Bike

Farewell to Michele Dancelli rebel racer who won the Milano-Sanremo in 1970

by Dario Ceccarelli

19 December 2025

4' min read

Translated by AI

Versione italiana

4' min read

Translated by AI

Versione italiana

For us kids who played marbles on the beaches of the Adriatic, Michelino Dancelli's was an absolute favourite. We all wanted it even if he wasn't an ace racer like Eddy Merckx, Felice Gimondi or Gianni Motta.

Of that generation of 1960s and 1970s phenomena, however, he was the most likeable rider. The most rebellious, perhaps even the craziest. The women liked him because he had a shifty eye and a conquering forelock. And he also knew how to have fun: 'Yes, I have always loved life. If I had had Gimondi's head I would have won everything, even the big Giriri. I liked girls and the good life. Yes, I admit, I was a bit of a brat..."

Michele Dancelli, who became famous for having broken in 1970 a sort of spell that had prevented Italians from winning the Milano-Sanremo since 1953, died at the age of 83 in a retirement home in Castenedolo (Brescia) where he had been hospitalised for some time due to the many ailments that life does not spare even the great champions. And he, Michelino, was indeed a champion: of courage, recklessness and imagination. On a bicycle he was a magnificent anarchist who always attacked. He had instinct. Plus, when he pedalled, he was really elegant. He was at one with the bicycle like Alfredo Binda, Jacques Anquetil and Hugo Koblet. His only problem, apart from occasionally taking a 'holiday' from racing, was that he was good everywhere but not a specialist: thus on the steepest ramps he was beaten by climbers, in sprints by sprinters and in time trials by cronoman. Despite this limitation, he won 73 victories from 1963 to 1974, i.e. in the golden era of Eddy Merckx, Roger de Vlaeminck, Felice Gimondi, Vittorio Adorni and many other champions. In addition to winning the Italian title twice, he was 14 days in the pink jersey, winning 11 stages at the Giro d'Italia.

But life, even the life of champions, is like that. It nails you to a particular day, to a photo that stops history and makes you 'the one' who managed to win the Sanremo after an endless fast, when the spring classic seemed to have become a haunted race for the Italians.

The last victory by one of our riders was that of Loretto Petrucci, who on 19 March 1953 had done the encore by beating the Romagnolo Minardi in a sprint for the second consecutive time. Then sixteen very long editions with foreigners on the podium. But on that 19 March 1970, with a clear sky that sealed the beginning of spring, it was immediately clear that something new was happening.

Dancelli recounts it like this: 'I was in an important breakaway after Novi Ligure with Van Loy, the two De Vlaeminck brothers, Godefroot, Karstens, Aldo Moser, Chiappano, Bitossi and Zilioli. Above all, Chiappano, my team-mate at Molteni, and I were pulling. After winning a flying finish in Loano, I went into a breakaway. There were 70 kilometres to go. It was crazy, but I had already done so much. At that point I couldn't turn back. They never caught me again, I won at an average of 44.

At the finish line in Via Roma, Dancelli triumphed with a lead of over a minute and a half over Dutchman Karstens and Belgian Leman. Still in disbelief, almost as if it were only a dream, Michele continued to cry: 'Now the journalists will stop writing that I am no longer a champion,' he exclaimed between sobs at the microphone of Adriano De Zan, who, like an old fox, continued to make the good rider who had done everything in life to emerge speak. "The others already had their fill, but I was already 12 years old when I started working as a bricklayer because my father had died of pneumonia when I was a child. I used to break my back on building sites and they let me off one day a week to train and on Sundays for races...'. So many tears that 19 March. Everyone was crying: from the owner Piero Molteni to Giorgio Albani, later Merckx's esteemed sports director, to Ernesto Colnago who was Molteni's mechanic.

Such is Dancelli's life. Always on the attack, always against something and someone. He didn't mince his words: 'I was never diplomatic. When I got hot, no one stopped me. I didn't like being in groups. I didn't make many friends....'.

Not true, dear Dancelli. Actually, everyone loved you, even your opponents, especially the tough ones. Because they knew you were a good guy who occasionally took a few days off from cycling to enjoy the good things in life. They may have won more thanks to your generosity, but your marble will forever remain the one most loved by children and incurable dreamers.