There have been seasons in the past in which I've dreaded the final race. In 1993, I clearly remember being almost despondent at the end of the season. It was at the Michelin race in Greenville SC. As the cars loaded with bikes drove away from the corner of Main St. and Mcbee Ave., it felt like that icky feeling you get when you're leaving Disneyland. The trip home after that weekend was a sad one.
Labor Day Weekend now marks the end of road racing season here in Michigan - oh sure, there have been occasional additions in September such as the Pino Morroni races or the Tour de Leelanau (jumpin' jiminy, why did I ever let people talk me into racing that monstrosity; I had no business being on that roster). This year, I wasn't feeling much sadness.
I'm not sure what that means. I interpret it as a general acceptance of the passing of another season, and maybe a yearning for ski season. (And a thankfulness that it's still a few months away; I'm not ready.) But it's also a relief that I don't have to be a slave to the bike for the next 5 months.
A couple of observations that affected my season (not in a good way) have reduced the sadness surrounding The End:
Observation #1. Our local cycling scene has become rather predictable. I'm sure everyone experiences the same thing across the USA: Everyone knows who is fast and who isn't. Everyone knows what everyone else can do and how they do it. Everyone expects "the attack" by the strongest guy at the same point in the race. You can almost list the riders who will make the breakaway, and you can probably predict, with some degree of accuracy, the order of finish.
It's really quite stale. Yet, every weekend, we drive to a medium-sized town and go through the same routine as if on a loop. That's bike racing.
This year's final weekend was a bit different because a flock of Canadian riders came down from Toronto and brought new color to our Michigan scene. (Mainly, red and white. I mean, don't they have any other colors down there? [Canada is south of us, so it's down not up.]).
It was A LOT more fun having unknown riders mixing it up with us. Sure, they talk funny, but they race well. And instead of watching the same five riders who consistently kick my arse every weekend, I now had to watch twelve riders who could kick my arse. That's a lot more fun. (Seriously, it is.)
Observation #2: The range of tactics is quite limited at this level of racing. Very few teams have more than two tricks in their folder.
Those two tricks are:
1. "Get one of our guys in the breakaway, and shut down the field."
2. "Don't let any breakaways get away; we'll set up Leon for the field sprint." (Leon is a fictitious name that I pulled out of my book of fictitious names that authors carry around with them. Mine is leather bound.)
There are slight variations on those themes, but nothing plunging too deep into the Coors Light playbook. (Len Pettyjohn's Coors Light cycling team was, in my opinion, the epitome of smart riding. I saw them win countless races in countless diabolical ways. They are the standard by which I judge team tactics.)
Yes, that's more than a little frustrating and adds to the boring predictability of the racing here. Consequently, the end of bike racing season isn't much of a letdown this year.
There's a lesson here that I learned this week: travel more.
Next season, I'm going to take road trips to Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois. Rather than complain about the stale local scene (which is probably equally stale in OH, IN, and IL), I'll try to be that mysterious out-of-towner who comes in and shakes things up. I encourage you to do the same.
Except, ... um... let's not all go to the Ohio on the same weekend.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Blackness
I did it again. I swore I wouldn't let it happen, and I did.
A warm summer night and an invitation to meet up with friends in Lake Orion (10 miles away) was what started it. They were there for the Lake Orion Horseshoe Club's Guinness Book of Records attempt for the longest horseshoe marathon. (Don't ever again tell me that cyclists are crazy.) I pulled my 'cross bike off the hook, threw my lights on it, filled my water bottles, and hopped on the rail-trail. I was off in search of adventure.
First of all, I was so proud of myself for remembering to fill my water bottles. Believe it or not, after 40 years of riding, I still sometimes forget that part. I usually discover this about 3 miles from my house and vow to never let it happen again...until the next ride.
Night riding is a really cool experience. If you've never done it, I highly recommend it. And on warm summer nights, it's even better. With a full moon, you don't really need your own light. Tonight, however, there was no moon. But who cares! I have my super duper light mounted to my handlebars! Let the good times roll!
I'm surprised at how many other people there are on the trail after dark. I was continually covering up my light with my hand so as not to blind them. It's a pretty bright light; it'll knock out your night vision in a hurry. So as soon as I spot someone way up ahead, I try to squelch the light because I know how annoying it is to be caught in the beam of an aircraft landing light.
I made it to Lake Orion. Hung out. Watched some horseshoe pitching. And then decided it was time to ride home.
When I get 1k down the trail, the light dies. Instantly. Black. Because it's a digital light, it doesn't fade slowly like an incandescent light would. No, it just goes off without warning.
Remember a few paragraphs ago when I said "with a full moon, you don't really need your own light." Well, with no moon at all...
Now, I could have turned around and gone back to the horseshoe pits and asked for a ride. I could have called my friend to come and get me. I could have called a cab (I jest. Lake Orion has no cab service. I only wrote that for my New York friends who probably would have said, "Yo, why didn't you just call a cab?") But I didn't. I got myself into this mess...
The only source of light was the faint yellow glow in the distant sky from the lights of Rochester at the other end of the trail. But with no clouds to bounce off of, they were of no use to me. It was pitch black. I had 9.5 miles of wilderness to navigate in total darkness.
OK, let me explain that wilderness, in this case, means nothing more than deer, skunks, field mice, and an occasional muskrat. Still, I wouldn't want to hit any of them except for maybe the mice.
I waited for several minutes to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, but they never reached an acceptable level.
You know where this is going, don't you?
Yep, I did what any modern day survivalist would do; I pulled out my iPhone and opened the flashlight app. That little glow that was designed to help you find your glasses in the kitchen at night guided me all the way down the trail. It worked pretty well, actually. It pointed out the two deer. It illuminated the posts that prevent cars from driving the trail. It also marked my position for the oncoming riders without lights.
That's right: oncoming riders without lights. As much as I was cursing my own forgetfulness/stupidity all the way down the trail, there were people out there at 11:30pm who were intentionally riding the trail without lights on a moonless night. Who knew that such a recreational option existed?
And they might be onto something. I can see it now (sure, now that it's daylight): a new form of bike racing: a nighttime time trial down the trail. Two categories: lights and no lights.
It'll be epic.
Riders ready?
Go.
A warm summer night and an invitation to meet up with friends in Lake Orion (10 miles away) was what started it. They were there for the Lake Orion Horseshoe Club's Guinness Book of Records attempt for the longest horseshoe marathon. (Don't ever again tell me that cyclists are crazy.) I pulled my 'cross bike off the hook, threw my lights on it, filled my water bottles, and hopped on the rail-trail. I was off in search of adventure.
First of all, I was so proud of myself for remembering to fill my water bottles. Believe it or not, after 40 years of riding, I still sometimes forget that part. I usually discover this about 3 miles from my house and vow to never let it happen again...until the next ride.
Night riding is a really cool experience. If you've never done it, I highly recommend it. And on warm summer nights, it's even better. With a full moon, you don't really need your own light. Tonight, however, there was no moon. But who cares! I have my super duper light mounted to my handlebars! Let the good times roll!
I'm surprised at how many other people there are on the trail after dark. I was continually covering up my light with my hand so as not to blind them. It's a pretty bright light; it'll knock out your night vision in a hurry. So as soon as I spot someone way up ahead, I try to squelch the light because I know how annoying it is to be caught in the beam of an aircraft landing light.
I made it to Lake Orion. Hung out. Watched some horseshoe pitching. And then decided it was time to ride home.
When I get 1k down the trail, the light dies. Instantly. Black. Because it's a digital light, it doesn't fade slowly like an incandescent light would. No, it just goes off without warning.
Remember a few paragraphs ago when I said "with a full moon, you don't really need your own light." Well, with no moon at all...
Now, I could have turned around and gone back to the horseshoe pits and asked for a ride. I could have called my friend to come and get me. I could have called a cab (I jest. Lake Orion has no cab service. I only wrote that for my New York friends who probably would have said, "Yo, why didn't you just call a cab?") But I didn't. I got myself into this mess...
The only source of light was the faint yellow glow in the distant sky from the lights of Rochester at the other end of the trail. But with no clouds to bounce off of, they were of no use to me. It was pitch black. I had 9.5 miles of wilderness to navigate in total darkness.
OK, let me explain that wilderness, in this case, means nothing more than deer, skunks, field mice, and an occasional muskrat. Still, I wouldn't want to hit any of them except for maybe the mice.
I waited for several minutes to let my eyes adjust to the darkness, but they never reached an acceptable level.
You know where this is going, don't you?
Yep, I did what any modern day survivalist would do; I pulled out my iPhone and opened the flashlight app. That little glow that was designed to help you find your glasses in the kitchen at night guided me all the way down the trail. It worked pretty well, actually. It pointed out the two deer. It illuminated the posts that prevent cars from driving the trail. It also marked my position for the oncoming riders without lights.
That's right: oncoming riders without lights. As much as I was cursing my own forgetfulness/stupidity all the way down the trail, there were people out there at 11:30pm who were intentionally riding the trail without lights on a moonless night. Who knew that such a recreational option existed?
And they might be onto something. I can see it now (sure, now that it's daylight): a new form of bike racing: a nighttime time trial down the trail. Two categories: lights and no lights.
It'll be epic.
Riders ready?
Go.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Disaffected lout.
You know how you sometimes come up with all the funny things you SHOULD HAVE said in response to something? OK, then follow along...
I received the following email from a name that I kinda recognize as someone who I know, but I NEVER receive email from him. It's obviously a virus sending out emails to his mailing list. But I thought I'd treat it as a real email as a writing exercise.
Here's the email:
Hello,
I'm writing this with tears in my eyes,my family and I came down here to London,England for a short vacation unfortunately we were mugged at the park of the hotel where we stayed,all cash,credit card and cell were all stolen from us but luckily for us we still have our passports with us.
We've been to the embassy and the Police here but they're not helping issues at all and our flight leaves in few hrs from now but we're having problems settling the hotel bills and the hotel manager won't let us leave until we settle the bills..I am so confused right now and thank God i wasn't injured because I complied immediately.
I await your response
Thanks
Dj
Now here are my responses:
#1 - focusing on the hotel rather than the predicament, and demonstrating that I didn't read the entire email:
Dj,
Glad you had fun! Which hotel did you stay in? I prefer the Royal Norfolk near Hyde Park.
Best,
Jamie
#2 - deflecting attention away from his plea for money and on to his annoying grammar:
Dude,
What is with your grammar? Did you forget how to use a comma and a coordinating conjunction? Don't rely on Microsoft to catch those mistakes!
Always looking out for ya,
Jamie
#3 - Playing along. Sort of.:
Dj,
OK, I've withdrawn every cent from my account and am ready to send it to you. Please give me a PO Box to send it to. But first, let me tell you about Amway.
Jamie
#4 - highlighting the cruelty of bad timing:
Dj,
That's crazy! I was just in London walking around Trafalgar with a satchel full of cash and several airline vouchers. Geez, your luck is in the toilet this week. Call me when you get home. Or, the way YOUR luck is running, maybe I should say "IF you get home".
Home,
James
#5 - Not wanting to be taken advantage of:
Hey, let's not forget that you still owe me $20. Don't try to weasel out of that just because of this little setback.
#6 - A shared London moment:
Hey Dj!
Mind the gap!
Best,
Jamie
#7 - Empathy and nothing more:
Dj,
That happened to a friend of mine in Monte Carlo. True story. National Cycling League President Peter O'Neill had sneaked out of town without paying the $22,000 tab. Jeff "the Rocket" Rutter and his wife got stuck in the lobby of Loews Hotel surrounded by unsympathetic gendarmes and an angry hotel manager who was insisting that Rocket pay the tab since he was the last one from the NCL party to check out.
OK, so he didn't get robbed in a nearby park; he got screwed by the NCL. And I never heard how that resolved itself, but I can certainly appreciate your predicament.
My advice. Steal something. Like a lamp or an ashtray. Come home with some memento from this ordeal.
#8 - More bad timing:
AUTO-RESPONSE
I will be out of the office until Tuesday, August 17. Contact the Mayor's staff at Mayor'sOffice@rochesterhills.org or at 248.656.4600.
I won't send any response, but it's always fun to think of all the funny ways you COULD respond should you ever wish to.
If you have a good response, leave a message...... BEEP!
I received the following email from a name that I kinda recognize as someone who I know, but I NEVER receive email from him. It's obviously a virus sending out emails to his mailing list. But I thought I'd treat it as a real email as a writing exercise.
Here's the email:
Hello,
I'm writing this with tears in my eyes,my family and I came down here to London,England for a short vacation unfortunately we were mugged at the park of the hotel where we stayed,all cash,credit card and cell were all stolen from us but luckily for us we still have our passports with us.
We've been to the embassy and the Police here but they're not helping issues at all and our flight leaves in few hrs from now but we're having problems settling the hotel bills and the hotel manager won't let us leave until we settle the bills..I am so confused right now and thank God i wasn't injured because I complied immediately.
I await your response
Thanks
Dj
Now here are my responses:
#1 - focusing on the hotel rather than the predicament, and demonstrating that I didn't read the entire email:
Dj,
Glad you had fun! Which hotel did you stay in? I prefer the Royal Norfolk near Hyde Park.
Best,
Jamie
#2 - deflecting attention away from his plea for money and on to his annoying grammar:
Dude,
What is with your grammar? Did you forget how to use a comma and a coordinating conjunction? Don't rely on Microsoft to catch those mistakes!
Always looking out for ya,
Jamie
#3 - Playing along. Sort of.:
Dj,
OK, I've withdrawn every cent from my account and am ready to send it to you. Please give me a PO Box to send it to. But first, let me tell you about Amway.
Jamie
#4 - highlighting the cruelty of bad timing:
Dj,
That's crazy! I was just in London walking around Trafalgar with a satchel full of cash and several airline vouchers. Geez, your luck is in the toilet this week. Call me when you get home. Or, the way YOUR luck is running, maybe I should say "IF you get home".
Home,
James
#5 - Not wanting to be taken advantage of:
Hey, let's not forget that you still owe me $20. Don't try to weasel out of that just because of this little setback.
#6 - A shared London moment:
Hey Dj!
Mind the gap!
Best,
Jamie
#7 - Empathy and nothing more:
Dj,
That happened to a friend of mine in Monte Carlo. True story. National Cycling League President Peter O'Neill had sneaked out of town without paying the $22,000 tab. Jeff "the Rocket" Rutter and his wife got stuck in the lobby of Loews Hotel surrounded by unsympathetic gendarmes and an angry hotel manager who was insisting that Rocket pay the tab since he was the last one from the NCL party to check out.
OK, so he didn't get robbed in a nearby park; he got screwed by the NCL. And I never heard how that resolved itself, but I can certainly appreciate your predicament.
My advice. Steal something. Like a lamp or an ashtray. Come home with some memento from this ordeal.
#8 - More bad timing:
AUTO-RESPONSE
I will be out of the office until Tuesday, August 17. Contact the Mayor's staff at Mayor'sOffice@rochesterhills.org or at 248.656.4600.
I won't send any response, but it's always fun to think of all the funny ways you COULD respond should you ever wish to.
If you have a good response, leave a message...... BEEP!
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Perfect Ride on International Surfing Day.
What’s the perfect ride?
A lot of possible answers to that question.
Here’s my list of the elements it should contain:
- Point to point. Go somewhere. Don’t just ride back to the starting point. End up in a different place.
- Long distance. More than 100 miles. Enough to drain the tanks.
- Scenic. Don’t take me through an industrial park. No subdivisions. No rail trails showing the backs of buildings. I want country roads with an occasional vista and a view of a large body of water.
- Hills. Nothing too big. C’mon, I weigh 200 pounds. (Thanks for being surprised by that fact.)
- Flatlands. Nothing too boring.
- Smooth Pavement. I know I’m dreaming in Michigan, but I would like roads free of potholes and patching and cracks. I would like roads that haven’t beaten to death by un-enforced weight limits. I want smooth roads for the ENTIRE WAY. Not just a few miles of smooth roads. I want the whole route to be perfect. (I’ll accept a few miles of cobbled roads, if I must.)
- An Apron. While I’m in dreamland, may I ask for that little slice of pavement to the right of the white line. You know, 18 inches of extra pavement? Is that too much to ask for my tax dollar?
- Tailwind. OK, this one is do-able. If I’m going point-to-point, this one isn’t out of the realm of possibility. I just have to pick the right route on the right day. But it needs to be strong. We’re chasing after perfect here, and that would be perfect.
- Towns (and convenience stores) placed at proper intervals to allow me to refill the bottles. Not as easy as you think.
- No traffic. OK I’m starting to lose it, aren’t I? I live in Detroit’s north suburbs. It’s motorist hell here. This request has the potential of putting me on the no-fly list for appearing to be unstable. But the perfect ride would have almost no cars.
- No harassment from motorists. If I ask for light traffic, it’s no guarantee that the cars that I DO see won’t be complete idiots. Heck, I’ve been harassed in my own subdivision. What are the odds of going +100 miles without hearing someone yell at me to “get off the road!”? Heck, I want them to give me the whole road. I don’t want anyone to cut it close.
How much can this guy harass me?
- Friendly waves from the locals. No, I haven’t been drinking. I really want to see people wave from the front porch, or from the passing car. I want people to be happy to see a cyclist ride by. I want people at the aforementioned convenience stores to ask about where I’m riding, and I want them to be startled at the start and end points. “You’re riding from WHERE to WHERE??”
- No mechanicals. No flats. No broken chains. No broken spokes. No snapped cables (shifting or brake). And, for the love of a pre-supposed god, no squeaky chain. (Oh wait, that’s up to me, isn’t it?)
- And waiting for me at the end of my ride, I want the following: Warm sunshine. Beautiful sandy beaches. Refreshing water temps – not too cold and not too warm. Playful waves. And friends to greet me with food and drink. And a surfboard waiting on the sand.
And some Coppertone. And a comfy ride home.
- No entry fee. I’m not describing a charity ride. I’m not asking for a SAG wagon. (Why the Screen Actor’s Guild shows up at charity rides is beyond me, but there always seems to be a truck with SAG printed on the door.) This is a solo training ride from my front door. I don’t want to have to pay money for the privilege of all the above.
Add it all up. Imagine a ride like that. Go ahead and just TRY to imagine a ride on smooth pavement with no cars. Try to imagine the tailwind that makes you feel like a million bucks.
That was my ride on Saturday, June 19th. From Rochester to Port Austin.
The clouds parted and the perfect ride came my way. I wish you would have a ride like this one for yourself soon. If you ask nicely, I’ll tell you what route to take.
Seriously, no cars. On a Saturday. Twilight Zone-esque.
And yes, that's me falling off the surfboard. I never said I was GOOD at it. I just said I like to do it.
A lot of possible answers to that question.
Here’s my list of the elements it should contain:
- Point to point. Go somewhere. Don’t just ride back to the starting point. End up in a different place.
- Long distance. More than 100 miles. Enough to drain the tanks.
- Scenic. Don’t take me through an industrial park. No subdivisions. No rail trails showing the backs of buildings. I want country roads with an occasional vista and a view of a large body of water.
- Hills. Nothing too big. C’mon, I weigh 200 pounds. (Thanks for being surprised by that fact.)
- Flatlands. Nothing too boring.
- Smooth Pavement. I know I’m dreaming in Michigan, but I would like roads free of potholes and patching and cracks. I would like roads that haven’t beaten to death by un-enforced weight limits. I want smooth roads for the ENTIRE WAY. Not just a few miles of smooth roads. I want the whole route to be perfect. (I’ll accept a few miles of cobbled roads, if I must.)
- An Apron. While I’m in dreamland, may I ask for that little slice of pavement to the right of the white line. You know, 18 inches of extra pavement? Is that too much to ask for my tax dollar?
- Tailwind. OK, this one is do-able. If I’m going point-to-point, this one isn’t out of the realm of possibility. I just have to pick the right route on the right day. But it needs to be strong. We’re chasing after perfect here, and that would be perfect.
- Towns (and convenience stores) placed at proper intervals to allow me to refill the bottles. Not as easy as you think.
- No traffic. OK I’m starting to lose it, aren’t I? I live in Detroit’s north suburbs. It’s motorist hell here. This request has the potential of putting me on the no-fly list for appearing to be unstable. But the perfect ride would have almost no cars.
- No harassment from motorists. If I ask for light traffic, it’s no guarantee that the cars that I DO see won’t be complete idiots. Heck, I’ve been harassed in my own subdivision. What are the odds of going +100 miles without hearing someone yell at me to “get off the road!”? Heck, I want them to give me the whole road. I don’t want anyone to cut it close.
How much can this guy harass me?
- Friendly waves from the locals. No, I haven’t been drinking. I really want to see people wave from the front porch, or from the passing car. I want people to be happy to see a cyclist ride by. I want people at the aforementioned convenience stores to ask about where I’m riding, and I want them to be startled at the start and end points. “You’re riding from WHERE to WHERE??”
- No mechanicals. No flats. No broken chains. No broken spokes. No snapped cables (shifting or brake). And, for the love of a pre-supposed god, no squeaky chain. (Oh wait, that’s up to me, isn’t it?)
- And waiting for me at the end of my ride, I want the following: Warm sunshine. Beautiful sandy beaches. Refreshing water temps – not too cold and not too warm. Playful waves. And friends to greet me with food and drink. And a surfboard waiting on the sand.
And some Coppertone. And a comfy ride home.- No entry fee. I’m not describing a charity ride. I’m not asking for a SAG wagon. (Why the Screen Actor’s Guild shows up at charity rides is beyond me, but there always seems to be a truck with SAG printed on the door.) This is a solo training ride from my front door. I don’t want to have to pay money for the privilege of all the above.
Add it all up. Imagine a ride like that. Go ahead and just TRY to imagine a ride on smooth pavement with no cars. Try to imagine the tailwind that makes you feel like a million bucks.
That was my ride on Saturday, June 19th. From Rochester to Port Austin.
The clouds parted and the perfect ride came my way. I wish you would have a ride like this one for yourself soon. If you ask nicely, I’ll tell you what route to take.
Seriously, no cars. On a Saturday. Twilight Zone-esque.
And yes, that's me falling off the surfboard. I never said I was GOOD at it. I just said I like to do it.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Living, Actually
I'll try to make this about cycling, but it's mostly about golf.
I played golf at Pebble Beach today. I didn't have my A-game with me (which I blame indirectly on Michigan weather which prevented me from preparing fully), but I did OK.
Playing Pebble is the golfer's equivalent to taking your bike to France to ride up l'Alpe d'Huez. You don't go there trying to match Marco Pantani's time; you go there to just do it. Believe me, the course record is safe in both instances.
It's one of those things in life that you see on TV enough times to think you have a good sense of what it would be like to actually be there, and then you go there and find that it's much grander than you ever imagined, and you instantly feel a little stupid for actually believing what you saw on TV.
Maybe the true theme of this post is this: TV is fake.
The real way to live life is to get in a plane/train/automobile and go do the things that you've only watched on TV. Surfing is a good example that pops into mind. You can watch it on TV and think you understand it, but you have to actually paddle out into a wave of saltwater that's looming 10' over your head and feel the immense power as it hurdles you toward the shore in what you hope is a controlled flowing trip.
If you watch the TV coverage of this year's U.S.Open at Pebble Beach, they'll show you snippets of what's happening, tidbits of the history, and glimpses of the course, but what you'll miss is all the nuance and color that is found around every corner. From the pressure of the first tee to the abrupt weather changes on #7 to the long march up the 18th fairway, that course was a feast.
As I said earlier, my game wasn't on fire. I made it back to the Clubhouse. (That's the phrase that my father said every time he'd come home from his Thursday night golf league and we'd ask him, "How'd you do?". Bike racers can relate to this sentiment, right? Sometimes getting back to the car in one piece is all you can ask for. But we always knew that he had done better than that. Or maybe we just hoped he had.)
The coolest thing about the experience was being there and doing it. Not watching someone else do it. Not watching it on TV. Not listening to someone else tell the story about how they walked up the 17th fairway looking at a birdy putt on a green that the commentators say is difficult to hit.
But actually living it and doing it.
And missing the putt and settling for par.
I played golf at Pebble Beach today. I didn't have my A-game with me (which I blame indirectly on Michigan weather which prevented me from preparing fully), but I did OK.
Playing Pebble is the golfer's equivalent to taking your bike to France to ride up l'Alpe d'Huez. You don't go there trying to match Marco Pantani's time; you go there to just do it. Believe me, the course record is safe in both instances.
It's one of those things in life that you see on TV enough times to think you have a good sense of what it would be like to actually be there, and then you go there and find that it's much grander than you ever imagined, and you instantly feel a little stupid for actually believing what you saw on TV.
Maybe the true theme of this post is this: TV is fake.
The real way to live life is to get in a plane/train/automobile and go do the things that you've only watched on TV. Surfing is a good example that pops into mind. You can watch it on TV and think you understand it, but you have to actually paddle out into a wave of saltwater that's looming 10' over your head and feel the immense power as it hurdles you toward the shore in what you hope is a controlled flowing trip.
If you watch the TV coverage of this year's U.S.Open at Pebble Beach, they'll show you snippets of what's happening, tidbits of the history, and glimpses of the course, but what you'll miss is all the nuance and color that is found around every corner. From the pressure of the first tee to the abrupt weather changes on #7 to the long march up the 18th fairway, that course was a feast.
As I said earlier, my game wasn't on fire. I made it back to the Clubhouse. (That's the phrase that my father said every time he'd come home from his Thursday night golf league and we'd ask him, "How'd you do?". Bike racers can relate to this sentiment, right? Sometimes getting back to the car in one piece is all you can ask for. But we always knew that he had done better than that. Or maybe we just hoped he had.)
The coolest thing about the experience was being there and doing it. Not watching someone else do it. Not watching it on TV. Not listening to someone else tell the story about how they walked up the 17th fairway looking at a birdy putt on a green that the commentators say is difficult to hit.
But actually living it and doing it.
And missing the putt and settling for par.
Friday, April 9, 2010
How far are you willing to go to watch a bike race?
If there's an award for being the most dedicated cycling fans, it has to go to Oran and Jo Kelly.
Originally from Ireland, now living in Vancouver, BC, they spend their vacation time chasing (literally) the bike race. We met them along the road of California last February. Through the rain and cold, and over mountain and valley, they played leap-frog with the peloton for the entire 700 mile route. So while we're plodding along at 24mph, they're on a high speed Road Rally through the countryside trying to get ahead of us to catch another glimpse.
Now that's dedication.
They're living the cycling fan dream that I so often espouse. Were I not involved in the Tour as an announcer, I would definitely be doing what they're doing. So I live vicariously through them... while I clutch my race credentials and free food and thank my lucky stars to have the job I have.
Thought I'd ask a few questions of the guy on the side of the road:
Question: How did you become a race fan?
Oran : As a kid watching the Tour on a black & white TV at me Gran's, I stayed with her over the summer, so it was always the Tour on TV at teatime... Ireland only had 5 TV channels at that stage, it was on the new "I'll not be watching that Channel" according to my Dad...My Gran always spoilt me....
Question: Who were your first favorites? (Since you're from Ireland, you had BETTER say Sean and Stephen.)
Oran (Kelly): With my name it could only ever be Sean, though I'm not quite as grumpy as him (yet!), Jo may give ye a less biased view on this sometime though.
Question: What do your friends/coworkers say about your vacation choices (Tours of California and Missouri)?
Oran : The California trip didn't cause too much of a reaction, as a lot of them head down there on a regular basis.
The trip to MO in September was met with the slowly stuttered response Mih-ZUR-ee ??? And an almost pained quizzical look on our co worker's faces... Followed with the standard, "No, we aren't racing... No, we are not good enough no matter how hard we try" to their questions about the racing...
Question: Describe your typical day at the Tour.
Oran : Typical day usually starts the day before... How's that for a typical Irish answer?!
After the race/team buses we head back to the rental car and the ubiquitous Garmin GPS, (Great team, but an even better race fan accessory), to look for the nearest laundromat, (Gotta get the 7-Eleven jersey cleaned for the next day). Laundromats vary amazingly across a State, some are in less desirable areas, but give tourists an insight into areas that you never get from a Rough Guide tourist book... As the jerseys go through a less arduous spin cycle than the riders did for hours before, we get the road atlas out, ( A good 50+ page State Road Map with all back roads/dirt tracks marked is usually the first purchase we make & vital for any dedicated race fan)...
Then its like a military operation, using the stage map/log to work out where the race intersects with non race route roads, what time the race will get there, is there likely to be a break away, what time we will have to be there before the critical road closed sign goes up, is there a back up plan, what is the last possible spot we can see the riders on the road, where exactly is the finish in town, how can we get onto a road that brings us into the finish from the opposite side of the race route? (Always keep a few quarters in your pocket for a parking meter)... I'll use a highlighter to mark the maps & then Jo writes down a list & times of all the road numbers/turn offs/directions/nice to be there/must be there time cut offs, (The people who produce the race route should really chat to us about making this easier), as I wander about chatting to the other folk in the Laundromat, (Team Type One's staff were usually in the same place as us and were great to chat too!)
God Bless America for building most of it`s town in a grid fashion, makes it so much easier than the haphazard random street distribution in European towns... Then it`s time to find sommat to eat.... The trusty Garmin then gets us back to the Hotel to watch whatever race footage is available on the net... Our GPS must have some sort of Irish virus, the road back is always via a liquor store, for a few stout to sup on while watchin' the race highlights... Missouri had some superb microbreweries...
Next morning it's up and away from the hotel after making the most of the breakfast, we always leave with a few muffins in the pocket for out on the road... Never stay in a place for more than one night, the owners tend not to appreciate the extra ration's we 'liberate"...Then it's off to the start area, parking in the strategic spot picked out during the recon the evening before... The smaller teams usually arrive first, so it's a good opportunity for a quick hello with some of the riders & mechanics... The smaller teams are always open for a quick chat.
Question: How did you get to SIX stops on the route in one day?
Oran : The stars aligned in a way a drunken Belgian with a fistful of frites on the hallowed Pavé can only dream of...
Question: What was the highlight of your Tour?
Being on the road to experice as much as we could.... MO & CA offer so much... Thank you to them both..
Question: What's the best schwag (souvenirs) you got?
Hard to narrow that down... Weird as it may seem, the Cervelo mechanic, Alejandro, gave me the cables off the bike Thor Husvod won on the sprint into Modesto in California... Inego Cuesta always spoke to us wether on the race route or at the team bus... The QuickStep D/S/Mechanic took a pic of us from the race car on the way past on the race route... Tom Boonen stopped on his warm down to chat & sign a bidon
I should mention CSC/Saxo have always been wonderful in how they treated Jo, podium flowers, team signed musettes & podium caps a reflection of how great they are as a team away from the cameras as well as on the road... Is it wrong that a pro-peleton team has given her more bunches of flowers than I have?... I'll move swiftly on me thinks...
I'll be seeing Oran and Jo in just a few days when the Amgen Tour of California gets rolling. It's a week that goes by REAL fast. Expect a ton of reports from the road. And maybe a shot or two of these two cycling fans!
Saturday, April 3, 2010
The Pin Protocol. (Newbies, listen up!)
I touch on this topic in "Roadie - The Misunderstood World of a Bike Racer" (Available at velopress.com), but what you don't know is that I had to cut a lot of text out of that original draft in order to make a book that one person could carry. (Believe it or not, the original draft was almost 500 pages long! Needless to say (but not preventing me from saying it anyway), it lost weight in the editing process.)
One of the things that I cut out is an explanation of HOW to correctly pin a race number to a jersey. Pay attention,friends, spouses, Romans, countrymen, etc. You may be called upon to perform this task.
The correct procedure:
1. Grab SIX pins from the box of pins at the registration table. That's right. Six.
2. Lay the number flat on the back in a position that will be seen by the officials/camera.
3. Ensure that the number is oriented correctly. NOT upside down.
Tips #2 and 3 seem obvious, don't they? Yes, well, that's because you are a dreamer.
4. Near the corner of the number, you will poke the pin through the number. DO NOT use the hole that is provided in the number. That is designed for runners, walkers, and other charity event participants. (see photo)
5. The pin should go DOWN through the number.... DOWN through the jersey... UP through the jersey.... and UP through the number again..
The number should now lie flat.
6. Repeat this step at each corner. You should have two extra pins because you followed my direction and took six from the box at registration.
7. Use the last two pins to affix the leading edges of the number. If you want to go crazy, you can use EIGHT pins. Get an early start.
Last week, in a horrible rush, I allowed a newbie teammate to pin me. Big mistake. Not only did I have a parachute on my back throughout the entire hammerfest. I also had a straitjacket that could embarrass Houdini.
I got back to my car lacking the manual dexterity that comes from said hammerfest. I tried to remove my jersey (a pullover). It won't move. The worst scenario has happened: My teammate has pinned through through my bib shorts and to my baselayer. TWICE! Now, picture this for a moment: I can't just pull everything off in one piece like you would a pullover because it's all pinned together. You know how a woman can remove her bra without removing anything else? Very hot. I also can't do that because I'm pinned to my shorts AND baselayer.
I am now alone in the parking lot trying to reach behind my shoulder blade to remove not one but TWO safety pins. If I pull up too hard, I give myself a wedgy. If I try to go low, I almost break my arm. My fingers aren't working well because my hands are still shaped like the handlebar. It took me several minutes to get the first pit undone, many of which were spent just resting from the effort.
I fight the temptation to get a pair of scissors and cut myself out of this mess.
The lesson is obvious: when called upon to pin a friend's number on, PLEASE follow the procedure above.
If it's a rider from another team, ignore everything that I've just said.
Now, you're probably wondering how this story ends. It doesn't. I had to wear those clothes to work on Monday morning. I was finally able to find a coworker able to undo a safety pin just after lunch.
One of the things that I cut out is an explanation of HOW to correctly pin a race number to a jersey. Pay attention,friends, spouses, Romans, countrymen, etc. You may be called upon to perform this task.
The correct procedure:
1. Grab SIX pins from the box of pins at the registration table. That's right. Six.
2. Lay the number flat on the back in a position that will be seen by the officials/camera.
3. Ensure that the number is oriented correctly. NOT upside down.
Tips #2 and 3 seem obvious, don't they? Yes, well, that's because you are a dreamer.
4. Near the corner of the number, you will poke the pin through the number. DO NOT use the hole that is provided in the number. That is designed for runners, walkers, and other charity event participants. (see photo)
5. The pin should go DOWN through the number.... DOWN through the jersey... UP through the jersey.... and UP through the number again..
The number should now lie flat.
6. Repeat this step at each corner. You should have two extra pins because you followed my direction and took six from the box at registration.7. Use the last two pins to affix the leading edges of the number. If you want to go crazy, you can use EIGHT pins. Get an early start.
Last week, in a horrible rush, I allowed a newbie teammate to pin me. Big mistake. Not only did I have a parachute on my back throughout the entire hammerfest. I also had a straitjacket that could embarrass Houdini.
I got back to my car lacking the manual dexterity that comes from said hammerfest. I tried to remove my jersey (a pullover). It won't move. The worst scenario has happened: My teammate has pinned through through my bib shorts and to my baselayer. TWICE! Now, picture this for a moment: I can't just pull everything off in one piece like you would a pullover because it's all pinned together. You know how a woman can remove her bra without removing anything else? Very hot. I also can't do that because I'm pinned to my shorts AND baselayer.
I am now alone in the parking lot trying to reach behind my shoulder blade to remove not one but TWO safety pins. If I pull up too hard, I give myself a wedgy. If I try to go low, I almost break my arm. My fingers aren't working well because my hands are still shaped like the handlebar. It took me several minutes to get the first pit undone, many of which were spent just resting from the effort.
I fight the temptation to get a pair of scissors and cut myself out of this mess.
The lesson is obvious: when called upon to pin a friend's number on, PLEASE follow the procedure above.
If it's a rider from another team, ignore everything that I've just said.
Now, you're probably wondering how this story ends. It doesn't. I had to wear those clothes to work on Monday morning. I was finally able to find a coworker able to undo a safety pin just after lunch.
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