He was so close to Learco Guerra - the old cycling veterans would say - that when the Human Locomotive stopped to pee, he would stop too. Fabio Battesini was to Guerra what Sandrino Carrea was to Fausto Coppi and Giovannino Corrieri to Gino Bartali. His domestique. A kind of mutual property right, the domestique to the champion, but also the champion to the domestique. From the domestique: devotion. From the champion: respect. And from both sides: friendship.

Battesini was ten years younger than Guerra: today, February 19th, would be 113 years since his birth, in Cappelletta, about ten kilometers north of San Nicolò Po, in the Mantua area. He didn't have the typical domestique characteristics: he was another champion. But not with his head. Back then, being an athlete meant, above all, an athlete's life, or rather, a cyclist's life. In one word: abstinence. And abstinence was not his strong suit. Too handsome, too cheerful, too alive to not give and take. The road united them, Guerra and Battesini. It happened in 1927, when they were both amateurs. And Guerra in his first year of cycling. They were racing in their hometown, Bagnolo San Vito. Battesini first, Guerra second.

I rediscover Battesini in a book dedicated to Guerra. It was written by Learco Guerra junior, grandson of the Human Locomotive ("He was my grandfather", ZeroTre Editions, Dragon's Tail series, 218 pages, 18 euros, with a preface by Pier Bergonzi and an afterword by Adalberto Scemma, I've already written about it here). The meeting between Battesini and Guerra's grandson was affectionate, with languages alternating between Italian and Mantuan, memories still vivid. Training: "We would normally go out every other day to do 200-250 or even 300 kilometers, during which your grandfather would continuously feed himself with small sandwiches. We would only stop at the various well-known village fountains to refill water". The pace: "He would slowly cook us all, to the point that one by one we would drop off and return home dazed and half-asleep like geese. No one dared to take the lead and pass in front of him". The exception: "Arriving in Cerese di Virgilio, he stopped by the roadside near those gravel piles that were then present to fix the dirt road, sat down, put his goggles on his cap and said: Dig an qualdun cam vegna a tor e am porta a cà, a gla fag pù (tell someone to come and take me home, I can't go on anymore)". Recovery: "We would sit on benches and each finish an entire watermelon with a spoon".

The grandson would ask about his grandfather, so Battesini comes to life through reflected light. That track meeting: "In Marseille. We were the only Italian couple. We were welcomed by all the exiled emigrants like gods. They would run to us to invite us to their homes for dinner or lunch". That Six Days race: "In Paris, in 1934. We usually slept three hours each, taking turns on the track from 3 am to 9 am, then the race would resume. But your grandfather wasn't happy with the standings and so instead of stopping, he continued until things were arranged as he wanted". That encounter: "On that occasion we met Josephine Baker again (singer, dancer, soubrette, ed.), but I won't tell you how it ended!" That secret: "We never took anything. We had an aluminum water bottle with coffee mixed with peptocola (a concentrated marsala egg restorative, ed). At the time, it was said that Binda put only champagne in his water bottle! Who knows!"