are sometimes smooth and silky, and other times tired and tight.

Monday, March 9, 2009


I thought the body was the wierdest reason I'd ever have to take a detour. Maybe, maybe not. Years ago, during the inaugural NYC TA century, I found myself in the front group. While these kinds of rides are rides, and not races, at the time I didn’t know any better. We had been riding at a brisk pace, following the course markings, focused on getting to the finish in Union Square.

As weaved our way through van Cortland Park, in the Bronx, we came to a junction in the road that was blocked by yellow tape, with “police line do not cross” printed on it. Strange. A couple of riders promptly ducked under the tape, and continued riding. The rest of us followed suit, until we spotted a group of cops, about 30 meters ahead.

One of New York’s finest noticed that there was a group of 10-12 men in lycra riding through their crime scene, and told us in very direct language that we should find another way to Union Square. That’s when I noticed that the police were standing by a park bench, with a white sheet covering it. A white sheet, with a large red blotch seeping through it, I should add.

Now, call me unimaginative, but I never imagined I’d experience such a surreal detour again. Maybe, maybe not, which leads me to why I’m reminiscing about my own real life version of Law & Order.

Yesterday, I was out on the road with my old friend, the KM, riding a +/- 70 km loop, known as the Haarlemermeer. It’s nothing special, most of the time you ride along canals, the one thing that makes it slightly unique is that the route brings you past/around Schiphol.

As we rode a steady pace, I spotted a few faces from the race the day before. My legs were sore, but the company was good. It was a nice, albeit unremarkable ride. That was until we aproached two raod barriers, marked “No Pedestrians”, blocking the road ahead. I slowed, unsure of what to do. Meanwhile the KM continued on, riding between the barriers. Just as I was about to follow, I spotted a man jump out of a car. He was wearing a Neon yellow suit, with Verkeersregelaar printed on it. He shouted from the KM to stop, and the KM complied.

I soft pedal over to them, and listen as Neon man tells us that we can’t go down this route, while the KM points out that the sign said no pedestrians, not no bicycles. They banter for a bit. A few motorcycle cops come out of nowhere. The KM continues pointing out that the sign says nothing about bicycles, but there’s no way we’re going to be able to continue. I look up the road, and realize why. I can see, off in the distance, just off of the road, in a field, the ten day old wreckage of a Boeing 737.

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