Now That The Wheels Have Stopped Turning
 
Friday, 02 November 2018

Now That The Wheels Have Stopped Turning


Now that the wheels have stopped turning, this Eroica passes through my mind like an old Super 8 film reel, the film that immortalised the most precious moments of thousands of Italians during the 1970s: a honeymoon, children playing on the grass, birthday parties with relatives dressed up in their Sunday best. The images were grainy and sometimes jerky. Looking at them today, they seem and they are beautiful. Not just because of a sense of romantic retro: that’s the way we were, our lives, our real lives are recorded on those films. This Eroica is the same, a sequence of imprecise, grainy, beautiful images impressed on our minds and in our hearts. There are the first lights of the bikes making their way through the dark; the grey morning promising rain; Brolio Castle peeping out of the fog, surrounded by red and yellow vineyards. There are the tracks left by the tyres in the mud, the whirr of the pedals, the hugs and smiles, because nothing creates that brotherly feeling quite like fatigue. There is the ribollitasoup at Volpaia, a flavour from the past that warms more than the sun. There are the fun colours of the jerseys and their names, public declarations of sentimental geography from that provincial past that makes cycling a history book on wheels. There is the joy of being there, of sharing the experience, of being in harmony with others. L’Eroica is a home video and a public one at the same time, each of us have our own take, which is part of the big picture. There are those who wanted to prove something to themselves or to someone else and those who didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. But one thing is certain: in the Eroica film clips, wheels turn and the wheel of life turns and it’s always the same, yet always different. 

Elena Borrone