for you to do more road racing, you know. So you start into the season with a solid build up, where we already know your fitness level, whether than guess it and rely on odd numbers. Those numbers don't tell us how you compete!"
It was all training metaphers and Guido didn't bother much about that anyway. The season had just ended, he looked forward to a bright spring, some racing. But also to recover, to enjoy and relax. To refill the soul with life from the sufferfeast. Life was good for him but his family urged him to do more. He sat down the glass and looked at them, smiled even. "Father! This is a wonderful gift I have got. I don't want to waste it. We'll do good, and if Lotto-Fidea are not happy with us, we'll find another team. This is nothing to worry about, Cyclo-Cross season has just ended, we should cherish the spring now"- and he pointed at the little trophy table, which wasfull of trophies by his dad but almost empty when you excluded his father's trophies and just looked at Guido's, there was just one that Guido ever won - "and if we do that, the filling of the cupboard with trophies doesn't matter so much if we don't enjoy it as a family. So I value my single win with all the emotions keeping it alive in my distant memory because I won it with you!"
Well maybe that was true, Raphael thought. That this was a family adventure, of the name Visconti and whereever they may go and experience, it'd be together, and may one day, a Visconti would win Oude Kwaremont, a mission that was never cancelled but just put on hold until Guido matured enough to have become a pro.
