Nine men stand inside a rope line at the Giro d’Italia, carrying between them perhaps forty thousand euros of equipment. Numbered tabards pulled over polo shirts. Lanyards with the organizer’s logo. Two bodies each, a long zoom hanging muzzle down at the hip, a Manfrotto tripod tube slung diagonally across the back. Every one of them is looking in roughly the same direction, and none of them is looking at the woman walking past the front of the frame in a black and white dress.