This past weekend’s trip to the Wisconsin north woods for the 35th American Birkebeiner, which for many cyclists is a festival of extreme winter cross-training, got me thinking about traditions.

Being able to count on the recurrence of a tradition is comforting. Yet underneath, traditions can be fragile, no matter how long they have survived.

Every year I go to the Birkie and re-unite with thousands of cyclists who take to skis in the winter. I can count on running into friends from Wisconsin’s thriving bike community and many from much further away. Plenty of riders who still do a lot of bike racing but are no longer so intense about it that they have to be on a bike by late February are sure to be there. I always know that I will find myself lining up at the start with the likes of Ned Overend, Travis Brown, Tom Schuler, Jeff Bradley, Steve Tilford, Dag Selander, or Kent Eriksen, but it is always a surprise who actually shows up each time.

On the other hand, while finishing in front of a big crowd of fellow skiers densely lining Main Street in Hayward after more than 50 kilometers of hard skiing is always sweet, it can hardly be counted upon. In the 13 times I have gone out for the Birkie, I came away from four of them without that experience, since the race was either shortened or canceled due to insufficient snow.

I also used to love driving up to the race from Minneapolis with Davis
Phinney, but that is something that Parkinson’s disease has taken away. Paying attention to climate science these days can scare the bejeesus out of a guy and now that I’m turning 50, I am especially aware of what a gift it is to have the good health to ski fast over 50 kilometers of white corduroy. I don’t take it for granted, and I count each time skiing that beautiful trail among all of those friendly people as particularly precious.

The Rossignolis have operated out of the same location since 1926

Photo: Alberto Anderloni

So in thinking about traditions and how much longer many of them have endured in other countries than in our relatively young one, I started thinking about cycling tradition-rich Italy, and, in particular, in Italy’s largest northern city, Milan. Milan is not often associated with being a bike-friendly city as say Amsterdam or Copenhagen, but you would be surprised how many bikes crowd the streets there at rush hour, even on rainy days.

If you look closely at those bikes, you will start noticing a preponderance of a certain characteristic black city bike with upright handlebars, fenders, chain guard, front and rear racks, U-shaped kickstand, generator-driven head- and tail-lights, and three-speed hub, with the name “Rossignoli” spelled out on its thin down tube.

Things are undoubtedly different now, but through most of the past century, a bicycle was traditionally the first big purchase for a child. The kid’s father traditionally made the purchase, and it was often an emotional decision based on his own childhood and his experience in getting and riding his own first bike.

Welcome: Entering Milan's most established bike shop

Photo: Alberto Anderloni

In Milan, chances are that the father will make that purchase in the Rossignoli bike shop because his father, his father’s father, and even fathers further back down the line bought their kids’ bikes there. That’s because Rossignoli was established in 1900 and the shop has been in the same location, on Corso Garibaldi, since 1926.

Renato and his brother and sister are the fourth generation of Rossignolis to attend to the cycling needs of the Milanese. And don’t look for much change here, but count on tradition. As Rossignoli family members have done for 108 years, Renato and his siblings pay the same attention to detail and customer needs on a 200 Euro city bike as other shops might only devote to the most expensive racing bike.

The parts are not selected because they are cheap, but because they will do the job, will hold up to the rigors of life as a beast of burden on busy streets that are often cobblestone, will be easy to find parts for, and will be serviceable.

A Rossignoli’s front and rear racks are not cheap “lunch smashers;” they are heavy duty integrated units. The kickstand does not require the bike to lean over, a dicey proposition with a heavily-loaded bike. Rather, it lifts the rear wheel and holds the bike securely and straight up. The pedals are durable and offer grip with both street shoes and high heels.

Rossignoli has also always been the place in town where cyclists knew that there would be compressed air and a pressure gauge available free of charge to anyone who walks through the door. And that compressor continues to be the same type seen in bike shops all over Italy, namely a black compressor and tank recycled out of an old refrigerator.

Same thing with bike repair stands — don’t be looking for the latest Park or Tacx stand when the heavy steel unit bolted to the floor has worked there for almost a century.

Rossignolis are everywhere in Milan, and while they are usually black, you can spot a number of yellow and red versions out there as well. Milanese often have bicycles at their vacation homes, and there is of course only one place they would think of shopping for it. So if you find a Rossignoli bike, you can count on someone from Milan being nearby.

It’s one thing to do something of quality once or for a few years. It’s an entirely different thing to do the same thing continuously, always maintaining the highest standards, for over a century. We can all take comfort in traditions that endure, despite their inherent fragility.