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!

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.

A Two-Part Post

PART II
Friday, March 26th
First race of the season is tomorrow. Weather forecast calls for 49 and sunny. A day of cold hands and burning legs, I reckon.
I won't even notice the weather, though. I'll be glued to the wheel in front of me hanging on for dear life.
Or who knows? Maybe I'll be off the front in every breakaway (except the winner).
I have no idea how I'll feel.
It's hard to gauge my fitness at this time of year because A. I train alone throughout the winter mixing XC skiing with the gym workouts, and B. I have never used a Power Meter.
I have always eschewed numbers. Heart rate, cadence, distance, speed, kilojoules, watts, roentgens, adiabatic lapse rate, whatever. I have always trained by feel. No diaries. No notes. I don't even wear a watch to know how long I've been on the bike. I just try to get home before it gets too dark.
That all may change here soon. VeloPress is planning to release a new book soon on the topic of Power Meters, and in a moment of foggy thought during a conversation with my publisher, Rene, I made a statement to the effect that "I think I might take the plunge and see what results I can muster by using a power meter.'
Hmm. Interesting . . . in a Morgan Spurlock kind of way.
I could start from scratch and document my findings over the course of a 90-day period. With the help of a few friends who are well-versed in the numbers game, it would be interesting to see how far it takes me, and how difficult/easy it is.
First things first, I need to get through tomorrow. Let me tell you, the nerves have started to warble in anticipation of the first few laps of the season.
Should be fun.
And then I wrote....
Part II
Saturday, March 27th
As it turns out, I certainly did notice the weather: Saturday was sunny and WINDY.
Wind has a way of ripping the race apart. Once a gap forms in front of you, the alarm bells should ring loudly. You have to close the gap, or watch the race ride away from you. Hesitate, and it's over.
At one point early in the race, a huge gap formed splitting the field in half. It grew quickly. (Guess which side of the gap I was on. Yes, the bad side. Of course. Why would you think otherwise?) The race was riding away from us. We were going fast, but the other group was going faster. And a general, momentary apathy came over us, as if we all had quickly resigned ourselves to the idea of being in "the laughing group" today. It happens. Go with it.
The split grew to almost 30 seconds in just a few laps. We were definitely the laughing group, although no one was laughing. And then we got our act together and started working together to try to bring it back. I mean, working HARD.
You can probably tell (by the fact that I'm even telling this story) that we eventually got ourselves back into contention by catching the leaders. All I want to say is that this was one of the hardest days of racing I've ever had. The wind combined with a bunch of younger fast dudes on bikes made it a hell on wheels.
Let me tell you what it's like:
The speed picks up, and you fight desperately to hide from the wind. Find someone bigger than you, and ride as close behind them as you can. But the wind always finds you and makes you work harder. And then the pace picks up again, and you don't look at the person in front of you because that would require you to raise your head up. No, you look at his rear wheel while your nose taps your handlebars. And your legs grind the gears until you feel fire in your quads.
Then you come to the little hill. Before the race, it was a pretty tame little hill. That's because you were going 8 mph. Now you're going 26 mph. This is where your legs complain the most. And in your head, you calculate how many more freakin' times you'll have to climb up this Mt. Shasta. If a gap opens up here, you should start to worry because when we go down the hill, we'll face the wind full-on. If that gap opens at the top, it'll be bigger at the bottom. Oh, the injustice of working up AND down the hill. That's just wrong.
If you survive it (and a lot of riders didn't. We started with about 60 riders, but only 25 riders finished in the lead group.), you will try to find any place on the course to rest. Find any moment that allows you to take a drink of water, sit up, stretch the back, and rest the legs. It's amazing that you can do all that in a 50 meter stretch of road. Unfortunately, you're only given 40 meters. The pace was unrelenting.
WHO is driving this train? What horse is on the front of this line making it go so fast? I want his name and address. I'm going to forward it to the Mob.
The next trip through the Start/Finish area, you hope to see low numbers on the placard indicating that the torture is almost over. Argh! 20 minutes remaining??? Are you kidding me? Seriously, is that a lame joke?
You recalculate the hill. Decide that you have 6 more trips up it. You continue to look for that magic 50-meter stretch of road that doesn't exist today.
By this time in the race, you should know who NOT to ride behind. Here's a hint: if they're smaller than you, or if they're able to tightrope the edge of the pavement, avoid them. (Tim Saari, I'm talking about YOU!)
When the wind is coming from the left side, you want to be to the right of the guy in front of you. That's where the draft is. Unfortunately, it's where the edge of the road is, too. Tim Saari is one of those guys who can take up the last inch of pavement leaving you NO draft at all. Never ride behind him in a crosswind.
I won't mention the names of the guys I hid behind because I don't want them to know that they should learn to stick their nose in the gutter. I'll need them next week.
Somewhere in this melee, your mind starts to look for way to coax the legs into giving more (or NOT giving up). You try to remember all the things you did over the winter to prepare for this day. All that skiing? All those trips to the gym? All those "no thank yous" when offered a sickeningly awesome dessert? All those hours on the rollers? (OK, you know that's a lie. I didn't touch mine all winter.) You try to convince yourself that you're not a year older than last year when you ALSO got your butt kicked - why should this year be any better? You might also plan to bury your face in a sickeningly awesome dessert when this is over. That actually helps.
Finally, the officials indicate that it's dinner time. They ring the bell indicating One Lap To Go.
Good god, what took them so long? There is no sweeter music in the world. Beethoven is jealous of this bell. Angels listen to it to get new ideas.
Hold on tight. If you thought it was fast before, it's going to be even faster. The race to the line is a frantic mess as riders scramble to get in a good position for the sprint. What remains of the field is all those strong guys who were making the race so hard.... and me.
And then it's over, and you find yourself back at the car unable to stand straight up because your body has assumed the 'hide me from the horrible wind' position. You drive home celebrating the fact that you made it to the end of the race, and you start worrying about next week when you get to do it all over again.
Man, this is a great sport.

Cheaters

As an announcer, my primary thing is bike races, but there have been times when I've found myself holding the mic at non-cycling events. For example, I worked the Michigan Lifeguard Competition once. I announced a Bed Race in Greenville SC in '92. I hosted a fundraiser auction in '95. Never did a tractor pull competition. (Yeah, that's a swing at Brian Dreber!)
Last week, I was announcing at the American Water Workers Assoc. (AWWA) Michigan Tapping Competition. Take an 8" water main, four guys, a set of tools, some copper pipe, and a faucet. Their task: tap the pipe, connect it to the "curb stop" and then to the faucet in the fastest time.
The rules are pretty simple: you must use the same tools and supplies as everyone else. You get two tries. There are penalties for leaks and other mistakes. Even the rags are supplied by the AWWA, as are the three attentive judges/timers.
Basically, it's a time trial with tools. Pretty fun to watch ... if you're into watching people hook up a spigot to a water main. Surprisingly, it had as many spectators as my last industrial park criterium. OK, maybe not so surprisingly.
The winning time was 1:40, which is 27 seconds off the state record. The winning team gets a trip to the national competition in Chicago.

The competitors were intense as they milled about prior to their event. Picture the start of the Olympic 4-man bobsleigh. Same faces. Same pre-game psych ups. Same posturing. Same physiques. Each team would spend several minutes placing their tools in the exact location, measuring and calculating tube length, and counting the threads on the tapping apparatus.
There was a lot of talk about improved work skills, team pride, the brotherhood of DPS workers, and the hard working blah blah blah.
And then they'd cheat.
Oh yeah. Even in something like this, there was cheating. I won't say which team because it's still under investigation, but the judges discovered "foreign nuts" in the scrap pile at the end of the competition. (They're required to use nuts supplied by the AWWA.) They also discovered oily rags which are forbidden. As I mentioned above, the AWWA supplies the rags. If there's oil present, then someone must have brought it in with them obviously to oil the threads.
I'm flummoxed by the idea that people are so desperate to win something that they'll break the rules to do it. Lehman Brothers, Toyota, Riccardo Ricco, and now water tapping crews from small towns in Michigan.
Who next?

An Olympic Post

- Canadians have changed. I like the old way better.
- The movement to put Cyclocross in the Olympics needs to get serious quick. Even if it means giving up another cycling discipline in the Summer Games, it's time for 'cross to put cycling in the Winter Olympics.
- The IOC has to know that there are some sports that aren't ready for prime time. Women's Hockey is a good example. It's not a world sport. It's a two-country sport. Look at the scores. Shelf it. Revisit it later.
- I was disappointed to see the NBA-ification of the events in Vancouver. For instance, the JumboTron at the Women's Classic XC venue flashed "MAKE SOME NOISE!!" as the leaders came into the stadium on the final lap. C'mon, do we really really really need to tell the crowd when to get excited? Are they so stupid as to buy tickets, drive all the way to Whistler wearing face paint in the color of their country's flag, sit in the cold rain watching the race for two hours, and then NOT know when to get excited? Doesn't it mean more when it's a more organic and spontaneous swell of crowd emotion rather than a computer generated outpouring of carefully planned applause?
- The Human Interest Factory has been working overtime this year producing heart rending stories on every athlete on the field of play. They're all fascinating, but honestly, don't we all have a story that, if told in soft focus with the right background music, would be just as interesting? Most would be just as compelling without the soft focus and music having to do with defying the odds, overcoming obstacles, and persevering through hardship. Isn't life, itself, against all odds? Aren't any of us just fortunate to have made it this far? Don't get me wrong, I'm not asking that we mint 2 billion gold medals for everyone. I'm just saying that, for me, the Olympics are fine without all the extra stories. I appreciate the athlete endeavors and the achievements of everyone who marched into the stadium. I wish they wouldn't distract from it by adding all the schmaltz. (I know I'm in the minority here and that John Q. Iowa needs those stories to keep from changing the channel.)
- I never watch Figure Skating.
- I'm not surprised by the attention that Curling gets every four years. I'm more surprised by how much attention the attention gets. When I see a news story about how much attention Curling is getting, I think: OK, but how many people will seek out a bonspiel next weekend? None. Come Monday, it'll slink back into obscurity seen only on CBC on Sunday afternoons. It looks interesting in the same way that shuffle board looks interesting.
- My knees still hurt just from watching the Moguls competition early last week.
- Short Track speed skating is chaos. And it's refreshing to see athletes acknowledge this fact in the post-race interviews. In cycling, we have the standard line "That's bike racing." to explain away all the things you can't control. I heard Apolo Ohno say almost the same thing after he was edged out.
- Speaking of Ohno, the best post-race interview ever came after his DQ in the 500m final. He alluded to the Canadian judges, but he also wrapped it up by saying, "I just need to go faster." Classy.
- From a spectator's perspective, the Luge, Skeleton, and Bobsleigh cast no magic spell over me. I'm sure they're challenging for the athletes. I don't mean to diminish the accomplishment, but I just can't watch one sled after the next doing the same exact thing as the sled before it. If they want me to relate to it better, they need to make it more like the backyard luge run that Scott Stanley and I built in 1973. It had pine trees on both sides, a bump that would break our spine, a tree stump that was hidden if we had new snow, a barbed wire fence that we had to duck under, and it ended by skittering us across a pond. Good times. (Remember when I said that we're fortunate to have made it this far? Well...)
- Speaking of Bobsleigh, when those guys hop out of the sled at the end of the run, don't you want to ask them for help with a home improvement project? Or ask to borrow their lawnmower? They look like my neighbors.
- I don't think people were excited enough about the American results in the Nordic Combined. That was huge. And I hope people saw the heart-stoppingly close races in the Nordic Ski events. It's an oft-overlooked sport that produced some of the most incredible finishes. Me? Biased? No sir. But if you'll excuse me, I have to switch my wax to something softer due to the warm weather we've been having.
The photo of Bill Demong's Nordic Combined finish was taken and kindly shared by Todd Hagemans. Thanks Todd!
- Favorite moment: The female German skater who, in the Team Pursuit semi-final, slid across the finish line on her belly but had the wherewithal to put her skate forward to get the best time.
- I know there'll be a huge post-event letdown after this is over for spectators as well as athletes and organizers. It's been a high-energy time with lots of drama and excitement. I lived it in 1996. Life was a vacuum for weeks afterward. What do we have to look forward to after it's over? College and NBA basketball? Thanks, but I'll leave my TV off until The Masters in April.
--- Have a favorite moment? Leave a comment.

The Two-Handed Book - a book review

I am quick to say that I have only dabbled in the world of Triathlon. Geez, even THAT's a stretch; I did the cycling leg of a relay once. I didn't get wet, nor did I run two steps. Basically, I rode a time trial with other stuff going on and magic marker on my arm and leg.
Now I have to say that I'm at least considering the idea of doing a full one. (No, not a golf - surf - ride tri - an idea of mine that never caught on. I've done several.) No, a real one.
I don't recall the exact page number, but it was somewhere in the reading of Jef Mallett's "Trizophrenia" (please pronounce it like schizophrenia > Trits-oh-phrenia) that it struck me: this sounds like fun - by it's most odd and twisted definition.
Jef is a brilliant guy who isn't afraid to use the most obscure historical, scientific, or literary fact to make a point in a humorous way. His intelligence is what makes his Frazz comic strip so successful. (For example, he gets fan email from domains such as mit.edu, stanford.edu, and rpi.edu. I get email from gmail and yahoo.)
(I'm totally making some of that up. I don't get fan email.)
The wit keeps you on your toes as you read "Trizo". I marvel at how clever he is. We both name Bill Bryson as our favorite author, and I can totally see the influence. I can also see the uniqueness of Jef's writing. Good stuff.
Also keeping you on your toes - more accurately, your fingers - and the reason I call it a Two-Handed Book is because it takes two hands to read it. One hand holds the book while your other hand holds your place as you jump up and down the page to catch all of the footnotes. There are several. And they're hilarious. Worth the effort, for sure.
In a strange way, the jumping back and forth between footnotes and text is a lot like - I imagine - being a triathlete jumping back and forth between all three disciplines. Lose track of one, and your race will suffer.
There's a lot in this book. Yeah, you'd expect that from a book that covers three sports, but much more than just an explanation of what the sport is. It's a close examination of the three mindsets of an athlete that's not content with just one discipline.

I don't know who did his artwork, but it's a total rip-off of Roadie. That's all I'm going to say about that.

I haven't picked which triathlon I'm going to do this summer. I'll keep you posted.
Read the book. Pick your event. And let me know where it is.
I won't be there to watch it. I just want to know if you're able to rise to the challenge.

Perspective

"Too much bloody perspective." (<<< another line from that classic movie Spinal Tap.)
We go about our lives quite routinely. Everything in its place and time. I wake up at 7:50a. I run through the shower. I sit on the kitchen counter eating Grape Nuts (which are neither grapes or nuts). I arrive to work, usually late but before the boss. I work. I come home from work, I go to the gym, I come home, I write (or I stare at blank pages). I cook some sort of edible substance that passes for food. I look at my bike sitting on the trainer begging to be ridden. I look away. I laugh at how much money I spent on the trainer. If it's Thursday I watch an hour of TV. I go to bed.
We take it all for granted. Groceries. Book stores. Bike shops. Sushi at that place downtown.
This week, I'm forced to take time off for reasons that aren't really important, but it involved anesthesia, an incision, and a gown - not in that order. As a result, I'm sitting on my arse watching Netflix and staring at blank pages. My training regimen derailed, I'm looking at a gaping hole in my training calendar.
This is the time of year when every serious Roadie should be hitting it hard in preparation for the upcoming season. There's an adage that says, "Winter is for fitness; Summer is for fun." Well, it's winter, and I'm having neither fitness nor fun. And like any typical Roadie, I'm imagining/fretting that every other racer is becoming Arnold freakin' Schartzeneger during this 'off season' and will crush me like a worm at the first race of the 'on season' which begins seven weeks from now.
I've had some friends complain about catching a cold that puts them out of action for a few days.
Well, all it takes is one quick look at any news outlet for a dose of perspective: Haiti.

(photos of the people of Haiti taken by my brother, David)
I've never really been in an Earthquake (see story below). I can only imagine what it's like to have your house shaken like a polaroid picture and discarded. In Haiti, routines will take many months to restore... if you live.
Snap back to reality. My four days on the couch are embarrassingly minor when compared to 4 days trapped under the rubble that was once your house.
It shouldn't take a major catastrophe to remind us of these things.

My one and only experience with an earthquake: San Francisco, 1994. I'm in the hotel lobby at 5am to catch a shuttle to the airport. As I'm checking out, the man with a heavy accent behind the counter asks me, "deed you feel air-di-quate?"
I thought he said, 'did I feel adequate?' as in, did I sleep OK? Hmm that's a funny way to ask it, but I got it. I try hard to understand people who speak funny, so I was happy that I figured it out quickly without making him repeat it. I dismissively said, "Yeah, Everything was fine."
No, he asked it again with emphasis on the Air-di-quate?
Long pause.
Ooooh, earthquake! Yeah. No, I didn't feel it.
Apparently, it was the kind of shaker that rousts everyone from their room and into the hallway.
I slept right through it, and now must rely on my imagination to know how horrible it must be to literally have your world come crashing down around you.
A week off the bike is no big deal. Even in February.