Start at Museumplein (Giro d'Italia, Stage 2)

On an unseasonably crisp May morning, I found myself walking with a friend. Direction: Musuemplein. It was day 2 of Giromania, and we wanted to see the start of Stage 2. We had a simple plan: get there early, take a look, then head out for a ride with some friends who we were meeting up with.



We arrived about an hour and a half before the scheduled departure time.



Today there would be no joy in getting into the VIP area with the Carabinieri.

Once we settled in, it was a matter of waiting, and keeping an eye out for the racers arriving to sign in.



Not yet, give him time.

Then, out of nowhere a rider appeared, signed in, then worked the crowds, signing autographs.



Martinique's very own Thomas Voeckler.



Shortly after, a pink pedicab arrived, bearing the Giro trophy and Yolanthe Cabau.

After that there was a lull.



Staff and press schmoozed.



Recent cycling fans as well.

Then the riders started to appear.



At first one by one.



With the occasional team entrance.



Including reigning World Champion Cadel Evans.



After signing in, and giving a short interview on the stage, Evans made his way back to where he arrived.



After that they started flowing in from all directions.



Our friend Fabian even made an impromtu entrance at the corner of the gate we were leaning on.

This apparently confused the Carabinieri, because a few minutes later, when a local racer arrived to survey the show, the gate was opened for him to enter.



Young Danny passed on the offer.

Meanwhile the show went on.



Danilo Hondo seemed to enjoy being back.



Mario Bruseghin cordially obliged requests to say cheese.



And Vino received a few welcome back handshakes.



Time was ticking, and Yolanthe, accompanied by former Tour de France winner Joep Zoetemelk, made way to the official start line.



Having signed in, Mr. Wiggins sat in her draft.

The pleoton was almost complete. Just one more rider had yet to return from signing in.



It's Tyler Farrar.



He pulls up to the back of the group, and kicks back.

He's obviously relaxed.



So relaxed, that as the peloton departs, he has yet to clip in.

Better hurry up, you've got a race to win.

Finish (Giro d'Italia Prologue)

Time was running short, and the plan was to get to the Olympic Stadium, to try and see some of the favorites at the finish. To be honest, I was dubious. Considering how busy it was at the corner of Ceinturribaan and Hoobemakade I was certain it would be ten times worse there. But hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

We walked back towards Museumplein and picked up our bikes. Seeing as my mine was close by, I found myself waiting by the Concert Gebouw, while my friends went for theirs.



I found myself zoning out and watching the Rai helicopters hovering over the city.

My friends were taking longer than expected, so I started looking for them.



That's when I noticed the flow of racers, returning from the finish, heading back to the team buses coming past.



Or making their way back to the team's hotels.



Even Italian champions have to carry their own bags.



After idling our way towards the stadium, and parking our bikes, we finally made it to the finish, where it appeared that I was correct. It was a mad house.



The crowds were several people deep.

But, with a little persistence, we managed to get to the front of the gate.



In time to spot riders like Fabian Wegmann finishing off their day.

I thought that we had it as good as we were going to get, but - yet again - one of my friends said we should move on. I considered parting ways, but reluctantly joined them.



We circled around the side of the Citroën dealership on the corner of Stadionweg, and spotted more racers riding back to their team buses.



Including Mr. Wegmann.



We sneaked a peek inside the stadium.



And Pippo Pozatto peeked back.

We left the stadium, and tried to find somewhere to see the closing meters. It wasn't looking good. We were surrounded by VIP tents, stands, and viewing platforms. No magic pass, no entry.



Unless you're this guy.

After a few minutes of trying to decide what to do, and where to go, I was almost at my wits end. It had been a long day, I was tired, and cold, and at that point I was ready to call it a day.

I was trying to explain the futility of being where we were to my friends, and motioned over at a fenced off area. A Carabinieri behind the fence was watching.

I have no idea why he responded the way he did, but he shrugged his shoulders, and gestured towards the door.

I nodded.

The door was opened.





And there we were.



Just in time to catch Pippo bringing it in.



I looked across the road, watching people drink wine from glasses and eat soup from ceramic bowls.



I looked behind me and saw a more modest setting.

No matter. There was plenty to be seen by all.



A Flying Scot.



A Mod.



And a World Champion.

Not a bad result, if I do say so myself.

Ceintuurbaan and Hobbemakade (Giro d'Italia Prologue, Amsterdam)

Having had our fill of getting up close and personal with riders and team support, as well as the the crowds on Museumplien, it was time to go see some action. The only question was where? A short walk towards Hobbemakade was the obvious choice. Go left, and you can see the first several hundred meters of the prologue. Go right, and you can see catch the riders with +/- 3 kilometers to go. It was an easy decision to make. Righty tighty.



Looks like we weren't the only one's who took a right.

Perhaps it was a classic case of "the grass is always greener", but the crowds on the other side seemed thinner. There was only one problem - getting there. I asked one of Amsterdam's finest where the closest crossing to the other side, and discovered that we would have to take a boat.

The boat seemed like too much work, so we parked ourselves on the bridge on Ceintuurbaan, crossing Boerenwetering, on to Hobbemakade.



Things had changed since the last time I was there.



The view was not bad, as long as you didn't mind stretching a bit, I just wish I had a better vantage point.



Like the one up there.



Still, I shouldn't complain.



You could definitely get up close and personal.

My companions got itchy feet, so we moved on with the plan to meet up with some friends at the other end of Ceintuurbaan.



Riders rode past at regular intervals.



As the spectators took it all in.



Some going to great lengths to show their interest in bicycles.



3 km to go.



You always knew when a Rabobank rider was coming, and going for that matter, because the crowds would go ballistic.



The pretenders watch.



Suffering through a time trial means: a funny face here...



and a funny face there.

Eventually we had our share of funny faces, and made way for our next destination - the Olympic Stadium.



But first, we had to walk back, and continue to soak up the special Giro meets Amsterdam atmosphere.