There are bike shops, and then there are places where, sooner or later, you get the feeling you’ve somehow joined a small brotherhood. At Scavezzon in Mirano, bicycles are certainly the main topic, but not necessarily the most important one.
There are three brothers, Martino, Andrea and Emilio, a close-knit team, a workshop, an unspecified number of opinions, and a well-established ritual: Thursday lunch. Customers, suppliers and friends gather around a table, bringing food and, above all, joining in the collective banter. Sometimes it’s a modest lunch; other times, thanks to Valter’s exuberance, it turns into a gastronomic survival contest. Andrea, apparently, still holds an unbeaten record.
Choosing a bicycle here is also a serious matter, but never one to be taken too seriously. There are plenty of brands and endless possibilities, but in the end only one thing really matters: figuring out what you actually want to do with your bike. Andrea will bury you in information until you reach the inevitable moment of contemplation in front of the coffee machine. Then Massimo, Tommaso and the others will join in, with advice, experience and a certain number of accessories you were absolutely convinced you didn’t need five minutes earlier.
One thing is certain: you will never find a pair of cycling shorts with white suspenders here. They have never sold a pair. It’s a matter of ideology, aesthetics and, probably, survival.
The workshop is a small theatre of expertise, where Carlo can tame a rebellious brake in the time it takes to sneeze, Sergio reads a bicycle the way others read a book, and Giuliano somehow finds time and patience for almost everyone. Emilio, on the other hand, can turn a technical explanation into a lesson in applied physics.
And then there is MiAMi, their gravel ride: three routes, hundreds of people, and a simple yet stubborn idea — getting from Mirano to Asolo while using as little asphalt as possible. Embankments, back roads, disused railway lines, countryside. And if a chain happens to break along the way, even better: stopping at a bar never hurt anyone.
Perhaps that is precisely the point.
A bicycle, on its own, is nothing. Two wheels, a frame, a handful of components.
But it is already something.
It is an excuse to get out, meet people, get lost, spend half an hour arguing about tyre pressure, stop for a drink when there is absolutely no need to, and find yourself back around that table on Thursday.
Three brothers, two wheels, and absolutely no intention of growing up.
Fortunately.
