Conor Dunne’s Giro d’Italia memories

It's been five years since GCN's Conor Dunne started his one and only Giro d'Italia, but memories of what it takes to complete the Italian Grand Tour remain fresh

09:00, Wednesday 1st May 2024

Conor Dunne

GCN Presenter

Conor Dunne on stage 11 of the 2019 Giro d'Italia

GCN’s Conor Dunne made his sole Giro d’Italia appearance in 2019 when he finished 135th out of 142 finishers and over five hours down on eventual winner Richard Carapaz. Ahead of the 2024 edition of the race, starting on Saturday, Conor pulled together his recollections of the race and what it took to complete the 21 stages.

It’s been five years since I raced the 2019 Giro d’Italia and it’s strange how your memories of a Grand Tour become warped over time. There is so much that gets packed into three weeks, that most of it is either compressed in some far corner of the brain, purposefully and unsuccessfully forgotten, or highlighted forever more. Maybe I’ll start with the moments I’ve tried to forget.

Racing Giro is like being caught up in a tornado

There are three key elements of the Giro d’Italia that every rider will suffer through at one point or another in the race: the freezing cold; the ridiculously steep mountains; and the outrageously fast lineouts, when the race is moving so frantically that you no longer feel like you’re in a bike race but caught up in a tornado.

Each is as tough as the other but I guess the hardest part is when you’re looking through the roadbook at the stages to come and pinpoint the days when everything will combine at once for a day of pure savagery.

When we hit the Mortirolo on stage 16 from Lovere to Ponte di Legno of that year’s race, for me, this all came to pass. I think most of that day contains those moments I’ve purposefully wiped from my memory for self-survival purposes.

There are climbs in cycling that gain a certain reputation - it’s part of what makes our sport so special - and there are some climbs that tend to be overhyped, gaining their reputation thanks to race-winning moves being launched on their slopes or the fact that they have just been used so often that they become ingrained into the fabric of a race. I’d like to unequivocally state that the Mortirolo most definitely does not fall into the category of being overhyped.

Riders tackle the viciously steep slopes of the Mortirolo during the 2019 Giro d'Italia

I don’t think I’ve ever sworn as many times in my life as when I rode my bike up that climb. I say rode, because even though I was technically racing up it, I’m not sure you could describe my journey to the top as a racing effort but more of a slow and painful struggle. The rain hammered down, the ridiculous gradient never relented and the cold, the infamous cold of the Giro, hit.

But I remember my biggest worry at the time was not how I’d get to the top but how I’d get back down afterwards. You can just about keep yourself warm riding uphill in bad conditions, but riding down again is a different story. The climb you once struggled with on the way up becomes evil on the other side and when you’re no longer sure if you’re holding the brakes or your bars, going down a 20% descent becomes less fun.

At the top of the climb I just stopped, along with everyone else in the group I was in. Any brave fans roadside continued to cheer us on, but rather than cheer our efforts they tried to get us dressed. I raided my team car for any item of clothing I could find - jackets, gloves, tights, it all went on.

Conor finished 40 minutes behind stage winner Giulio Ciccone

We made it off the Mortirolo and down to the finish in the valley. The stage winner Giulio Ciccone had already rolled in and won 41 minutes earlier, and I think he was already on the podium celebrating when I crossed the line.

That night I didn’t open the roadbook to see what would come the next day. That could wait.

A love-hate relationship

I do love the Giro though, honestly, I do. Aside from the crazy tough moments, racing makes you feel lucky to be part of this kind of giant festival.

The passion and feeling that everyone has for this race, as it hurtles from one town to another around Italy is second to none. You are constantly reminded of it, from the start to the end of your day, it never stops.

There would be the odd moment of quiet, when you’d be on a particularly lonely stretch of road and the echo in your ears would subside, but quickly you’d dive straight back into the tunnel of crowds shouting you on.

I actually nearly missed out on this festival on one stage. Constantly procrastinating in the team bus and drinking too much coffee can make it easy to get lost in your own thoughts, before bracing yourself for what’s to come. One of these days, when I was playing catch-up and rushing to the start, I bumped into a GCN presenter.

It’s funny looking back on it now, after all the adventures we’ve had together on the channel, but Hank very nearly ended my Giro. He stopped me for a quick interview and we ended up chatting for too long. I’m going to blame Hank for this but he most probably will have a difference of opinion. Either way, mid interview, I checked the time and had to immediately sprint off for the start.

Conor at the rear of the peloton on stage 19 as it winds its way through the crowds

The problem is, in some of the start towns at the Giro, especially the historic ones, it is very easy to get lost and that is exactly what happened to me. As I rode in circles around this town, I felt my panic rising exponentially and this increased as I saw race convoy vehicles leaving. How on earth would I live down the fact that I DNF’d the Giro because I couldn’t find the start line?

I rode faster and faster around, circling back on myself and getting lost down dead-end streets until in the end, I followed the noise of the Giro to find my way back.

Somehow I seemed to magically roll onto the back of the peloton as the last rider was just kicking off to leave and spent the next 10km breathing one massive sigh of relief. I then realised I was absolutely bursting for a wee, spent a further 10km desperately holding it in until the breakaway was established, and another 20km cursing Hank for all he was worth.

Personal triumphs

I did manage the odd moment of personal triumph, mixed in with the anxiety of wondering where the next punch would come from. When you ride your bike for three weeks straight, I think your body goes through these random oscillations of good and bad form. Sometimes you can half-guess which side of the bed you’ll be waking up on, but other times it takes you totally by surprise.

Of course, when you’re on a bad day it is absolutely disastrous, but on those rare good days, you can tell yourself that you almost belong. Stage 12 to Pinerolo was one of those days. I finished 20th, right behind Miguel Ángel López and Mikel Landa but one place ahead of Richard Carapaz. I was rolling with the big guns and living out childhood dreams.

Having made the day's breakaway, stage 12 proved to be a day of personal triumph for Conor

The truth of the matter is I managed to sneak into an early breakaway that got such a large gap, that even once I was dropped from up front, I could still pedal home whilst the GC favourites fought for time around me. Maybe I should have used that day to take it easier and recover for what was ahead, but when you’re in those moments, it’s just the kid inside you that’s telling you what to do.

Completing Giro requires part skill, part luck

Aside from the frozen descent of the Mortirolo, I did come to look forward to going downhill throughout most of the race. Whilst this may sound like a given when the fatigue bites, it can be so easy to make mistakes and, when you couple it with dealing with post-crash nerves, descending isn’t always a positive experience.

The spills in a Giro are numerous, they’re impossible to avoid and I remember spending a large proportion of my time hoping it wouldn’t be my turn to lie down on the floor. By some miracle, I managed to survive the race without crashing and was able to enjoy my showers throughout Italy without flinching. One of my poor teammates wasn’t quite so lucky; I think he ended up in a crash on almost every day of the first week. It got so bad that we had to have an extra soigneur on the bus after each stage just to redress his wounds.

There was even one big crash mid-race, a huge pile-up that spanned the entire width of the road, that I once again managed to miss. It was so bad that the stage was unofficially neutralised and whilst I skirted around the chaos, I saw my poor teammate pop his head up from the middle of it all.

One of the many crashes Conor managed to avoid during the race

It must be said that most of the time, the race sticks together in those moments and the riders in the race had some form of ability to band together and slow things down in such situations. I think that, as you get to a certain point in the race, everyone has a feeling of being in it together and there is definitely a camaraderie between competitors.

As the race progresses this increases, but there are always moments in the chaos when things deteriorate. One stage springs to mind, I honestly can’t remember which, but I do remember the fact that the weather was so bad most of the team buses were late arriving at the start. The talk before the stage was that we wouldn’t be racing and an unofficial pact had been formed in the peloton to neutralise the stage. As we huddled under trees and bus shelters waiting for the race to begin, no one seemed to know if this was fact or fiction. I, perhaps naively, took it to be fact and started the day under the full assumption that due to the weather there’d be a break in hostility and we’d all pedal our way to the finish like we were on a bikepacking weekend.

How wrong I was. As soon as the flag dropped it was business as usual: a long strung-out line of riders dodging potholes, rivers flowing across the road, oil-slicked corners and a gale-force wind whipping through the side of us. I was again suffering, layered deep in clothing that I was sweating through more than the rain permeated. There aren’t any free passes at the Giro, I learnt that one the hard way.

You want it to end, until it does

The finish does eventually roll around, despite believing that it’s a figment of your imagination. At the start you yearn for it, but by the finish it feels emotional for it all to end. You’re so accustomed to the routine of ride, eat, sleep that, like a victim of Stockholm syndrome, you wonder how you’ll function away from it. Three weeks surviving on adrenaline and the finest Italian food up and down the country, then it’s time to figure out how to navigate a supermarket once more and plan your day without discussing which of your colleagues should get their massage first.

It’s simply a beautiful race, hard to encapsulate in a sentence and a real honour to be part of. If you’re prepared to go the distance, the rewards are huge and if it doesn’t pan out, the losses are brutal. For those like me who find themselves surviving somewhere between those two positions, it’s a race that will forever leave its mark in the form of a genuine feeling of accomplishment and, in a way, wonder that you actually made it through it all.

But, whether you’re racing professionally or riding just for fun, cycling always has a way of humbling you just when you think you’ve got on top of it all. I finished the final stage TT, rolling over the line and out the other side, away from the crowds and the mayhem into the glamour of a half-empty car park. Professional cycling already packing down and gearing up to rumble onto the next race, the finish line is almost not real. Meandering solo back to my team bus, I was left to my own thoughts. In amongst the frantic chaos, you’ve got to pick your moments to remember and be proud of; even if five years later I’m still trying to recover from it all.

For everything you need to know about the 2024 Giro d'Italia, from the history of the race to this year's route and start list, be sure to check out our dedicated race hub.