Livestock and gasoline.

Grass to mow and tires to inflate.

Wipers and cheese.

Hard work again and again.

I come from a family that never questioned the meaning of work because the answer has been rooted in it since its existence.

My family would spend half of its time working the land and attending to the livestock and the other half struggling from evening to morning to manage two gas stations in the fog of the Bergamo suburbs.

Only God knows how many boys and girls grew up the same way in my area and beyond; children of an Italy raised on the ideas of their grandparents, the wish for independence, the stern frankness of the ordinary, which knows no rest and cannot give in to holidays.

At least not all of them.

My story is a story like many.

For all mountain lovers, Livigno is the ideal destination to live experiencesunforgettable experiences with the family surrounded by unspoiled nature: a unique and  fascinating in which to combine relaxation, fun and sports - both for adults and children - throughout the summer period.

Italian kids love to play football.
It's our national sport.
It's part of our culture.
It's the first tool we have to socialize with other people.
Two backpacks as goal post, a supertele ball with its unpredictable trajectories (or a tango ball at best, which is heavier and flies less), a handful of friends... and there you go.
This applies to almost everyone; however, my story, my career and my life originate within the folds of that “almost”.

I grew up in San Rocco di Marano, a small rural outpost in Valpolicella, hidden between Veneto's hills, far away from the sea, and far away from the mountains, not too much though, since nothing in our Country is truly that far.
500 meters above the sea level, more or less, around 80 families in total, and just over 200 people - a clustered, intimate community, where last names are never used.
Well, then, to play football, more often than not, the town lacked the numbers, the people to make up two teams. And we had to find other ways to fill the time, and for my friends and I, the bike was our first choice.

Partly out of necessity, and party magical.
Partly a way of getting around, and party a way of life: my two wheels have always been my favourite place in the world, where I became a master of the road and of my own time, free as I was to go wherever I wanted, alone, minding my own business.
For an active kid, pushing on those pedals, crushing miles and miles in the narrow streets of that ancient town I was lucky to call my home, was the most effective way to entertain himself, a stress-relieving practice that calmed my anxiety and drained my energy reserves.
My mother said that, when it was time to ride my bike, I forgot about everything else, and I didn't even care about food.