065: Marathon Monday

Order of Business One:
Sorry for the delay in the posting. I've been in the process of moving to Portland, Oregon. Great town. And I haven't been in an internet zone for the last few days. Which is a good thing I think, because I was getting all sad and weepy about the move, and I feel like I would have taken it out here. So yeah...

As I flew from Dallas to Portland I casually glanced over at the businessman seated next to me as he sent a text message to his wife. It read: "Dear Wife, the hippies are getting restless, I feel like I'm the only one on this plane without tattoos or piercings." Ok, I made up the "Dear Wife" bit, but I looked around and only saw one person with tattoos.

Order of Business Two:
I went to see the Boston Marathon last week.

My life is not always about bikes, just so you know. I know a little bit about running too. Which is why, when Marathon Monday rolls around I always head over to check it out. This year, I had a vested interest in the race because a friend was running it. And after having been at bike races for the previous few weeks I was psyched for a change of scenery.

Holy shit. I couldn't believe the amount of trash that was going on there. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for just chucking your Gu packets into the wind when you're done with them. I especially like when people toss them and then they hit, or get stuck to other riders. Or better yet that sly move where you slip to the side of the road and drop your bottles in the weeds (Cary - don't think we didn't notice, remember you were on the front of the field).

At least if you're going to do it, be PRO about it and really chuck those babies up and over everyone else. And then, since I know you entered those co-ordinates into your Ga*min (why are we boycotting typing that?) drive the fifty miles back to get them. And now we're talking about bike racing again.

I actually saw a few people slip and almost fall because of these Gatorade cups. There was also a small girl whose family was seated near where I was standing. Whenever one of these waxy green cups would land on her plot of land, be it blown by the wind or dropped by a runner, she would head over, pick it up, and casually place it in the street with the rest of them. As you may imagine she had her work cut out for her.

The event looked as though it went off without a hitch though. Well, ok, maybe there were a few hitches...

-bloody and bleeding nipples -couples holding hands while they ran
-people speaking in tongues -a man in a hotdog outfit
-foot sized blisters -bloddy and bleeding nipples again (use some Vaseline, or Embrocation.)
-costumed avengers

just to name a few...but most people looked like they were having a grand time. Except for the guy in the emergency blanket in the photo below. He wasn't having a grand time at all. Although if he would have casually looked at the sign on the building to his right, I think he could have at least found the humor in that. Right?

064: Belgium (and France) — end of the road...

"No Comment." Again.

Standing on the edge of the Velodrome...

It was a rare moment. I haven't been at a spot near such an excruciating race finale. For most of the riders their emotions preceded them. One step off the track and the rider Silence-Lotto's Johan Vansummeren started balling his eyes out and blubbering to his girlfriend in his native tongue (of German?) Seemingly unaware that we stood nearby offering our private console.



The Two Cofidis riders that came through (Florent Brard and Sebastian Minard) had to be my favorite. Sublime and a part of everything that was happening around him. Possibly the gravity of what had just been accomplished still sinking in to ones gut. Not to mention Minard's interesting tape job on the arms. Apparently this was simply to keep the jiggling and shaking of the muscles down. Some riders had taped their wrists and even their fingers as well.


Roger Hammond didn't even get off his bike until he did this sweet cyclocross manuever into the shower building. Way to go Rog'. Is everyone with me in thinking that this guy is an amazing hardman?

The comparision for myself comes from this past weekend and the Battenkill course there. I stood at the finish line wholely pleased with myself. Despite the conditions and mechanicals I was pleased with myself. However, my preference at this point was to wander off alone and smile at what had just been done.

These riders are faced with the lot of us standing and pointing cameras into their faces.

Which is better?

063: Belgium (and France) — Part Two: Paris Roubaix

The Final Installation.

I had to scramble for this spot as Tornado Tom headed into the Roubaix Velodrome. My press pass had run out in the sense that I wasn't going to be allowed on the infield without a photo-bib which I didn't have. I tried slipping past the security guards and into the infield but was met by about 30 other guards who decided that my lack of bib meant I had done just that and was turned around as I reached the grass.

I ran past others who were trying to do the same and did a little technical climbing to get on top of a pillar next to the road. For some reason there was only one other guy with me on my perch. And for a moment I stood pondering why no one else would want this vantage point.

The answer came to me as I was looking down on the people at my feet. They didn't care one bit about a birds eye view of Tom Boonen coming in to hit the final straits of the track. They wanted to be as close as humanly possible to this man. And that didn't mean standing up and far away from him. That meant pressing all their humanly goods against the fences in anticipation of his arrival.

Who knows what will be of Boonen in the years to come? Only good I can hope. All I know is for these few tense moments before his approach, he was a God among men.

There was a whisper of excitement as he approached. The thunderous applause that was building around the corner and down the block was now approaching the Velodrome. And then the place erupted.

In more ways than one.

I stood near the entrance to the showers (again, Bib needed) so I got to see the majority of the riders as they exited the track and headed for the soap.

NOTE: The screen actually gets smaller because the small battery on my camera had died and the backup one too...dead. I resorted to using the video function on my little Panasonic Point and Shoot.

NOTE2: When the camera turns to follow Florent Brard into the building, pay attention to the photographer that stands up, the one doing the jesus impersonation. That's fabled photographer Camille J McMillan shooting photos for Rouleur. Can't wait to see what he got.

It is hard to imagine that two days prior I had ridden on this very same velodrome that was now packed with people. This is the finish line. Seems fitting I guess.

062: Belgium (and France) — Part Two: Paris Roubaix

This was the most intense part of the course. Moments before I jumped out of the car to catch Boonen at this spot we heard that he had broken away from the group. The crowd was an intense ball of nerves and I had to jostle a little bit for a spot. Luckily everyone likes to see these guys in pain, so the majority of fans were situated further down on the cobbles.

Coincidentally this was also where Mr. Peter Bradshaw himself was situated with the Tom Boonen Fan-Club further down this very same section. Now, when I say "Tom Boonen Fan-Club" I mean the real deal. Apparently these guys started the morning in Boonen's hometown of Balen, Belgium...with his Grandparents (Tom's not Peter's) and headed to this exact spot to watch their boy bring it home.

Can you think of a better spot to be?

My personal favorite moment in this video, while seeing Big B roll by is definitely amazing, comes from our man in second place. The other big one out there. Pippo Pozzato. This guy is great on the cobbles, no one is disputing that. The part that I like the best is at 00:21 Seconds, when he makes the switch from hoods to tops, just as he's about to hit the cobbles.

P. Bradshaw tells me that this is what he did every time they entered a cobbled section together. Now, how would Peter Bradshaw know something like that? Well, the Friday before Roubaix we had the opportunity to ride with the Katusha squad. I flatted pretty early on (is 200m into the ride considered early?) and Bradshaw went on to ride with them for the next 100k.

Read Guy Andrew's story here. And definitely check out the photo with Peter riding next to the Katusha team.




And then later that night a few ladies came up and asked Peter if:

a) his mustache was real (or that he was a part of the Mr. Mustache Belgium contest)

and

b) if they could touch it.

duh. of course you can.

061: Battenkill in Photos

Let us step away from one Roubaix to the other for a minute here.


Tour of the Battenkill went off again this past weekend. Always a great mixture of pain, suffering, dirt roads, short steep climbs and "attrition" (which is the one word I've heard more than any other when describing bicycle racing). A favorite among New England cyclists who just love to consider themselves "hardmen." I may, or may not be guilty of the same situation?



The Gaulzetti bicycles were a hit. Their green and navy blue paint schemes complimented the kits in a way I didn't know possible. All weekend James kept saying "its great when a plan comes together" and he couldn't have been more right.


Weather sort of cooperated. The rain happened only slightly into the race but kept the dust on the backroads from getting too out of control. Nothing was getting through the ammount of actual embrocation that was in effect as well. I swear some of these dudes could use a squeegee on those legs.

This last photo has to be the ominous one for the day. Peter Bradshaw and Corey Burns were the two finishers that didn't flat out during the course. I take that back, Josh didn't flat either, he just had a little trouble with his front carbon clincher.

Big props to PVB for graciously handing me his front wheel when he found me standing alongside the road. I think he said "take it, you look Fresh-er." Thanks PVB, that is what teammates are for.

Should have photos of new products this week...a t-shirt reprinted just in time for summer (we all know there's no spring in Boston right?) and a Bailey Bag that would go well with the new T-Shirts.

060: Belgium (and France) — Part Two: Paris Roubaix

This is the third spot that we set up our cameras. Sorry for the jerking around at the beginning of the clip. See the dirt rut at the side of the road? I don't know why I did not think that the riders would be utilizing that path. Only two days earlier, I was utilizing that path. Now, I was trying to stay out of the way of the riders.


I like the sound that the cars make over the cobbles. It doesn't come through entirely on the video, but they rumbled the hell out of that place. Well, I guess they didn't rumble the hell out of it, because it still looks like hell to me. I like this photo below because the Rabobank rider looks so off kilter and about to tumble over. He didn't.

Nothing to exciting happened over this section. Nothing exciting besides a bunch of badass PROfessional cyclists ripping over cobbles that is. However, the huge 15 person motorcycle crash was right at the end of this section of cobbles. It was a pretty gruesome scene, blood everywhere and people running around like madmen. The scariest part about it, and I have no idea how they got it all cleared out of the way in time, was that the rest of the field was bearing down on us as we slowed for the crash. I looked out the back window at one point and could see the roiling crowd of dust that was the peleton rounding the curve behind us.

Also included a little snippet of whats to come as far as actually driving on the cobbles. From here on out the crowd 'participation' stared to get a little hairy. As you can see in the video, they were lined up and ready to go...

059: Belgium (and France) — Part Two: Paris Roubaix

058: Belgium (and France) — Part Two: Paris Roubaix

I kept running into the Liquigas guys during the days leading up to the race itself. Everyone involved with this team was amazing. Even to the point where they handed me a bottle out of the teamcar as they blew by me on the cobbles on Friday.

Could they tell I was hurting that badly? Or were they just being nice?

So when we got in their way I felt kind of bad about it. But only for a second.

The drive had been all morning to get to our first position in front of the race, so I didn't really know what to expect. Arriving at the destination we hunkered down between everyone else that had been waiting there for presumably, hours. What followed was chaos.

It has a 90 degree turn on it and when everyone (team cars, photo cars, motorcycles and fans) pile into that corner things can get a little hectic. Which is why I was riding with one of the best course drivers in the industry. He's a writer and a photographer and he's been doing it for something like 17 years, lives in France, speaks the language, the whole nine yards. And let me tell you, this guy is amazing.

So, when he leans around to look at me and says—"Keep an eye on the car because we're going to need to get out of here quick and into the race." I listen.

Or at least I thought I was listening. Wait.
Did he just say into the race?

Some but not all of the riders had gone through, when I saw him snake between motorcycle photographers and head for the car. I was right behind him, not wanting to be left behind in the middle of nowhere, and at the same time wondering how the hell we were going to get out of there.


As soon as a gap opened up — we were in it. Right into the middle of the race. Our objective was to get out of the meleé sidestep the race, and then through the broken backroads of Northern France beat the race to the next optimal viewing spot. Which we did.

What I didn't realize (maybe dust and excitement had something to do with it) was that really, we're getting into the race here...and when I turned to look at who was honking over my shoulder I realized that it was the Liquigas team car.


I sort of ducked for a moment, hoping that they wouldn't recognize that I, who was now holding them up (not really, as we were flying over cobbles) was the same 'jounalist' who had been having beers with them the night before. Then I realized that there was no way they would recognize me though all the dust that was in the air.

Plus, later that day when I showed them this video..of them honking and swerving all over the place.. they started high-fiving and cheering.

It is 3am here in Paris and I don't want to miss my flight back to the States...

But trust me when I say:

To be continued...

057: Belgium — Part Two: Paris Roubaix

Yesterday I rode in a photo car for Paris Roubaix. This has to be one of the best and craziest experiences that I've had in cycling thus far. I'm still recovering. The Driver, as he will be known to me forever was amazing.

The course? Brutal.

The fans? Even more brutal. At one point they literally tried to open the doors and pull us out of the car. When the door was opened, the smell of beer mixed with sweat mixed with screaming fans was intense.

I saw the race from four different vantage points with some insane driving in between. I captured as much of it as I could on video.

Paris is calling at this point but I'll leave you with this.

I was standing near Mr. Zabel the day before the start, heading in to get press credentials. People were making introductions all around so I boldly stepped up and stuck out my hand. Only problem was that I think I may have been a little startstruck (how could you not?) so I forgot to say anything and just stood there with my hand out. He looked at me and laughed and said "Hello, I'm Erik."

I mumbled something in return and tried to say that it was nice to meet him. But, from then on, whenever I would see him for the next few days — at the start, near the team bus, out on the course handing out water bottles, he would laugh and give me a nod of acknowledgment.

056: Belgium — Part Two: At the Office with Chris Milliman

055: Belgium — Part Two: More Fried Meat...

I'm from Wisconsin. That is no secret. In fact, I'm pretty proud of that fact. I like Wisco foods too. Cheese and lots of it. Meats of any sort, yes please.

I also grew up on a healthy diet of fried foods. From the fried dough and corndogs at the Grant County Fair to the ever progressive fried Twinkies at the Wisconsin State Fair. I have tried it all, I'm not ashamed. French Fries, also a big fan. I like them fried "extra crispy" and with lots of Mayo.

My arteries may clog at some point causing me to drop dead in the middle of the street. Until then I'm just going to keep at it.


Yet, I feel like I may have met my match in Belgium. I don't know if I've eaten a meal since arriving that doesn't have some sort of fried food in it. Here's a little sample for your viewing pleasure. Walk into this fry-up shop and just choose what you'd like from the case and they turn around, drop it in oil, and a few minutes later...

Eat up Bill, there's more where that came from.

Heaven on a stick. Between bacon, with mayo dripping down the sides.

One would think that with all this beer and fried food that Belgium wouldn't be churning out some of the worlds greatest cyclists like they do.

Or maybe I just need to eat more of it to make it start working?

054: Belgium — Part Two: A Belgian Haircut with Peter Bradshaw.

All week long we have been admiring the fine hairstyling of the Belgian people. As well as that some of their greatest cyclists have even better hairstyles. Tom Boonen for one. Great hair. Neils Albert, even though he spit on one of our traveling compatriots the other day, awesome top and backside growth. I'll even give one to Lars Boom, even though he isn't Belgian, we all know he wishes he was.

Step One:
Walk into a shop and explain to them that you would like a "Belgian Haircut." Don't be surprised when they don't know what you mean, for, after all, you're in Belgium, so shouldn't all of their haircuts be Belgian. Hand gestures work well here. Indicate a shortening of the top layers of hair while making long sweeping, waving, flowing gestures from the back of your head. Indicate (and I don't know how you'll do this) that you'd like your neck to be kept warm by your hair.
If you're really having problems, remove, from your pocket a picture of Tom Boonen. At this point they may cry "Tom BOONEN (long O), or even "Tomeke" (pronounced tom-eh-ka.)

Step Two:
This is where things get decidedly simple. You are now in the hands of whichever barber/stylist you have chosen. Choose well friends, because as we have seen, you can't just walk in to any shop in Gent and expect to be greeted with charming, beautiful stylists. We thought one was a woman, turns out he wasn't.

Step Three:
Close you're eyes. Savor the moment. This is going to be good.

Step Four:
Examine the back of your head. In the case that we have here, I'm not going to lie, it looks a little short for my tastes. I would prefer something that not only slaps at the back of my neck, but the necks and more importantly faces of riders around me. But who am I to judge. This looks pretty damn good. A bit of fluffing and who knows what will happen?
Step Five:
Smile, be proud of your new found heritage. You've earned it. If you now have something on the back of your head that would make your mother say something like..."Oh, Peter...what have you done.." Then you've done well.