tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54100470672170487892024-02-20T08:48:39.313-05:00My Shaved Legs...are sometimes smooth and silky, and other times tired and tight.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.comBlogger180125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-48971928498574933482012-12-21T17:33:00.004-05:002012-12-21T17:33:43.977-05:00HiatusIn case you wondering, I've been on a hiatus of sorts.<br />
<br />
Some people also call it fatherhood.<br />
<br />
These days, this is the only thing I'm riding, and that's in congested traffic, or on bikepaths that look a little like <a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/photo1_zps46aad3a1.jpg" target="_blank">this</a>.<br />
<br />
<img alt="Photobucket" border="0" src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/moto_zps977a542b.jpg" />Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-16706127112357382822012-09-28T08:14:00.001-05:002012-09-28T08:14:24.974-05:00Support Paul Kimmage<embed allowscriptaccess="always" height="250" src="http://widget.chipin.com/widget/id/4db2e4ecaa6ad4fd" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="250" wmode="transparent"></embed><br />Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-61378501968207991782012-08-21T14:49:00.001-05:002012-08-21T14:50:20.980-05:00ChangesHey there.<br />
<br />
Been awhile. Lots on my plate, as of late.<br />
<br />
Changes. Plenty of them.<br />
<br />
For starters, a new location.<br />
<br />
Where?<br />
<br />
Hint: it's in the image below. <br />
<br />
<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/f518f221.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<br />Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-75672005551241079262012-02-07T11:22:00.002-05:002012-02-07T11:29:42.162-05:00Icy WheeliesFloyd <a href="http://autobus.cyclingnews.com/photos/2002/jul02/tdf/stage20/AFPfloyd.jpg">did it</a>. <a href="http://subchaos.com/bike/floyd_landis_climbing_in_sf.jpg">A few times</a>.<a href="http://autobus.cyclingnews.com/photos/2002/jul02/tdf/stage20/AFPfloyd.jpg"></a><span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br /><br />Robbie <a href="http://rideyourbike.us/uploaded_images/RobbieMcEwenWheelie-729127.jpg">just as much</a>. <a href="http://erikkullgren.blogg.se/images/2010/robbie_95997118.jpg">Maybe more</a>. <span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span><br /><br />Beppu even <a href="http://www.thirdwave-websites.com/blog/fumy-beppu-tour-de-france-wheelie-skil.jpg">got in one for the cameras</a>.<br /><br />But did they ever do it on ice?<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/bce5b9bc.jpg" />Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-58396653270671879802012-02-06T11:17:00.001-05:002012-02-06T11:18:39.778-05:00Training Days on Ice<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/27e806fd.jpg" /><br /><br />Yes. That is someone riding their bicycle on a frozen canal.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-45273901963411433492011-12-04T12:27:00.002-05:002011-12-04T12:34:44.090-05:008 (+) Reasons Why I Hate Sundays in December1. Waking up late, but earlier than you'd like, so you can attend a group ride.<br /><br />2. Discover that your rear tire is flat just as you're leaving.<br /><br />3. Forced into switching cassettes, since your winter bike is an 8 speed.<br /><br />4. Discovering 50 meters later that your cassette is loose.<br /><br />5. Grabbing your good bike, when you'd rather leave it tucked away for the winter.<br /><br />6. TTing to the meeting point, and arriving 5 minutes late.<br /><br />7. TTing to the next 6km, in vain hope of catching the group, who are prone to slow starts, but never seeing them.<br /><br />8. Turning around, because you can't be bothered.<br /><br />Then the rain starts.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-80233981986217549822011-09-13T09:51:00.005-05:002011-09-13T10:19:16.474-05:00Back<style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} @font-face {font-family:ArialMT; panose-1:0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0; mso-font-alt:Arial; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:swiss; mso-font-format:other; mso-font-pitch:auto; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-parent:""; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --></style><p class="MsoNormal">Hey.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">It’s been awhile.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Still alive. Believe it, or not.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Never finished the follow up the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2011/06/districtskampioenschap-nh-prelude.html">my last entry</a>. Let’s just say that the FD’s teammate is a prophet.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Since that past post I've done a fair share of racing. Nothing worth writing about.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Work took over for a bit.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Then I went back to the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_Y-2vlOegI">Heartland</a>.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">While I was there I -</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Threw it down on many an occasion with the <a href="http://www.cannibal-veloclub.webs.com/">Cannibals</a>. Always a pleasure.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ate plenty of comfort food. Burp.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mixed it up with <a href="http://sleepinggiantride.blogspot.com/">Townies and Gownies</a>. Always fun.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rolled a clincher in a hairpin turn, during a <a href="http://nbxbikes.com/about/2011-summer-training-series-pg146.htm">training race</a>, but somehow managed to keep (the rest of) the rubber on the road (and grass).</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Had an argument with a newly minted <a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/71f7f47c.jpg">Cat 4<span class="st">™</span></a> about how to ride in a paceline. Always entertaining.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Found myself delayed by a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hurricane_Irene_%282011%29">tropical storm</a>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Did some <a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/84565334.jpg">post-storm cleanup</a>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Flew back.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, yeah... here I am.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Back.<br /></p>Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-5188035593196603852011-06-16T09:32:00.004-05:002011-06-16T13:10:38.832-05:00Districtskampioenschap NH (prelude)<style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:"Times New Roman"; panose-1:0 2 2 6 3 5 4 5 2 3; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:50331648 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-parent:""; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <p class="MsoNormal">I lean forward, from the backseat, trying to listen to the conversation in front of me. With the din of the windshield wipers swiping back and forth, coupled with my rudimentary Dutch, I catch half of what’s being said. The <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2011/02/end-of-beginning.html">Flying Doctor</a> is driving, and in the passenger seat is one of his teammates. He's more of a time trial specialist than a road racer, but he's here to qualify for the national championships. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">They’re talking about the course we’re driving to. None of us have ever raced it. I’ve heard that it’s easy. I’ve also heard that it’s technical. Maybe it’s both? I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. </p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">The one thing that is of real concern is the rain. It’s the worst kind for a race: enough to bring up the oil on the roads, but not enough to wash it off. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The subject segues to that of other riders. Who’s going to be there. Who won’t be. Who to watch. Who to watch out for. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This leads us to start talking about various riders. The ones that you want to avoid because if there’s a crash chances they’re in it. FD's teammate tells us about one particular rider., and how if he sees him in a race, he’ll go out of his way to get to the other side of the road. I think I know of the rider. Tall, bald, pale, almost always in a skinsuit, with skinny legs, and a pot belly. He has a brother that looks just like him. One rides a black bike, the other a white one. I'm not sure which one is the one to avoid. I’ve never seen either go down, but considering the way they race I’m not surprised. They (he?) tends to get a little too close and personal for my liking. The fact that both almost a foot taller than me doesn’t help either.<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">We arrive, and after some small talk in the parking lot, we go to pick up our numbers, then head back to the car to change. I use the race flyer as a floor matt, so I can keep my feet dry while I change in the drizzle. While the course may be new to me, the surroundings are not. It’s an industrial park. There’s even a port-o-potty. I almost feel like <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/08/sort-of-homecoming-fall-river.html">I’m home</a>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">to be continued...</span><br /></p>Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-89559214918026159482011-04-30T15:09:00.002-05:002011-04-30T15:12:13.344-05:001,004 words about the Oranjeronde van Amsterdam<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/09050ad5.jpg" /><br /><br />Flowers.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;">Report to follow.</span>Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-34260512922073999442011-04-26T06:41:00.007-05:002011-04-26T10:30:08.346-05:00Rub a dub dub<style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/bfad6553.jpg" /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:78%;">Souvenir from Zaandam.</span><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Easter Monday. A bright and sunny day. Tweede pas. Twee Bruggenronde van Zaandam. My first crit of the year. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Starting on a bridge, with a (thanks to the gates surrounding the course) tight left turn on to a speed bump, followed by a serpentine 200 meter long stretch of bricks leading ‘up’ to the second bridge, into the wind, with a shallow descent, banking left, on to another left, which leads you back to the hill that you started on. If pressed, I’d call it a challenging course. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I could try and regale you with tales of<span style=""> </span>how I spent my 65 laps, circumnavigating the 800 meter long circuit. I won’t. It was a day spent mostly stuck somewhere in the middle of the peloton. The few occasions I found myself on the pointy end of the stick, I opted for caution. Don’t ask me why. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Perhaps it was the fact that this was my first taste of a touchy feely peloton this year: feeling a handlebar against my rump as I lean into a turn, handlebars brushed, tires rubbed, a wheel on my foot, a disgruntled rider subtly swerving into my front wheel. The joys of crit racing. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Next time. Next time.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-77219634189381474872011-04-18T15:33:00.002-05:002011-04-18T15:59:54.500-05:00Return to the Battle of the BulgeIt's that time of year. Yes sir, lucky me. Once again <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/04/weekend-of-wining-dining-and-training_8779.html">a weekend of haute cusine, fancy wines, and leg breaking climbs were on the cards</a>.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/39d5f670.jpg" /><br /><br />The weather was almost perfect.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/98acb819.jpg" /><br /><br />The bikes were ready.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/6ba9756f.jpg" /><br /><br />The wine was waiting.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/e0d4d060.jpg" /><br /><br />But first things first: a warm up ride on day one.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/8246a22e.jpg" /><br /><br />After that, a quick shower, a quick beer, then the cooking commenced.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/1306080d.jpg" /><br /><br />And the table was set.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/8361f51f.jpg" /><br /><br />Amuse (when in Belgium do as the Belgians do. In this case, eat mussels).<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/d8606c62.jpg" /><br /><br /><span id="result_box" class="short_text" lang="en"><span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">Sting Ray with</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">pineapple</span> sauce <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">and</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">fennel</span></span>.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/abb0cf1a.jpg" /><br /><br /><span id="result_box" class="short_text" lang="en"><span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">Lambs</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">Rack</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">with</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">potato</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">pancakes</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">and</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">red chicory</span></span>.<br /><br />After that succulent meal sleep was had by all. The following morning we awoke, had breakfast, and made our way to the ol' standby of the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2007/04/its-like-vermont-but-they-speak-french.html">Route Buissoniere</a>.<br /><br />After that, beer was consumed. Potato Chips as well. We even showered.<br /><br />Then...<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/d227b330.jpg" /><br /><br />Slow cooked Cod, with a smoked cheese sauce and spinach.<br /><br />The next course was Steak and frites, but sadly I was so hungry I forgot to take pics.<br /><br />By the time desert arrived, I was ready.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/95f73c79.jpg" /><br /><br /><span id="result_box" class="short_text" lang="en"><span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">Beet root</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">jelly</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">with</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">red</span> <span title="Click for alternate translations" class="hps">fruits</span></span>.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/4a74c1c7.jpg" /><br /><br />The morning after the night before, and everyone prepares for our return to the Wanne and the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2009/04/training-weekend-ardennes-offensive.html"> Stockeu</a>.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/f204ee7a.jpg" /><br /><br />Post Stockeu reward.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-63540085647389733772011-04-13T14:15:00.005-05:002011-04-14T11:05:34.670-05:00Books and coversThe <a href="http://www.zbrushcentral.com/attachment.php?attachmentid=32014">Kabouter</a>.<br /><br />Half the race i was somewhere around him.<br /><br />He drove me nuts.<br /><br />When he was ahead of me, he was always a bit too much to the right, or the left.<br /><br />I could never get past.<br /><br />When he was next to me, my comfort zone was always breached.<br /><br />When the peloton broke in half (thanks to <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2011/03/caboose.html">Bunny's</a> attack) he was on the wheel of the rider who couldn't hold the pace.<br /><br />I was behind him.<br /><br />For once i understood what the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/04/covering-queens-day.html">WK</a> means when he says that it sucks to ride behind me.<br /><br />No draft. Or so I told myself, when I was shot backwards.<br /><br />Turned out he finished 4th.<br /><br />Turns out <a href="http://www.dewielersite.net/db2/wielersite/coureurfiche.php?coureurid=56352">he's a European champion</a> in both the the road and time trialing, as well as world champ in the TT.<br /><br />He's even the father of a pro.<br /><br />Lesson learned (once again) - never judge a book by its cover.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-9796492025395696832011-04-02T16:50:00.003-05:002011-04-02T17:01:45.356-05:00ClassicSpring is here.<br /><br />The most beautiful word in the Dutch language - <a href="http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wielerklassieker#Voorjaarsklassieker">Voorjaarsklassieker</a> - is in full effect.<br /><br />If I was a smart man, I'd have the beers chilled, the doritos in the bowl, and the TV on tomorrow.<br /><br />Thing is, I'm smart, but stupid.<br /><br />No <a href="http://sporza.be/cm/sporza/wielrennen/2.9846">Ronde</a> for me tomorrow.<br /><br />The choice was simple: observe or participate.<br /><br />I chose the <a href="http://www.twcdezwaluw.nl/programma/2011/Prog_STJ.html#STJ">latter</a>.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.weeronline.nl/Europa/Nederland/Someren/4058665">In the rain</a> as well.<br /><br />Yep. Stupid.<br /><br />Report tomorrow.<br /><br />Perhaps with something about today.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-35177524708212862752011-03-21T08:13:00.008-05:002011-04-13T14:22:48.882-05:00The Caboose<style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal">Meet up before the race. Go for an easy spin to wake the legs from their 2 1/2 week long slumber. Sit in during the race. It was a good plan. A fine plan indeed.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Swerving past people on city bikes, their thoughts clearly on the beautiful day, not the road ahead. I make my way through town.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">My bike feels odd. My saddle high. My tires soft. I feel drunk.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Hardly a surprise. I’ve only been back “in country” for a day, after a 24 hour long trip back from the other side of the world. My excuses are ready.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/04/covering-queens-day.html">WK</a> and Mickey (the racer formerly known as <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/04/covering-queens-day.html">KMII</a>) are waiting for me at the meeting point.<span style=""> </span>I pull up, shake hands, and we proceed on our merry way for an easy loop of the Ronde Hoep. The sun is shining. The wind marginal. All is good.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The warm up is spent catching up on the races that I’ve missed. Who was in form. Who isn’t. Breaks that stuck. Crashes missed. I find myself riding next to Mickey, into the wind. Each time this happens I wave the WK through. I need to follow the plan: take it easy today.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Our warm up complete, we arrive at the clubhouse. We collect our numbers. Say hello to a few friends and teammates. One of them is <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/10/wva-sluitingsrit-2010.html">Banana Legs</a>, who is back after his own hiatus. Another is a new member of the team. On training rides he’s been like the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qiFQsxGUQOI&feature=related">Energizer Bunny</a>, he just keeps going, and going, and going.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I pass on riding a pre race loop, and pull up to the line. It’s busy today. Considering the weather, this comes as no surprise. The start is delayed to allow the overflow enough time to sign in.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"> Mickey pulls alongside, and a few rows further back is the WK and Bunny. I take another look around, surveying the field. There’s a familiar face next to Mickey. Someone who I’ve been in a few breaks with over the past year or two. I note that he’s traded in his Cervelo for a Wilier. Next to me are a group of juniors.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Eventually <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/05/scenes-from-sloten-elite.html">Andre</a> steps out of the clubhouse, and sets us loose. Instinct kicks in. As soon as I’m fastened in my pedals, I sprint ahead.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have no intentions of staying away. None at all. I'm fully aware that I don’t have the legs today. Besides, that’s not the plan. I see someone in the corner of my eye. It’s Mickey. I ease, and he passes, towing a few of the juniors behind him. I look behind and see that we have a gap. I get out of the saddle and dig.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It takes longer than it should. For a moment or two I fear that I’m about to be dropped. By juniors! Misplaced pride takes over. I manage to claw my way to the last wheel. Mickey is at the front, pulling the cast of kids along behind him, with yours truly making a cameo as the caboose.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I figure we’ll stay away for a lap. Maybe two. We’ll be reeled in, and I’ll settle into the warm embrace of the peloton. Then all will return to plan.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">As I comfort myself with those thoughts, I see Bunny ride past me. Then past all of the juniors clinging to Mickey’s wheel. Then past Mickey. Mickey accelerates, and eases onto Bunny’s wheel. They start trading pulls. It’s not supposed to happen like this. I’m not supposed to be here.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">A lap, or two later, some more company joins us. Reinforcements. One of which is Wilier guy. From my vantage point of the back of the group, I see that we have a large gap. Large enough that I don’t see the main peloton.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Twenty minutes in we hear that we have a gap of 30 seconds. A lap, or two, later it’s 35 seconds. Several laps later 45. We’re pulling away. Actually, they’re pulling away. Each time I take the occasional pull I struggle grab the last wheel.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">My legs empty. My heart rate in overdrive. I accept my role for the day. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caboose">Caboose</a>.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I rethink my plan as thoughts of the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-io-kZKl_BI">Talking Heads</a> pass through my head. </p>Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-84203910031019563952011-02-26T14:45:00.000-05:002011-02-26T14:46:35.782-05:001,003 words about this afternoons race<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/51e24678.jpg" /><br /><br />Wet and gritty.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-56055252530553880962011-02-19T16:54:00.013-05:002011-04-26T10:36:20.333-05:00The end of the beginning<style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal"><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/a75e297d.jpg" /></p><p style="text-align: right;" class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://dolly-foto.blogspot.com/"><span style="font-size:78%;">photo courtesy of dolly van der laan</span></a><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Cold. Windy. Dry. One out of three. Good enough. Today is the day. The beginning of the beginning at <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2007/03/saturday-afternoons.html">Sloten</a>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s February. No pressure. No Worries. Just some training. With a number pinned on. That’s the plan.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Granted, I’ve opted to break out the good bike for today. My winter bike is showing its age. All 18+ years. Not that I plan on trying anything special today. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. Nope. This is training. Nothing more.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I meet the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/04/covering-queens-day.html">KMII</a> and the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/04/covering-queens-day.html">WK</a> a few hours before. We saunter along at a leisurely pace. Circling the loop of the <a href="http://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rondehoep">Ronde Hoep</a>. Eventually we arrive, as scheduled, at the clubhouse.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Numbers are collected. Friendships reacquainted. Weights and training hours are compared. It’s all good.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I see the Berlin Wall, a teammate and training partner. He missed out on our pre-race warm up. Too busy doing domestic duties for his Mrs. We go out for a few warm up laps. Two weeks ago the course was covered in twigs and dirt. Today it’s perfect. <a href="http://www.allwords.com/query.php?SearchType=3&Keyword=keurig&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;goquery=Find+it%21&Language=NLD&NLD=1">Keurig</a>.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I pull up to the line. Waiting there for the rest to arrive. One by one the familiar faces pull alongside. The WK, Berlin Wall, van der Terminator, <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/05/scenes-from-sloten-elite.html">Thomas the Taxi</a> … Finally Andre arrives. We wait a bit longer, and the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/03/kva-part-i.html">Flying Doctor</a> appears. He’s wearing a pair of leg warmers that makes me think of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Redlegs">Irish diaspora</a> in Barabdos.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Finally, <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2009/07/rest-day-jury-day.html">Andre</a> makes an announcement. We’re sent on our way. At least I think we are.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I make my <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2007/03/im-punk-rocker-yes-i-am.html">trademark move</a>. For the show, and only for the show. I look back and see that nobody cares. I’m alone, apart from another rider. I’ve done a few training runs with him over the winter. He’s strong. Much stronger than I’ll ever be. He pulls through and I follow, sitting on his wheel.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">He sets the pace. I follow, until +/-500 meters before the strip. I take over. As we approach the line, I see Andre, waiting on the line. That wasn’t the start. Dummy. Me.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Stop. Pause. Repeat.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I do it again. I jump off the line. Once again I’m not alone. I don’t know the rider, but I know the team. It’s a good one. It doesn’t take long to realize my mistake. When he pulls through, I suffer.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fortunately we don’t stay away for long. The peloton reels us in. What follows is the usual series of attacks, and counters.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I ride past the FD. He says something, but I can’t quite hear him. I catch his gist: nothing is sticking.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The BW rides past, and I nod at him – go. There’s a teammate up ahead. They should go for it. I ease up, as he jumps. It’s suicide, but suicide is painless. Or so the song goes.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Their venture doesn’t last long. About a lap. They’re pulled back. The riders doing the job are from a variety of local clubs. The thing that I notice is that many have the same leg warmers. <a href="http://www.teamamsterdam.nl/">Team Amsterdam</a>. The men (boys) to watch.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">What follows is gripping stuff. If only I could remember it. Thing is I dig so deep to get to them that I’m not registering, I’m only reacting. The FD is there, beckoning me on. So is the van der Terminator.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The group is working together. Or so I think. I look behind, and see that we don’t have a clear gap. I ease. I’m not the only one. I look up the road, and see that the TA boys haven’t given up. They have a gap.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think about jumping, but wait. Someone jumps, towing vd Terminator along. I latch on to his wheel. The next 2 km last forever. I dig deep. Deep into the proverbial pain cave.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The TA boys are just ahead of us. We’re clawing them back. I’m in the red. Deep. As deep as a trapped Chilean miner. Deeper.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just when I think I’m lost, vd Terminator comes past and dials it up a notch, or two. Probably three. I’m glued to his wheel. I want to pull through, but I can’t. Finally he eases. As he does, someone swings past us.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I jump and grab his wheel. To my surprise vd Terminator is gone. He must have gone too deep. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The TA Boys are ahead us. Just. We’re getting closer. Closer. Closer. We’ve made it. The gap is closed.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Someone from the break rolls back, and tells us to work. I shout, a plaintiff, phlegmy, foamy shout, that we’ve just closed the gap. Chances are there was some colorful language thrown in.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">I skip a pull, or three, and catch my breath.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The end of the beginning of the beginning has begun. </p>Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-69254165981460584142011-02-18T11:28:00.003-05:002011-02-20T09:02:31.009-05:00The beginning of the beginning<style>@font-face { font-family: "Times New Roman"; }p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }table.MsoNormalTable { font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; }</style> <p class="MsoNormal">It began <a href="http://www.fotokristel.nl/9.php">last Sunday</a>. Technically. Yes, it was a race. No I wasn’t really racing. Call it a leg opener. If starting at the back of a 112-man peloton, then holding on for dear life after every accordion effect corner can be consider as such.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, the feet have been dipped in the proverbial water. New faces. Old faces. Many not seen since last October.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow will be a homecoming. Of sorts.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/04/covering-queens-day.html">Flying Doctor</a>, <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/06/race-report-heavy-race-that-ouderkerk.html">KMII</a>, <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/03/kva-part-ii.html">Weg Kapitien</a>, <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/05/ronde-van-sloten-bonecrushing-and-head.html">Bone Crusher</a> ... who knows?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The countdown begins.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p> <p class="MsoNormal">See you there. </p>Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-48190545988273472632010-10-26T14:45:00.001-05:002010-10-26T14:47:04.448-05:00Commercial Appeal (PSA)Always a cheery thought, knowing that if you have a heart attack on the road that you have 6 minutes to live.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uB4dkYfvacc?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uB4dkYfvacc?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object>Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-49731156029030838692010-10-24T06:47:00.002-05:002010-10-24T06:52:59.750-05:00Commercial Appeal (Insurance)The latest <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/05/commercial-appeal-vision.html">cycling related commercial</a>.<br /><br />This one consisting of a businessman, chasing down three <a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=prutser">pannekoeken</a> on a ride, while he's on his way to work.<br /><br />If truth be told, this has happened to me on occasion.<br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wICtHz7r8JY?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wICtHz7r8JY?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object>Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-70661116073756377072010-10-24T06:19:00.000-05:002010-10-24T06:20:08.811-05:00StandbyOff season has kicked off.<br /><br />Kind of feels like this:<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/abff56c4.jpg" />Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-70144233913854561772010-10-10T14:13:00.010-05:002010-10-11T15:15:01.708-05:00WVA Sluitingsrit (2010)Yet another season comes to a close, and that means one thing: <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2007/10/as-it-began-it-shall-end-as-it-ends-as.html">Sluitingsrit</a>. For those that live in around Mokum, a Sluitingsrit involves: a kids race; a 2 man TT; and one last hour + (X) laps around Sloten sports park for the year.<br /><br />I could bore you with tales of my first 2 man time trial since the early 90s, but I won't.<br /><br />I could write a detailed report of how I continued my 2 man TT experience in the subsequent road race, but I won't.<br /><br />What I will do is present a series of snaps, taken after the race, when the fun began.<br /><br />The race is over, and the crowd patiently waits for the prize giving ceremony.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/65d4bb5a.jpg" /><br /><br />Some sit.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/dd1c08cd.jpg" /><br /><br />Some stand.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/8c757902.jpg" /><br /><br />Some wait quietly.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/8a5044a6.jpg" /><br /><br />Some chat.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/845979d6.jpg" /><br /><br />The trophies wait.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/22a8dfd7.jpg" /><br /><br />The <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/03/kva-part-i.html">Flying Doctor</a>, the chairmen of the club, reads the results.<br /><br />Then hands out the silverware.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/a7cf47ac.jpg" /><br /><br />Winner of the juniors race.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/991f66bb.jpg" /><br /><br />Santia Tri Kusuma, winner of the women's race.<br /><br />In case you're wondering, yes - she's on the Indonesian national team.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/cd9a6cf3.jpg" /><br /><br />Winner of the 50+ Master's race.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/211fbce3.jpg" /><br /><br />Just off the podium in the 50+ race, but a very special <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rider-Tim-Krabbe/dp/1582342903">Rider</a>.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/7cb37b1b.jpg" /><br /><br />Winner of the 40+ race.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/4cd05d2d.jpg" /><br /><a href="http://www.indonesia-cycling.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=96:tonton-susanto&catid=44:pembalap&Itemid=88"><br />Tonton Susanto</a>, winner of the Amateurs race.<br /><br />Yes, another member of the Indonesian national team.<br /><br />From what I heard from the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/04/covering-queens-day.html">WegKapitien</a>, he's super strong, and he should know, seeing as he was in the winning two man break.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/37843b22.jpg" /><br /><br />Speaking of the WK, here he is.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/d2da879c.jpg" /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.dewielersite.net/db2/wielersite/coureurfiche.php?coureurid=19961">Ryan Ariehaan</a>, another member of the Indonesian national team.<br /><br />He finished 5th overall , and deserves special praise from yours truly. I spent +/- 45 minutes off the front with him. Let's just say that he never skipped a pull. I, on the other hand...<br /><br />Once the cups were doled out, it was time to fill them.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/3d964358.jpg" /><br /><br /><a href="http://wvamsterdam.nl/">WVA'ers </a>chewing the fat.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/6f705bd8.jpg" /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/03/round.html">Banana legs</a>, WK, and Strammer Max strike a pose.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/d45eca98.jpg" /><br /><br />MC Splinter hits the pipes.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/b9e1d330.jpg" /><br /><br />While his back up singers kick in.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/1f60f84c.jpg" /><br /><br />The crowd soaks it in.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/wva/b135e301.jpg" /><br /><br />And the season closes.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-46142759154865090102010-10-08T08:01:00.001-05:002010-10-08T08:03:12.055-05:00BackHey there.<br /><br />Been away for awhile. Off to distant lands. Doing things. Seeing things.<br /><br />Now I'm back.<br /><br />Back here.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GDNtafebmys?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GDNtafebmys?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />More or less.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-23398939098037440122010-08-17T11:41:00.013-05:002010-08-17T16:57:53.694-05:00A sort of Homecoming (Fall River)<img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/5f77ff17.jpg" /><br /><br />I step out of the car, and stretch. My right hamstring tight from the 2 hour drive. I look around, searching for the registration. The blandness of the location leaves no obvious sign as to its whereabouts.<br /><br />A racer slowly cycles past. I ask for directions. He points me towards a tent and a <a href="http://www.search.com/reference/Portable_toilet">port-o-potty</a>, just over the hill. I should have known. Some things never change.<br /><br />I make my way through the parking lot. Walking past riders in various states of dress and undress. Their only means of privacy are the towels wrapped around their waists. No <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2007/03/saturday-afternoons.html">clubhouse</a>, café, or local community center to change in here. No sir. This is an industrial park crit, which so happens to be set in the outskirts of a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fall_River,_Massachusetts">post-industrial city</a>. Some things never change.<br /><br />I’m early, so there’s no rush. I stand on the side of the course, next to family members sitting on lawn chairs, watching their loved ones fly past every other minute. There’s a small break ahead of the field. I doubt it will last, but don’t stick around to see. After a few laps, I grow bored, and head to the tent to collect my number.<br /><br />When I’m there I ask if two friends, whom I’m expecting, have signed in yet. Nope. I must be early.<br /><br />I head back to the car, and send an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/SMS">SMS</a> to <a href="http://suitcaseofcourage.typepad.com/the_suitcase_of_courage/">SoC</a>, one of the friends I’m expecting, and secretly supporting today. He’s on his way. I send another SMS to <a href="http://sprinterdellacasa.blogspot.com/">SdC</a>, the other friend that I’m expecting. No answer.<br /><br />I pin on my number. I set up my bike. I drink a bottle of water, and casually chew on <a href="http://www.nabiscoworld.com/newtons/">Fig Newtons</a>. I pump up my tires. I change into my kit. Sans towel.<br /><br />Eventually I see SoC drive past, but he doesn’t notice my car. As I watch him pull up the hill, I get an SMS from SdC. They’re parked up by the tent. I join them, and their wives. We make idle chi chat while SoC sets up his bike.<br /><br />Once everyone is ready, we clip in, and ride towards the port-o-pottys. Some things never change. I ask SoC if there’s any specific plan for the day, and he quietly states that he’d like to win. Considering his past history on this course, a podium in a lower cat, and a top ten in the field sprint the year before, this seems like an obtainable goal.<br /><br />When the three of us finally get around to warming up, I notice that SoC’s demeanor has changed. He’s gone quiet. We let him ride ahead, to channel his “<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Dark_Phoenix_Saga">Dark SoC</a>,” and discuss the various scenarios that might play out, and what our respective roles will be. Mine is simple: mark the danger men, and try and keep things together for the sprint.<br /><br />SdC briefs me about the riders I should keep an eye out for: one I already recognized earlier, thanks to his girth, who SdC and SoC have a history with; a rookie sprinter who’s been tearing it up this year; and a track racer with a strong team. As we’re talking, the rookie rides past with a teammate whose bibs are kept together with what looks to be 30-40 safety pins. When we go back to the cars to dump bottles, SdC motions something to my left, and I discover that I’m parked next to the Track racer.<br /><br />When the course finally opens, we do a quick lap on the 1 mile circuit. One lap is more than enough to see that technique won’t play a big role today: four corners, a big ring hill, and a finishing straight with a head wind. Easy. The hill will hurt – in the beginning and in the end. The sprint into the headwind, will require a good leadout or, at the very least, patience.<br /><br />We pull up to the field, waiting to start. To my surprise I can easily line up in the second row. SoC and SdC choose to stay further back. I leave them be. I look around. There’s a small guy in front of me, old and craggy, on a Cannondale with a rear disc wheel. I find myself momentarily perplexed by that, until I notice that the Track rider is standing next to me.<br /><br />Something is said by the announcer, but I’m not listening. I think it’s about the neutral support. Finally we’re set free.<br /><br />I clip in, and jump on the wheel ahead of me. We hit the first turn, leading downhill, and the speed picks up. Two hundred and fifty meters later, we hit the second turn leading to the bumpy pavement of the back straight. With the tailwind, and the shallow descent we quickly hit the third turn, to the hill. I take the inside corner, and find myself sitting near the front. My instincts are to push it, but I opt for caution, and spin, following the wheel ahead of me. As we crest the hill, we swing left, on to the long finishing straight.<br /><br />I settle into somewhere around 10th place. Trying to avoid the front. Keeping an eye out for the danger men, and their teammates. As we power up the hill the second time around, I see the track racer move to the front. He jumps, and I latch on. It’s over as soon as he’s started. He was probing. I settle back in.<br /><br />We hit the back straight again, and I see a few riders dangling off the front. I don’t think much of it. On the base of the hill I see that they’re opening up a gap. I sit somewhere between 5th and 10th, expecting the racers ahead to react. They don’t.<br /><br />I don’t know why, but I find myself accelerating. I don’t think I’m pushing it. Really, I don’t.<br /><br />But I’m closing the gap to the two riders. I look over my shoulder, and see that I have a gap. As I turn on the finish straight, it appears that the break is slowing, waiting for me. Or maybe it’s the headwind that’s slowing them down? I don’t know. I bridge to them, and sit back, leaving them to carry on with the work, while I recover for a few moments.<br /><br />Over the next lap, I notice a few things about my breakaway partners. I realize that one of them was in the break that I saw in the previous race. He’s wearing a cycling cap under his helmet, and has real glasses on, a local <a href="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/e4ec822d.jpg">Laurent Fignon</a>. He seems to be riding strong and smooth. My other breakaway partner, on the other hand, apparently has no clue on how to cut a corner. A lap later he either sits up, or we drop him. I’m not sure which.<br /><br />I dig in, and hope that we get some company. A lap passes and I notice Mrs. SoC and Mrs. SdC standing on the hill. I look back, hoping to see a counter, but the peloton is intact. Another lap passes, and I see that The Mrs.’s have moved to the back straight of the course. I sneak another peak on the hill, and see that we’re not gaining any ground. I take my pulls, but try to keep them short. No use in burning myself out when my real work lays ahead.<br /><br />A few laps pass, and a prime in announced. We don’t have much more time. Fignon is doing most of the work now. I debate about pipping him for the prime, but he’s earned it, so I sit on his wheel as he crosses the line.<br /><br />We stay away for another lap, or two. He asks me if I’m cooked. I shrug. He says that I should work, seeing as I won’t have anything left for the sprint. I smile.<br /><br />Finally we’re caught. I drift back, maybe 20 deep. A lap later I move back up. Time to mark.<br /><br />The rest of the race is a simple loop. Jumps from the left. Jumps from the right. They’re mostly probes. At least I assume as much.<br /><br />For some reason, most of them are followed by someone shouting “rider right!” or “rider left!” to warn the peloton.<br /><br />With each warning, I grow more and more irritated. I don’t know why, but I find it childish and cheap. I stifle the urge to use some… colorful language. When the umpteenth warning is shouted, I scream a plaintiff “Oh. Shut. Up!” It’s ignored.<br /><br />I keep my eye out for the Rookie. I keep my eye out for the Track Rider. I keep my out for the Chubby Checker, the rider with the history. I also start to keep my eye out for the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qw0zZttfUaw">Oompa Loompa</a> with the disc wheel and a guy wearing a generic black and white kit. The latter two more out of self-preservation, than any real concern about their strengths.<br /><br />The lap chart whittles down, and apart from watching one of the Track Riders teammates ride off the road and into a barrier, for no reason whatsoever, there’s nothing of note.<br /><br />With less than five laps to go it’s becoming clear that this will end in a sprint. I stay near the front. Just in case.<br /><br />With four laps to go, I see Chubby move up to the front for the first time. People start surging before the third turn. I patiently work my way up the hill. Doing what I have to stay near the front, but nothing more.<br /><br />With three laps to go there’s another surge on the back straight. The Oompa Loompa squeezes past, on my left. I drift to the middle of the pack.<br /><br />We’re on the penultimate lap, and someone is shouting. “Rider left!” “Rider right!”<br /><br />There’s someone up the road. We crest the hill, and hit the finish straight, and I notice that the pace has slowed.<br /><br />I shift gears, and surge forward, shouting to the peloton “Rider left! Rider left! Look, look! I’m attacking!”<br /><br />To be honest, it's not much of an attack. I dig, and dig deep. Dragging the peloton, hoping that SdC and SoC are where they need to be.<br /><br />I hit the 1st corner for the last time. I pull off on the downhill, and watch as the field slows. I shout at the rider behind me to attack, or pull through. He does nothing.<br /><br />We bounce through the 2nd turn for the final time, and I see the Rookie, with his Safety Pin teammate, come past me on my left. I try to grab his wheel, but have to settle for the Oompa Loompa’s. I look over and see the Track Rider on the other side of the road, moving up, sitting behind a few teammates.<br /><br />As we approach the 3rd turn, to the hill, there’s one more surge. I think I have enough for one last effort on the hill, but the Oompa Loompa takes the corner wide. I try one last time to push it, but get cut off by the B&W squirrel. With that, the peloton blows past me. I watch SoC fly by, somewhere midpack.<br /><br />I look back and see SdC. We soft pedal up the hill, to the finish.<br /><br />I catch SoC on the cool down lap. Dark SoC is gone. Smiley guy SoC is back.<br /><br />I ask him how he did, and he says “Second, or third. I’m not sure.”<br /><br />He pulls up to the finish, and has his podium picture taken: next to a van, in an empty parking lot, in an industrial park, in a post industrial city, on Sunday afternoon, standing next to a port-o-potty.<br /><br />Some things never change.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-51394807145803849402010-08-02T03:02:00.002-05:002010-08-02T03:09:59.367-05:00WK SoumagneA simple email. Sent by the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/05/ronde-van-sloten-bonecrushing-and-head.html">Wegkapitein</a>. Subject "WK." The message, directed to the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2010/03/kva-part-ii.html">KMII</a>: "Maybe something for you?" Including a link to the 2010 edition of the <a href="http://www.belgiancyclingselection.be/icf.html">ICF World Championship</a>, in Soumagne, Belgium.<br /><br />As it turns out, the WC isn't so much a World Championship, but a Belgian championship, with cameos by Dutch, German, and English riders, with a few Israelis, and even one American. But that would be quibbling.<br /><br />As for the race itself, sadly there's not much to report. It can best be summed up with this: I came, I saw, I finished.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/6e9270fd.jpg" /><br /><br />Loading the car, in the shadow of the <a href="http://www.myshavedlegs.com/2009/05/olympia-goes-olympic.html">Olympic stadium</a>.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/3e6cbdc8.jpg" /><br /><br />A short ride along part of the <a href="http://www.amstelgoldrace.nl/">Amstel Gold</a> Course in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limburg_%28Netherlands%29">Limburg</a>, where we would stay for the evening,<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/43c0a627.jpg" /><br /><br />A rare sight in the Netherlands: hills.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/88609d0f.jpg" /><br /><br />Sunday: Soumagne.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/06100cc9.jpg" /><br /><br />The sublime.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/176ce43e.gif" /><br /><br />The schematic: <a href="http://ridewithgps.com/trips/52196">What's in store for us</a> (9 laps for me, 13 for my baby faced teammates).<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/7b9200f2.jpg" /><br /><br />Finish line.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/d4837206.jpg" /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhedbD1BUQM">Rodania</a>!<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/3e4cc3ca.jpg" /><br /><br />Done and dusted.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/7d9554a6.jpg" /><br /><br />What's a teammate do when he's done racing? Hand bottles out, of course!<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/WK/f5c74dbd.jpg" /><br /><br />Post race debriefing.Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5410047067217048789.post-48815367946606641262010-07-29T07:02:00.002-05:002010-07-29T07:40:18.719-05:00A week amongst the Lucchese (Urban)Old friends of mine moved to Tuscany a few years ago, and have been raving about it ever since. I'm not quite sure why the stars never aligned, apart from the usual money/time/etc, but I had yet to pay them a visit. A month ago an impromptu invitation was extended. I perused a few budget airline websites, found a good price, and bought a ticket. Three weeks later I landed in Pisa, with a carry on bag containing bike kit, a toothbrush, and some street clothes. Just my luck, there was a spare bike, which happened to be the same make, model, and size as my own, waiting for me. Now that's what I call hospitality.<br /><br />Herewith, some pics.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/fec1f7be.jpg" /><br /><br />While Lucca was where I would be staying, this is (more or less) the terrain that I covered.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/783182e0.jpg" /><br /><br />Looking down on to Lucca.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/4e571a9c.jpg" /><br /><br />The famous <a href="http://brunelleschi.imss.fi.it/itineraries/place/TheWallsOfLucca.html">city walls</a> of old Lucca, built to keep the Fiorentini out.<br /><br />In the past they were used for car races. These days, the only racing done on them is cyclo-cross.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/878ce01f.jpg" /><br /><br />Start grid from the last race.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/d61cc183.jpg" /><br /><br />If you want to go for a ride on the 4km circuit, you can pay extortionate rates to rent a bike at this place.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/6e9af922.jpg" /><br /><br />Some of the Lucchese prefer to keep it simple.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/34438ae1.jpg" /><br /><br />The back streets provide some welcome shade from the searing heat.<br /><br />Some sights.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/3c43ebcf.jpg" /><br /><br /><a href="http://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Torre_Guinigi">Torre Guinigi</a>.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/5657f7ff.jpg" /><br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/77453e6a.jpg" /><br /><br />Piazza dell'Anfiteatro.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/c0944c0c.jpg" /><br /><br />San Michele in Foro.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/5e8ab554.jpg" /><br /><br />Stairway to heaven.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/08ecb260.jpg" /><br /><br />Duomo di Lucca.<br /><br />While at was inside the Duomo, I thought I heard thunder (the skies were looking ominous).<br /><br />It turned out to be something completely different.<br /><br />I left the piazza, and walked towards the sound.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/34ed80fe.jpg" /><br /><br />First seeing some immaculately attired motorcycle cops.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/2487ba65.jpg" /><br /><br />Then seeing what was the cause of the commotion: <a href="http://www.placeboworld.co.uk/home.php">Placebo</a> doing a sound check for their evening concert.<br /><br /><img src="http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v223/botto/LCA/f4e2a4be.jpg" /><br /><br />Both tourists and locals enjoyed the 'show.'Shaverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05935387152465904425noreply@blogger.com0