Hell Of The North Baby. Gotta Know Where You've Been!

I love bike racing.  If you have an hour, you need to watch this.  If you haven't ever seen it, be prepared it is really cool.  If you have, then say hello again.

It's the Twighlight Zone.

 

Nothing like that.

Only 9 months till spring classics season starts again.

Out,

Joe

There is a new MTB movie coming soon! Get in line now!

If you have been living under a rock, you may not know this. There is a new MTB movie coming soon.  It is called Strength in Numbers, and it completely might be the coolest movie ever.  Check the website, trailers etc... (close your mouth) But, before we get to that, I need to rant about something.  Yep, I am admitting that I am ranting up front.  If me ranting bothers you, skip all the way through to the trailer at the bottom and other videos...

I am listening to a playlist mix right now of Cat Empire and Cage the Elephant.  Good stuff, I know you were curious.

Have you heard the word Webinar?  Is that just the dumbest word you have ever heard?  I kinda hate the whole put a "inar" suffix on a word and that makes it legit.  Webinar - Dealerinar - Repinar...  Why not just add "inar" to any word?  How about Left Handed-inar? What about Oatmeal-inar? I am having a flip flop-inar tomorrow.

Now you get my drift.  How hard is it to just write Online Seminar?  Are we all daft? I realize that Online Seminar is 6 letters longer, but if you are using a keyboard - just how hard is that?  Even if you are using a small iphone, it still is not really that hard to type the 6 letters. Plus, using the full Online Seminar acually makes you more intelligent sounding and certainly more handsome.  (I have typed Online Seminar 4 times now, which means I have typed 24 more things in that amount of space.  Probably has cost me at least 20 seconds in this blog post alone.)

I like to ask, what would Buckaroo Banzai do about this?

Ok, I am back.  These are my own shoes I am wearing today, privately owned, not rented (flip flops today, not converse). I will definitely be wearing them to the Madison premiere of Strength In Numbers.

So, Strength In Numbers - May 24 - Eastgate Cinema.  If your not in Madison, check the website for the closest location for you. 

 

That is the official trailer.  Kicks butt.

 

If you have not seen this piece, it is unbelievable.  Watch it twice. That is about the sickest scrub I have ever seen on a bicycle.  Similar to James Stewart doing it on a motorcycle.  If I could do that, I wouldn't be boring you with this blog.  I would be somewhere scrubbing right now.

Go ride your bike.  Go to the intro.  See you there.  May 24 - Madison Eastgate Cinema.

Joe

I Wonder Who's Dog That Was, Anyway?

We had a dog once, or should I say a dog had us as a family.  Dogs come and dogs go.  It is funny stuff, they absolutely run the house for a long time.  It is a bit like a movie that I once saw, but cannot remember now.  I never understood why one of those Disney dogs could speak and the other one could not.   Goofy and Duffus or something like that, one could speak and the other could not.  Just grunted and laughed or burped or something along those lines.  Now that is inspired film making.

 

I had a dog that burped as well.  We had another one that farted – a lot.  It was not a pretty sight, but at least I could blame it on the dog.  He never figured that out.  Mostly that is because he had no thumbs.  They are pretty jealous of thumbs, I have that on good authority.  They do have that leg thing though.

 

You know that most cats have 3 names.  The name you give them, another name and then a 3^rd one that they will not tell you.   I do not know about you, but that is why I do not have cats.  Rumor has it that Cats and Chicken were both invented by the same guy in the Matrix.  That is why it is impossible to tell them apart when BBQ’d. I have been to China a bunch and I do not know if I have consumed either one, possibly. 

 

But I have lost sight of my dog post.  Dogs are pretty great.  Some better than others, like at least I do not own one of those silly dogs like a Bichon Frise, or a French Fry dog. 

 

I have been owned by a few dogs.  There was a dog when we were kids called Rick and another called Hans.  My parents liked naming their dogs after Nordic gods and the neighbors.   I think they did that so they could invoke the wrath of a Nordic god when they needed to.  Or, they could secretly use the neighbors names in ways that cracked them up. 

 

What is it with dogs n cyclists btw?  I do not know any mountain bikers who do not really own a dog.  It seems to be one of the things that just go together.  Woods, mud, trails, dogs.  Yep.  But, a dog interacting with a road ride is just not welcome.  I know lots of dog people who love dogs around them on a MTB ride, but a dog around them on a road bike is bad bad bad.  I think it is a specific gravity thing.

 

I do not think it is worth rehashing in depth the dogs that we had as a kid, at least in any depth.  So, just to get this post started, here is the list of dogs our family had when I was a kid.

 

Hans – Weiner dog.

Rick – Airedale terrier

Maggie – Airedale Terrier

 

That is not an impressive list is it.  I guess in hindsight my parents really didn’t like dogs.  Actually, wow.  Now that I think of it my mother hasn’t had any dogs since then.  So I guess I come from a line of dog haters.  Never really realized that about my mother.  I think that will have to be the conversation at our next family get together.  What did mom have against dogs?

 

In my case, there is a much longer list of dogs that have owned our family since then.  It is not an illustrious list, but it is a list nonetheless.  So without further adieu, here is a list of the dogs that my family has had since leaving my parents house about 912 years ago (yes I am nearly a millennium old). 

 

 

Jesse

 

Jesse was a mutt.  She was an interesting looking mutt, but a mutt nonetheless.  Part Vizsla and part Labrador.  She was about 60lbs full grown.  She was beautiful to look at, big and brown.  She has the privilege of occupying a few different positions on the all time dog chart.  

-       She was the first dog that adopted Liz and I once we left Texas and moved to Colorado. 

-       She was a Colorado Native.

-       She had the longest tail of any dog that has lived with us

-       She was definitely the dumbest dog we lived with

There wasn’t much else to report with Jesse.  She regularly jumped the fence and would run off.  You could tell when she was going to run off, as she would get just out of your reach (or her perception of your reach), about 15 feet and then she would decide that she was going to head out and explore and there was no stopping her.  That lust for the open woods and no human holding her back was eventually her undoing. 

 

 

Zach

 

Zach The Wonder Dog – that is what we called him.  Zach was quite possibly the 2^nd most intelligent dog that ever adopted us.  He was smart, he was extremely physically fit, he might have been a few cards short of a full deck. 

 

Zach was a German Shorthair Pointer.  I do not think he ever pointed at anything (Again the no thumbs thing limits your pointing ability).  Zach was the most amazing mountain bike riding, ball chasing, stick chasing, nervous, wanting to run dog you have ever seen.  I do not think that Zach had a single ounce of fat on his body.  His skin was paper thin.  The dog could run and run and run. 

 

We lived in Park City Utah when Zach lived with us.  Zach was the town mountain bike dog.  I swear that dog ran with people on mountain bikes almost every day of his life. 

 

There are 3 stories that I like to tell about Zach.

1. People would stop by and pick up Zach to take him mountain biking.  People would take him for a ride, even when I was not going with them.  It got to the point that people would just stop by, pick up Zach from the back yard and take him for a ride.  Once I was standing in line at the grocery store, behind 2 guys I did not know.  They were talking, and one of them said “We went for a ride today with some crazy dog.  Someone said his name was Zach.  The dog ran for 4 hours nonstop, and then when we stopped he would bring you a stick to throw.” 

 

I had to tell them that he was my dog. 

 

1. When you took him for a ride, he just never stopped.  You could be 4 hours into a ride, and were stopped on the trail having a break.  He would bring you a stick, drop it at your feet, then bark at you if you did not throw it.  It used to piss me off so much, that I would trick him into thinking I was throwing it one way, then after he headed that way I would toss it the other direction.  It would sometimes take him 10 minutes to find that same stick.  It was 10 minutes of respite from him dropping it at your feet and barking at you.

 

I can remember him bringing me a big rock at the lake, and making me throw it for him.  I would toss it into the lake over his head, and the crazy dog would figure out how to dive down in water over his head and find the same stupid rock to bring back to you.  He was whacky for it.

 

1. Zach would do ANYTHING if you would throw a tennis ball for him.  He didn’t have to be taught about retrieving when he was young.  He just seemed to pop out with the retrieving gene.  You could walk him off the leash in the middle of downtown Park City if you had a tennis ball in your pocket.  Once, we entered into a dog agility contest, and we won because there wasn’t anything in the rules that said we couldn’t use a tennis ball to control him.  We tossed the ball through the tunnels and led him through the obstacles with the tennis ball.  He won.

 

I am listening to the John Butler Trio while I write this.  Damn are they good.  Pickapart – Live.

 

 

Bridget

 

Bridget was a Brittany Spaniel.  A beautiful dog, but she was a wholly unremarkable remarkable sample.  She did not have many talents.  I know that sounds harsh, but hey I lived with her.  When she was young, she chased butterflies but as she got older, she lost that talent as well.  She was only good at that point for running off in the woods and showing up later – smelly and full of burrs. 

 

Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed her.  Just on balance, she was the unremarkable and occupies the position of 2^nd dumbest dog we have cohabitated with.  She also burped after eating – loud. (maybe in hindsight, that was a pretty good talent.)

 

My nephew maintains that Bridget is the best dog we have had with us.  Just shows that kids are a reflection of their parents, jeez. 

 

 

Teddy

 

Teddy was a Lhasa Apso.  They were originally bred as palace guard dogs in China.  But, I read somewhere else that they were bred to star in the book Gulliver’s Travels. They are pretty much close relatives to wolves.  I think that they are all left handed. 

 

Teddy was a used hand me down dog.  He came home with the girls one time from a visit to the pet store.  They just somehow were attracted to his squatty little body and under bite.  Seriously, this dog was an orthodontists dream.  He didn’t really have any special talents, but just because of his homeliness he was interesting. 

 

He had kind of a nasty temper and really did not like kids.  Kind of a bad traits in a dog.  He also farted.  I don’t even want to tell you what our friend Matt did petting Teddy the first time he met him – yuck.

 

 

Stella

 

Stella is the current 4 legged beast that has decided she needs to be in charge of our household.  Somehow she came home with Liz, we remained married through that experience, and now is basically the center of all activity at our house.  The days tend to revolve around what Stella is doing for the day, and how many walks she is going to get or trips to the park or fetching sessions with the Frisbee in the yard etc… 

 

So we had an agreement, that the kids are off in college, and we would be unencumbered with dogs etc..  We were thinking, or I guess I was thinking, that we would be free to jump in the car and head to ride our bikes or head up to Copper Harbor to ride or fly off to France to ride or go to Whistler or…  You get the picture.  I had a vision of every weekend being filled with a 2 wheeled exploit without the concern of where the dog was going to hang while we were gone. 

 

I came home from work one day, and there she was.  Stella, the 13 pound poodle.  Huh, you say?  Poodle!  That’s right.  Liz thought that I might just turn around, head out the door and go find some new chick to live with.  (It crossed my mind, not the other girl part – but the turning around and heading back out the door part.) 

 

Of course, we are a year into Stella’s reign at the V house, and I am head over heals for her.  She chews electrical chords, she will chew up a buckle on your backpack, she barks when someone comes to the door – all the usual annoying things that a dog can do.  But at the same time, she might just be the most fun dog we have ever been around.  She brings you a toy and pushes it against your leg at all times of the day.  She wants to run around the house and yard all the time.  She loves tearing around after a bath.  She retrieves the Frisbee in the yard as long as you want to throw it, she loves a 2+ hour MTB ride, loves camping etc…  basically, she acts like a dog.  In spite of being just 13 pounds and really goofy looking when she is wet, she grows on you. 

 

She is a 13 pound poodle that acts like a Labrador.  Her best friend is a 70lb Golden Retriever.  If they are together, it is a non stop wrestling match.  Stella is way outmatched in a straight up fair fight.  But, she does not fight fair.  She is way faster than the Golden and runs circles around her until she gets cornered and then the Golden picks her up by her ears and carries her around. 

 

After all that, I guess that you pretty much need a dog around.  Time to take the dog for an MTB ride. Who is taking who for a ride?  Who’s dog was that anyway?

  

Out,

Joe

A Year On, We All Still Miss Wouter. #WW108

Reflecting on the anniversary of Wouter's horrible crash and tragedy, I feel it is appropriate to re-post my entry from last year.  It was a horrible bunch of days, but a year later my memories of Wouter do not really revolve around those days.  Thankfully.

Here is a post that John Burke put up about the funeral.

 

Godspeed Wouter - We Will Miss You.

As I was going about my business in my office, someone said "Big crash in the Giro today.  A Leopard Trek rider has crashed."  My initial reaction was that "Oh, that is too bad.  If it is a bad crash, the team will have to be a rider down - already in the Giro.  Not good for their overall plan". 

Not in my wildest dreams, did I think that the story would go from that to the harsh reality of the situation. 

Next Ben called, "Joe...(his voice was breaking up and immediately I knew it was bad), I just spoke with Luca in Italy.  Wouter Weylandt has crashed, and he did not make it...."  I was completely crushed.  I had to sit myself down and choke back the tears.  I could not believe it.  This is not supposed to happen.  I think I sat there for a long time.  Unable to react, unable to process it.

Shock has settled on my office, and all of Trek.  There is no music playing, there is a lot less talking in the halls.  People in the office who have never met anyone from the Leopard Trek team are crushed.  I am having a hard time describing how heavy my heart feels, and I can tell there are lots of others at Trek that feel the same way.  I cannot imagine what it would be like to be with the team in Italy right now. 

As difficult as it is to be part of the team, that is surely nothing compared to how a few families feel.  Wouter's parents and siblings, his girlfriend who is pregnant with their first baby and all his friends in Belgium are surely completely devastated. 

Cycling is the most beautiful sport in the world.  The Giro is the kick off to the glorious summer race season.  We sponsor cycling, because it is such a fantastic sport and that cycling is such a life affirming activity.  I am shattered that any rider would die doing it, but for a young talented rider at the top of the sport to pass in such a horrible way is beyond that. 

I did not know Wouter well.  I have met him, along with meeting all the other riders with the Leopard Trek team.  I thought he was friendly and a good looking Belgian kid.  I thought he had funny hair.  I have a huge respect for what he can do on a bicycle.  I know that at Paris Roubaix, he looked deadly serious going into battle.

I suspect he loved cycling.  I do not think you can be a pro cyclist and accept all the dangers of the sport for just the money.  There has to be a huge amount of passion for cycling as a pro cyclist, because there are easier ways to make a living.  As this weeks event shows us, there are certainly safer ways.

There are 2 photos that I want to remember Wouter by.

This first one is fun to me.  It make Wouter look like a young kid ready to be part of an exciting new cycling team.  It speaks volumes on his pride and passion for the sport to me.

I had not met Wouter when this one was taken, but I am sure this is how he would want to be remembered - at the top of the sport on that moment with his arms held high - happy for the success he was achieving.

We all thought there would be more, but that was stolen away from Wouter, while doing what he loved.

Godspeed Wouter.  We will all miss you.

 

 

Another Belgium Post! I think I have a complex.

I am not Belgian.  Let's just get that part straight.  I do love it there - I think.  I lived there once, for 2 years.  I was a kid though.  I remember it, but I was 16-18 years old.  There are other things that are more important to a 16 year old than the lore of bike racing and how Belgium is the center of that universe. 

But, I lived there.  I lived on a cobbled street even.  I would love to say that I knew from then, just knew that a cobbled road and all the greatness that goes along with that would be super important to me in the future.  Alas, I was just a kid.  16 and stupid.

Now of course, just the mention of Belgium and I get all goose bumped for the thought of crosswinds and cobbles and epic racing.  Yow.  It is only 10ish months till next years race season starts and we are back in Belgium.

In the mean time, here are the last pictures from our Roubaix trip this year.

That is it.

More good stuff coming to this space soon though.  Stay in touch.

Joe

Recently, I went to a car museum in Belgium!

Nothing really to report about that, just that I went there.  I had an evening to fill. I am not much of a car person, they have 4 wheels and take up too much space on the road. But, I did have Oatmeal for breakfast this morning. 

As I said, I am not much of a car person.  (They are nice to get from point A to B if it is raining or snowing.)  But, I kinda dig pictures and thinking about the product development that was required at the time to make the thing go.  Wow, how times change.  I suppose that means the bikes that we think are so cool and futuristic now will some day be pretty pedestrian and dated looking. 

Without further adu, here is my photo essay.

The front of the place is a little nicer than what you would expect for a car museum.  I guess it is Belgium and things are a bit older than the things in the USA.

Turned out to be a cool old hanger that was stuffed full of a bunch of different cars, from a bunch of different era's.

I guess the pedal electric/moped bike thing is not really a new idea.

This is a Bugatti.  Look closely at this one.  Drink it in.  The next photo will surprise you.

This is a Ford.  Notice how similar it is to the Bugatti above?  Man how times change.  Bugatti is still cool, Ford is...well, Ford.

There is a retro car waiting to get out in this one.  Seems that some car designer should be studying this to figure out how to come out with the modern version.

Bang Bang Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, our fine four fendered friend. 

I am pretty sure you could fit more lights on the front of this one.

I want a steering wheel like that.

The first SUV.  I think they have gotten a bit more refined though.

This one is kinda cuddly.

Always, no never, no always end your blog entry with a picture of a Pacer.  It is not too big, doesn't take up too much space, and if it really sucks you can blame it on AMC.

Out.  I will find some better things to write about soon, I promise.

JV

Another Post On Belgium: What The Hell Am I Doing Here?

 

Crosswinds.  They are not like hills. 

The crosswind saps your energy unlike a climb does.  A climb is something that presses on you, pressing you down and standing in your way.  Gravity becomes stronger on a climb.  It is a bit like when you are pumping a tire up, the last 10 psi are much harder to push the handle down than the first 10psi.   When riding on a climb, it is like trying to lift something heavy and bigger than you to the top shelf in the garage while standing on a ladder – over and over again.  It is hard, it can go horribly wrong, but if you are lucky and maintain your balance you get the heavy bag to the top of the shelf.  When the task is all said and done, you are tired and your back is sore, but after you rest and recover you will be fine.  After the climb, you will even be stronger. 

Generally speaking, the best climbers will have a really slender build.  The Schlecky’s will probably tilt at about 55kilo (less than 140lbs).  Climbers are long limbed, and small muscle.  If you cross-sectioned a climber, you would see no fat and lungs that go to the knees.  They breath rarefied air so much, that the insides of their lungs are pink – pure.  They count calories, they talk about carbon bikes and wheels.  They turn really small gears at an impossible cadence.  They count the grams of weight in their shoes.  They do their offseason and preseason training on slopes at stupid high altitude.  Some of us are like that, only just not superhuman versions. 

 

A classics rider is not like that.  They are carved into a mass of sinew, veins, sunken eyes, narrow shoulders and a huge ass and legs – typical of a survivor of the toughest game on two wheels.  A classics rider is more likely to tilt at 85+ kilo (180lbs).  A classics rider revels in a crosswind.  A classics rider has a face that is hardened and pocked. A classics riders face probably has scars from hitting the ground while ripping apart a cobble section of parcours at 50kph.  A classics rider probably is not French speaking, or if they are they speak it with a growl.  A classics rider probably speaks Flemish and knows the difference between a Flanders flag with red claws and one without.  Flemish is the ancient, semi illusionary dialect of a downtrodden people who revere cyclists as symbols of cultural pride.  A classics rider is a  Vlaamse-Man.

 

Belgium is the center of the universe for a classics rider.  It has impossibly steep climbs, that are probably cobbled over.  Not only does Belgium have cobbles, Belgium has the other consistent item that makes a classic not the same as a climber’s race.  Belgium has crosswinds.  Unlike a climb, a crosswind does not make you stronger.  A crosswind pulls you down.  A crosswind tears at your skin, biting and clawing your body back into the gutter.  Down down and down, tearing and ripping.  A crosswind is a pack of zombies tearing at your legs and calves and arms and shoulders.  A crosswind is blood thirsty.  After a day in a big Belgian crosswind, you will not feel like it made you stronger.  A day in a Belgian crosswind rips you apart and leaves you for dead. 

 

Those Dutch kids are hard as nails.  That is what a crosswind is like.

I weigh a buck 55 with my cycling kit on.  That is not the super light gazelle pulled rubber band of the climber, but it is a long long way from the Vlaamse-Man. 

 

So I found myself this past weekend on my 5^th cobbled ride.  I found myself riding the Paris Roubaix course for the 2^nd time in a week.  And, of course I found myself with a bunch of 185lb guys, in the rain with a huge wind trying to get to the velodrome in Roubaix.  Ugh… It hurt.  I found myself arriving at the velodrome, “with no one in the photo”, but not in the good way.  Not in the way that you want to have "no one in the photo".   I had been left for dead on section 5 going toward Roubaix, and I was arriving much after everyone else had.  It is amazing just how slow you can go when the curtain has dropped on your reserves.  Black.

 

I had battled gallantly and made the selection down to 15, then 10 then 6.  But, when in a group of 6 it is really hard to hide from the demons of the crosswind.  You bounce around trying to stay out of sight of the crosswind, but eventually he finds you.  And when he does, he just keeps biting and tearing.  Eventually enough of your muscle is gone that when he again finds you, he hits bone.  When he does, your done.  You fall off the pace so hard that you can hear your ass dragging on the road.  That was my tail end on the road. 

 

I was out of food and out of water.  I got lost.  I found the route again.  I hugged the gutter on the road, I rode the path on the side of the cobbles.  I blew sky high on the little rise into the headwind near the 10k to go point.  It was raining and it was windy, really windy.  I was shattered, but I battled on to Roubaix and eventually found my way there.  I found the velodrome, and a beer in the café. 

 

A beer never tasted better.  What the hell am I doing in Belgium?  I love this place, but I am definitely not a classics rider. 

 

Below is a short video to show you what my 2 weeks were like there.  Bikes, beer, cobbles, bike racing...Ah.

 

Out (I cannot wait till next spring),

Joe

Oh What A Lovely Squeak!

Those are not cheese curds!

You really cannot stand.  There is not enough traction. But, you cannot really sit, the pitch is so great, the cobbles so rough.  So, you sit and then you stand and then you sit and finally you stand.  You try to think of Fabian and the huge power that he is putting down while pushing ever forward.  Your heart rate is all the way to max.  In fact, your bouncing of the rev limiter.  It is pounding in your chest, your throat and your head.  Your going Full Gas, yet your just barely moving. Squeak.

Push on the pedals.  Left, Right, Left, Right...Squeak.  It happens a few times.  Slowly, you realize that it is rhythmic.  If you shift it is still there.  You try standing, it doesn't really help.  Your shoulders are rocking.  You push on the shifter again, but there is nothing left.  In the back of your head, you can hear Mr. Scott, "I cannot give you any more captain". 

You slide forward, you slide back.  The saddle position does not seam to help.  Squeak.  What is that squeaking sound? The hill seems to go on forever.  How in the world do the pro's push such a gear up these climbs?  Wow, those barricades are tight. Squeak. Imagine how it must be during the race.  A tunnel of sound with what would feel like the whole country on the side of each climb.  Squeak.  Imagine what it would be like to be at the front of the field, pushing the pace up the Koppenberg. 

 

 

It is impossible.  Squeak.  The cobbles are impossibly rough.  I have ridden mountain bike rides that were way way smoother than this.  Squeak. The sound slowly starts to dawn on you.  It sounds as if some one is running along behind you, noshing cheese curds with their teeth.  Only, there is no one behind you and no running in evidence.

Finally, WHAT IS THAT SQUEAK?  Slowly it begins to dawn on you...That is the tire loosing traction and sliding under power as it comes up off the cobble for just a split second.  OMG.  It is the coolest sound ever.  Squeak.  You love that sound.  It will become your first revelation about the spring classics.

I have always known that spring classics in Belgium were special.  But what I did not know about was the waffles.  I did not realize that the waffle was going to be such an important piece of my spring classics lore in Belgium.  It is a perfect ride food.  Small, round, can be prepackaged, has little pockets that you can fill up with things (syrup, peanut butter, bananas...).  It is perfect.  I buy them by the dozens.  They are mine.

Turn your computer sideways to see that one.  You bet, waffles provided the horsepower.

The waffle and the cobbled spring classics are somehow related.  The waffle and spring classics are tied together in some sort of parallel universe I think.  I do not think that one can exist without the other.  It is like the waffle was originally made on a really hot day by pouring batter on the cobbled road.  In fact, that is my story - that is how they came to be.  It is the story of laurent the waffle kid and the cobbles.  Of course he lost his life in the storming of the castle when the large bunny came flying over the wall and King Arthur screamed "Run Away!!!"

The King weekend of the spring classics is Flanders and the Queen is Roubaix.  It is amazing how different the regions are, yet how the races over the cobbles have come to signify everything great in cycling in my mind. 

Dorks looking at their phones instead of the square.

This year, we organized a trip of 10 or so of us to go and ride the Flanders course, race the citizen Roubaix event and then rush to a pub to watch Flanders with a bunch of Belgians.  Our intention was to cheer for Cancellara while they of course would be cheering for Boonen. Everyone knows at this point how that turned out. 

We all were smiling in the morning.
 

It has been an epic trip.  We rode the cobbles of Flanders.  If you do not ever go anywhere else in pursuit of your cycling fantasies, you need to come to Flanders.  Flanders is the absolute galactic center of cycling.  I wrote that before, so I think you already know that.  The races are legendary.  There are bike lanes everywhere.  It is a part of the world that is in love with bikes and bike racing and bike racers.  You have to see it to believe it.  Oh, and there is beer. 

Then, we went to St. Quentin to ride the citizen Paris Roubaix race. Northern France is and has always been pretty dismal.  The name "Hell of The North" kinda says it all.  I always thought it was because of the cobbles.  The Inner Ring did a great write up just the other day telling us all what it really means, check it out. 

The start.  We were cold.

The race is 5 hours of bashing your brains out over cobbles.  It is 5 hours of being convinced that there is no way your bike and your wheels and your body can hold it together.  You enter the cobbles at an impossible speed, which turns out is in fact impossible to hold over the length of the cobble section.  You end up with a huckabuck experience and your retinas nearly detached from your brain. 

You better have a healthy back, neck and wrists just to give it a try.  I do not want to think about what would really happen if your bike came apart in the middle of the section.  You have to run really big tires, I ran FMB tubulars which say 27 on them but they are probably bigger than 30mm.  Run some really stout bottle cages, because anything wimpy will just self destruct somewhere along the way.  Run double gel bar tape, it feels way to big but trust me - you will love it later.  Don't worry about the cycle computer, even if it continues to work you will not be able to read it.  Tape your wrists, make sure your glasses fit really tight, pile on the chamois creme of choice (Raffa stuff is the best), get rid of all your watches and jewelry as it will just bother you somewhere along the way. 

Oh, no matter how bad you think the Arenberg forrest is, trust me - it's worse.

I rode the cobbles this year.  I tried not to ride the gutter.  That was a mistake.

In the end, there just isn't anything better.  I'll be back.

Out,

Joe

Follow the Yellow Brick Road.

Liz on the Koppenberg.

The obligatory top of a climb shot. Eickenberg.

My steed for Roubaix.

This was the constant reminder that there are a lot of cobbles still to come.

Still smiling at the finish.

Less carnage than last year, but still some blood and a couple of stitches.

Frites, beer and Flanders watching in a cafe in Kortrijk.  It filled up by the end, and we had to cheer loudly for Cancellara in a room full of Boonen fans.

She's blond and bitter.

 

 

 

 

Hell Of The North!

We are only 1 week away from the BEST race of the year, and a week later the 2nd best race of the year. 

Next weekend is the Tour of Flanders or Ronde Van Vlaanderen if you are Dutch or Belgian.  Cobbles and climbs.  The Flanders region of Belgium seems to have the absolute best race fans of any part of the world.  I know that I wait the whole year for the Tour of Flanders. 

The weekend after that is Paris Roubaix.  That is not in Belgium, but it is pretty close.  Roubaix is right on the border, and as a result is sort of an adopted Belgian race.  There is a huge amount of history with Paris Roubaix.  Back in the day, all the big favorites from the summer races would show up and race hard for Paris Roubaix.  Hinault, Sean Kelly, Eddy Merckx etc... 

I feel like the race got its name from this movie.

 

Set up your trainer, or get a Belgian ale and sit back and watch Eddy Merckx take on a Sunday In Hell!

Enjoy,

Joe

Chaos Theory - The Cyclist Version!

Wikipedia says -  Chaos theory is a field of study in mathematics, Chaos theory studies the behavior of dynamical systems that are highly sensitive to initial conditions, an effect which is popularly referred to as the butterfly effect. Small differences in initial conditions yield widely diverging outcomes for chaotic systems, rendering long-term prediction impossible in general.  This happens even though their future behavior is fully determined by their initial conditions.

 

I like the concept of Chaos theory in general.  It's fun. I like it because Dr. Jeff Goldblum used the concept of Chaos Theory to prove why Jurassic Park would not work.  In the end, after one of his co-stars got eaten by a dinosaur while sitting on a toilet his theory proved correct - Jurassic Park didn't work (I've been there, there aren't any dinosaurs there).  But, that was just one of the great movies that Jeff Goldblum played in.  Of course he was in that movie The Fly, that was pretty stupid.  But, he was in the movie Earth Girls Are Easy, which totally rocked.  He was also in history's greatest movie, Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension.  In almost any book, that makes him just about the coolest actor of all time.  If only he had also been in The Gods Must Be Crazy would his legacy be better.  Unfortunately, I do not think that Jeff Goldbloom has ever been in a movie about cycling, but he would definitely approve of my version of the chaos theory for cyclists.

I mean, Earth Girls Are Easy and Buckaroo Banzai, geez?  The chances of Jeff Goldblum ever toping being in movies like those ever again are exactly 1236.7 to 1. 

Of course that has nothing to do with how the Chaos Theory can be applied to cycling.  But, let me try.

When you leave your garage in the morning to go for a ride, you make 2 subtle decisions.  First, what time to depart.  Assuming that you would not go out before 7am, and not after 18:00, that means the odds of leaving in any given minute during that time are 660 to 1.  Second, which direction to go.  Since most of us can only go left or right at driveway, we are going to assume a 50/50 choice usually based on wind, time of day or if you have heard any Husker Du music lately.  Those 2 decisions set up a whole series of events, and are a little like the hairs on the back of your hands.  A series of events that leads to what routes you ride, which turns you make and exactly what road you will be on when the moment happens.

You know exactly what moment I am talking about.  You are on a little used road.  You have not seen a car in either direction for miles.  Up in the distance you see the first car coming your direction.  It looms on the horizon, and slowly you realize that it is a BIG truck going really fast.  It is taking up a huge part of the road on the other side.  You glance behind and see an SUV coming from the other direction.  OMG, they are going to meet at exactly the moment they pass you.  All 3 of you will be trying to occupy the same section of the road at exactly the same time.  The highly accurate probability for that happening is pretty much exactly 13,567,891 to 1.

I know you have seen it, it happens every time you ride.  2 vehicles meet at exactly the moment they are passing you.  Never fails.  Chaos Theory - The Cyclist Version.  I think I need a coffee or some oatmeal or something like that.

I rode for 3 hours on Saturday, and 4 hours on Sunday on the road.  I think that this scene played itself out at least 5 times on both days.  How can that be?  What kind of probability is that?  I so not know that number, my calculator does not have enough numbers on it to figure that out.   I need to go and figure out what movie Jeff Goldblum is going to be in next.

Which way will you go when you leave the driveway tomorrow?

Out,

Joe