A Tour de France stage at Centre du Vélo 82

This story originally appeared in URBANIA, an online magazine based in Quebec focused on pop culture and society.

“I’ve got a special coffee you can’t find just anywhere,” murmurs Elio Fratangelo with a wink. With a practiced discretion, he pours some Sambuca into a steaming espresso. “This isn’t just a bike shop—it’s more of a bike bar,” he adds, opening a tin of butter cookies.

On the TV at Centre du Vélo 82, a cavernous basement in the eastern part of Rosemont, the Tour de France riders push ahead in a tight peloton, 141 kilometres left before reaching the finish line in Dijon. It’s a sprinter’s stage, promising drama only in the final kilometres. For now, we’ve got time to spare.

Before the rise of Strava, Zwift, and carbon fibre wheels, there was Elio—a towering figure in Quebec’s cycling scene. Though he may never have worn a yellow jersey, his contributions and devotion to the sport have left an indelible mark on the province.

Elio’s destiny in Quebec might never have unfolded had he not met the love of his life on a sultry summer evening at an Old Port nightclub. Sometimes life simply falls into place.

But who is Elio?

At 71, with his silver hair, piercing blue eyes, and an endless supply of stories, Elio is a living archive of cycling lore. The walls of his shop are a museum of signed jerseys, autographed posters, trophies, and yellowing photographs—a testament to a long and storied career. His memories wander from the young talents he trained to the legends he met, such as Gino Bartali, Mario Cipollini with his zebra-striped jersey, or Chiappucci. Along the way, he recalls his old friend Marinoni or the journalist Pierre Foglia—other cycling enthusiasts with whom he shares a common passion.

So, where does the story begin? Perhaps in Guglionesi, a small town near the Adriatic Sea in Italy, where he was born in 1953. The youngest of eleven children in a modest family, Elio began working at age nine in the family garage, which housed a car wash and a repair shop for bikes and scooters, helping his brothers with repairs. “We made do with what we had—which wasn’t much. A hammer and a punch. It was a tough place, driven by kicks and shouts. We made brake pads out of old car tires.”

At 22, after a loathed stint in mandatory military service, Elio joined his brother Domenico in Montreal for what was meant to be a two-week vacation. It was 1975. “I couldn’t understand why there were so many lights at night,” he recalls. The city, glowing beneath the downtown skyline as seen from Mount Royal’s lookout, was electrifying.

“I took the chance to enjoy life and the good weather. When I met Chiarina, I thought, ‘I’m never going back to my village.’”

But to stay, he needed work. At the corner of Ontario and Saint-Denis streets, Domenico introduced him to Louis Quilicot, founder of Bicycles Quilicot—the oldest bike shop in Montreal and a man regarded as the father of Quebec cycling.

Entering the shop, Elio asked his brother why Vespa scooters were hanging from the ceiling. The owner explained he was waiting on parts from Europe that had never arrived. Elio, brimming with confidence, promised to fix everything by the end of the week.

Necessity often breeds ingenuity. After repairing every moped in the shop, Mr. Quilicot, impressed by Elio’s resourcefulness, hired the young Italian who spoke neither French nor English.

Elio stayed in Montreal for 11 months, returned to Italy to settle his affairs, and then came back for good.

His brother taught him the trade and helped him refine his skills. Within a few years, Elio became a skilled mechanic, adept with both bicycles and small motorbikes.

During his downtime in the shop, he tinkered with tricycle designs equipped with baskets for groceries. His creations sold quickly—until he discovered Norco had launched a similar model in a different colour palette. Unfazed, he kept innovating, designing a revolutionary hand-pedaled bike for a man with a disability. “It was his idea, and he funded the project, but when I saw the prototype on display at the Bike Show the following year, I got chills. I felt exploited for my skills and regretted not patenting my designs fast enough,” he admits, his voice tinged with a heavy heart.

On December 24, 1981, during a snowless Christmas stroll with his brother-in-law, Elio stumbled upon a bike shop for sale on Beaubien Street near Langelier. With a bit of borrowed money and family support, Elio—armed with just a few words of French—seized the opportunity.

In 1982, he opened what would become both his business and his playground: the Centre du Vélo. As an importer of major Italian brands—Colnago, Bianchi, Pinarello, Benotto—he brought in containers filled with these marvels. “I still had all the contacts back home—it was easy,” he recalls. Gone were the old bikes; quality took centre stage. Elio brought an old-world expertise to a new audience in Quebec.

Back then, the Quebec cycling scene was dominated by Italians, whose sporting culture was deeply ingrained. Elio immersed himself in the community, organized events, and founded a racing club—CVM (Centre du Vélo Montréal)—that thrived.

Elio answers the phone, pours a sambuca-laced espresso for a cyclist stopping by to chat. Behind the counter, his presence is warm and commanding. “He’s kinder than he used to be,” teases Chiarina, his wife and long-time business partner.

The kind of host who doesn’t require many questions. From tales of Québec-Montréal races to the spectacular crashes of the Giro, his words weave stories of grand destinies and small victories. He’s especially proud to have been the first to close Sainte-Catherine Street for a cycling event.

Though he’s no longer involved in event planning, he still opens and closes his shop six days a week. “Sundays are for church and friends,” he says, glancing at the TV.

He still rides 60 kilometres daily on his electric Trek with former CVM members. The passion for the road still burns. “I’m ten bikes behind everyone, but I’m there.”

Despite the competition and the rise of online stores, Elio continues to fight. “Selling beautiful bikes in times of inflation is complicated,” he confides. Indeed, success has slightly decreased, despite the current popularity of cycling. “Selling has become difficult, even. People don’t have as much money anymore. Last year was difficult, this year too, and next year looks even worse. We have to rely on repairs.”

He laments that competitive cycling has become a luxury sport, inaccessible to most parents, and criticizes the excessive fetishization of equipment. "We give too much importance to the technology and not enough to the legs that propel them. They are the real engine!"

"That's my guy, Tadej Pogačar," he said, pointing to the Slovenian prodigy, a true phenomenon of the discipline and big favourite for the 2024 Tour de France (who, incidentally, won the triple crown of the UCI Road World Championships, Tour de France, and Giro d'Italia).

While watching the stage, a few well-felt old québécois curses slip here and there. "If the climate was better, I always said I would have opened my shop in Lac-Saint-Jean. That’s my kind of place" he declares, a longtime moose hunter who never quite abandoned the reflex of gathering his fingers and waving them up and down. “Cosa fai?” he hisses through his lips.

"They're all doped. But you know, that's nothing new." He recalls nostalgically: "I used to help my mother pick daisies to make syrup that got the heart pumping. We also had this trick of having seven espressos before a race."

A father of three daughters and grandfather to four, does Elio think about retirement? “I’ve said, ‘That’s it, I’m closing,’ more times than I can count. But what would I do?” he muses.

And how would he like to be remembered? “For my expertise. I’ve worked hard, but I’m deeply grateful to my loyal clients—many have stuck with me over the years.” Behind his humility, the idea of ​​building a community has always been central to him.

At the club's annual Christmas parties, Elio shared his house wine with a packed shop. "The love of bringing the world together," he said in an accent he never lost.

As someone who’s worn his bicycle pendant every day since childhood, this life dedicated to love on two wheels has not been a sprint—unlike the runners on television who now set off at full speed—but a long journey with unpredictable gradients.

Despite the challenges, behind the counter of his bike bar, Elio Fratangelo embodies the spirit of cycling. “It’s more than a job, it’s a passion,” he says as he pours another espresso-sambuca.

His little kingdom on Beaubien remains a haven for sports enthusiasts, 42 years after its opening, a place where kilometres and memories intertwine irresistibly with the scents of coffee and bike grease.

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