CHERASCO, Italy (VN) — Five Belgian cycling brands have attracted 500,000 euros ($641,000) in government funding to build a new collaborative R&D facility focused on aerodynamics and other “technologies of human power.” Bike brand Ridley, helmet brand Lazer, clothing brand BioRacer, athletic performance center EnergyLab, and Flanders Drive, a “mobility knowledge center,” will collaborate on the project, which will feature a low-speed wind tunnel and other R&D facilities.

Such a low-speed wind tunnel would be the first in continental Europe.

The collaboration between the five Flandrian sport brands has been dubbed “Bike Valley,” a reference to the project’s location in the beating heart of Belgian cycling.

The announcement comes hot on the heals of Specialized’s launch on Thursday of a new in-house, bike-specific wind tunnel, which will allow the brand to further improve its aerodynamics research and development efforts, and the timing seems to be no coincidence.

“[Bike Valley] is the only way we can compete on an investment level with the large global multinationals in the bicycling industry,” Marc Hufkens, Bike Valley manager, said in a statement.

Like the Specialized project, the planned Belgian tunnel will be designed around low-speed testing, ideal for the development of cycling equipment.

The concept was conceived by Ridley, a company that was among the first in the cycling industry to develop an aerodynamic road racing frame, the Noah. But without outside help, in the form of its collaborative partners and the government funds, the brand did not have the resources to complete the project.

“Because Ridley and the other Bike Valley partners are Small and Medium Enterprises (with no more than 100 employees) we can only realize such an ambitious project if we can count on the support of the different governments in Belgium and by working together”, said Hufkens.

Even with five partners on board, it was not until the influx of government funding that the project could begin to take off.

“The funding of 500,000 euro is a milestone not to be underestimated,” Hufkens said. “One can say this is the actual ‘go’ in establishing Flanders as a worldwide knowledge hub when it comes to cycling in six different domains: sports, industrial activities, tourism and recreation, health, science and technology, mobility.”

SALTARA, Italy (VN) — Italian saddle maker Prologo showed a set of new time-trial and road saddles, as well as some prototype gloves, at the Giro’s long race against the clock on Saturday.

The new gear, first previewed last fall, uses a technology borrowed from motorsport and military applications and licensed for exclusive use within the cycling industry. It is clearly visible as a thin layer of cone-shaped tubes made out of an elastic polymer, designed to enhance grip, comfort, and dexterity.

The technology, dubbed Connect Power Control (CPC) by Prologo, is known as 3D HTX within motorsport, where it adorns Sparco driving gloves and other items. The small cones can be applied in various widths and heights, allowing Prologo to tailor grip characteristics to a specific area’s needs, according to company founder Salvatore Truglio.

CPC will be used on Prologo’s new Zero TT saddle, which most of the Saxo Bank squad used for Saturday’s time trial, as will Alberto Contador later this year, as well as Scratch Pro, Nago Evo and Zero II road saddles. CSF-Bardiani’s young stage winner Enrico Battaglin swapped to the new Zero II with CPC just a day before the Giro.

Prologo has applied CPC to a pair of short-finger gloves, available now, and is working with the Cannondale Factory mountain bike squad to finish development on a long-finger, XC-oriented pair. Availability on the latter is set for later this year.

Saddle makers have a history of adding grippy substances to saddle surfaces in an effort to keep riders from sliding around. It is common to see homemade fixes, too, particularly on time trial saddles; many riders use sandpapery grip tape to help keep them planted. But Prologo claims that these fixes have nowhere near the holding power of the volcano-shaped cones on its CPC material.

“Watch Contador in the next time trial,” Truglio said. “In the past he has moved around a lot [in the saddle]. He’s now planted, and faster.”

Prologo says that in addition to its ability to hold a rider in place, the material has impressive shock-absorption and vibration-damping properties — likely why it’s made its way into motorsport — but is thin enough to maintain dexterity when used on gloves.

TT saddles will be available soon, along with the short-finger gloves. Road saddles and long-finger gloves will follow later this year. Prices are not yet set, but Prologo expect about a 25 percent price increase for its CPC products over a standard saddle.

MARINA DI ASCEA, Italy (VN) — A morning of Italian switchback serenity is interrupted by sinister hissing, the slow release of air from two places I most dearly wish it had stayed. Pothole; front flat, rear flat.

One tube.

Cazzo.

Despite the long ferry and late return from the island of Ischea following the Giro’s second stage, I decided Sunday night to ride early Monday morning. I have to ride. It’s been a week since I clipped foot into pedal, a week with only the dreaded running shoes for company, a week of only driving, working, and walking. No lack of sleep will stop me.

I rise and eat, eyeing but ultimately ignoring the storm clouds building over Napoli, and then clip in and set off through the small town of Castellamare, up its fiendishly steep cobbled streets, still damp from overnight rain, and toward the day’s objective: a set of 38 tiny switchbacks I spotted on the map the previous evening. They had an untouched look about them; a melodic flow that will be most welcome after a few nights in Napoli, where an amphitheater-shaped valley compresses the normally quiet hustle and bustle of daily Italian life into a ceaseless roar.

The climb is as I hoped, and expected. Narrow enough for a single car, poorly paved but in an adventurous sort of way, so old that each switchbacked corner is still cobbled. Potholes litter the surface, but are easily avoided as I tick upwards, past one final agriturismo and into utter solitude.

For 40 minutes I climb, dodging holes and looking out over each coming cliff, staring down at the urban hum below and Napoli in the distance, reveling in our separation. There is something about riding alone, I think to myself; something to tapping out pedal strokes to an internal tempo, with effort and direction solely in your own hands. It’s meditative.

But I’m behind schedule; this climb is longer than expected by a fair bit, and I don’t have time to go over the top and around the back, as planned. I got what I came for anyway; there is no shame or sadness in turning around here.

With gravity-fed speed, the potholes I so daintily avoided while climbing now rear their tire-eating jaws thick and fast; I hop a few, steer around others, avoiding all.

Until I don’t.

A shallow gravel section, a small lip at its end, begets the hiss of two limp tires encircling my wheels. It takes but a moment to make a short ride much longer.

Panic hits first. I am on the side of a mountain, in Italy, two hours before a Giro start, with the key to our car in my pocket and thus no hope of rescue. My eyes dart up and down the road, as though sheer willpower could bring a tube-wielding handyman out of the trees. The solitude I was so enjoying just moments before now seems an unbearable affliction.

The math is bad. Two flats, one tube. Five kilometers from town, 15 from the hotel. I have 45 minutes before I need to be showered and ready to go to the start in Sorrento. The roads are bumpy, and I’m on carbon rims. I’m sure as hell not walking.

My usual tool kit — two tubes, pump, tools, patches — was packed in my luggage that morning. I grabbed a single tube and a pump, out of overconfidence and more than a hint of stupidity. The solitude I was seeking placed fate squarely in my own hands, and they let me down.

There’s nothing to do but try and ride. I replace and fill the front tube — that tire keeps you from crashing, so it deserves the air — and begin to pick my way down the slope, at a snail’s pace, with one full tire and one sad limp one. It bounces and clacks off rocks and cobbles but keeps me upright and moving.

The agriturismo, I recall, is only a few switchbacks down. Maybe two kilometers. I can make it there. Time to find myself some strangers.

I roll into a quiet driveway cut into the mountainside, the last building on the way up and the first I see on the way down. A black Audi, probably not a proprietor’s car, indicates the place is open. Leaning my bike against an ivy-laden wall, I click-clack towards the front door. A woman comes out, “buon giorno,” I say, followed by “inglese?” She smiles, shakes her head, and calls for her son.

Giuseppe’s English is as good as my Italian, and so in broken words and gestures I explain my problem. Can I call a taxi? “No,” he says, offering no explanation.

I’m in your hands now, Giuseppe.

We head to his garage, where he shows me a set of screwdrivers. “To take the tire off?” he says with his hands. No, I have that part covered. It’s the tube — I point to the tube — that is bad. He nods, and ponders for a moment, then walks me back to my bike before disappearing into the darker recesses of the garage. I wait, standing alone in the middle of the driveway in an awkward duck-footed, cycling-shoe-induced pose.

He comes out holding two helmets. Not bike helmets. Two scooter helmets, one for each of us. He hands me one and says “Ok, we go.” For a brief moment, I can only stare at him.

But what choice do I have?

I jump on the back and put my hands on his shoulders; “no, no” he says, moving them to his sides. I’m a full-grown man, clothed in nothing but black spandex and white riding shoes and a blue mushroom of a moto helmet, sitting on the back of a scooter behind a stranger, who I am now hugging.

“What you do?” he asks as we fly down to town. “Sono giornalisti per Giro d’Italia. Americano.” I respond, with the full extent of my Italian language skills. The grammar is wrong, but he understands, and seems to approve.

We cut up cars, dart up side streets and through gridlocked city traffic, ending up at a motorcycle shop. No bike tubes here, they say after I tap my way up to the counter, so we continue on. A bike shop, on the right, “là-bas!” I yell. Whoops, that’s French. But no matter, he has seen it, too.

Tubes procured, I hop back on and repeat the journey. Back up the same cobbled road I climbed earlier in the day, through a long tunnel, choking on acrid diesel fumes, and up the two sharp switchbacks to Agritourismo Quisisana. Back to my hapless bike and, hopefully, onto my hotel and the Giro.

It’s now 9:15. I have 15 minutes. My minipump is pumped like my life depends on it; Gieseppe, the hero of my hour, watches, lights up, and laughs. A minipump can always be counted on to bring a little levity to dire situations.

Tire inflated, I stand up and try to give him the forty Euros in my pocket. He won’t take them. A handshake, transferring my fortunes from his hands back into my own, is all he will accept as I roll off down the hill.

Next time, two tubes.

NAPLES, Italy (VN) — Mavic’s deep CXR80 wheelset now has a smaller sibling, a 60mm-rim version using similar technology designed to target the mid-depth carbon tubular market.

About half of the Garmin-Sharp squad, including defending champion Ryder Hesjedal, rolled through Naples and up to the first start line of this year’s Giro d’Italia on the new wheels, called the CXR60, according to a team mechanic.

For its first public showing, well before any official unveiling, the wheels featured stickers with “Cosmic Carbone 60” section blacked out with a Sharpie.

Mavic representative Zack Vestal could not provide any official information on the wheels.

“I can’t say precisely when a 60mm version would be released, but I expect within the calendar year,” he told VeloNews. “There are always a number of shapes, sizes, and prototypes in testing and the pro peloton is the proving ground.”

The CXR60 appears to incorporate many of the same features as Mavic’s deep, TT- or flat-stage-specific CXR80, debuted under the Garmin team last summer, except, obviously, that they have been sized down to a 60mm deep rim.

The hubs appear to be identical to those used on the CXR80, using a narrow carbon shell and large, aerodynamically tuned flanges. The front wheel uses 16 radially laced and bladed steel spokes, and the rear has 20 of the same, which attach to the rim with traditional spoke nipples.

The rims themselves are wide at the brake track and taper down to a narrower section at the spoke bed. That shape is similar to the CXR80, and bucks the Zipp/Hed/Enve trend towards ultra-wide inner edges, a design feature that is intended to provide additional stability in crosswinds.

The new rims do not appear to feature the CX1 blade system, the rubber strips designed to smooth airflow from tire to rim, which were quickly banned by the UCI following their initial introduction.

The slots found near the brake track on the CXR80, which hold in the CX1 blades, are not present on the CXR60.

However, Vestal hinted that the blades may show up on a final production version.

“The CX 01 technology, including wheel shape, blade, and tire, are suited to a number of wheel depths and tire fitments,” he said.