tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4108747289937192082024-02-07T09:08:57.434-08:00friesframeRichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-89691023681084008992020-08-07T13:25:00.098-07:002020-08-13T13:29:43.484-07:00On Being Our Own Lighthouse<div class="separator"><p dir="ltr" style="clear: right; float: right; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="clear: right; float: right; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-6088dacd-7fff-a567-2e6a-1b61fbe29ff0"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Nj_gnyHeJ1jCWH4Hx4QWK1A9uI_RnVI8nyfeVhEOJxGRltE9d2aMmdsRcPcdxNO-BLw37yJ0i9iIA5LXsGH5BJlHpX3AvQLGenmm91PkGIbUg2c0JlAGB00fvwaBrmhRWw7-gmV9vQc/s333/Day+2+Rider+on+the+Storm+wide.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="187" data-original-width="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Nj_gnyHeJ1jCWH4Hx4QWK1A9uI_RnVI8nyfeVhEOJxGRltE9d2aMmdsRcPcdxNO-BLw37yJ0i9iIA5LXsGH5BJlHpX3AvQLGenmm91PkGIbUg2c0JlAGB00fvwaBrmhRWw7-gmV9vQc/s0/Day+2+Rider+on+the+Storm+wide.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Evening sky, July 27, with 15 miles remaining. </font></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>"Route 6 runs uncertainly from nowhere to nowhere, scarcely to be followed from one end to the other, except by some devoted eccentric".</b></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br style="text-align: left;" /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><font size="2"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">-George R. Stewart,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">author,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: Arial; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “Route 40: Cross-Section of America”, on why he did NOT write about Route 6.</span></font></p></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font size="5">On Being Our Own Lighthouse</font></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By RICHARD FRIES</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We rate perfect vision as “20-20”. The serendipity of this year being “2020” became appropriate for me when I lost my dream job. Those who know me understand how this past year has been one of adjusting every lens in my life.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Until late June I served as director of cycling experience for the Best Buddies Challenge charity rides. Given the organization’s need to cancel all of its events due to COVID 19 I understood and even endorsed the move. I’ll stay with this fantastic organization as a consultant, but I found myself with some time to reflect on all things in my life. My 60th birthday loomed ahead. Coronavirus has wiped out all events, including those I announce, organize or attend. </span></p><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiveUQmwCJYRlRjjx_42j1jA2SDpD9sajzFGeiOc-CO_vFL6-0ChiAfki1keBhpLfPlcd3eEiu7OAm1w8kzyluS9nhNKEe9BwgK1QrIz3g6tIyFEozt05ExWMBzIQ4WPJ6BM4vOdD1DEN8/s1280/Day+1+ARRT+Bridge.jpg" style="clear: right; font-family: arial; font-size: 14.6667px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiveUQmwCJYRlRjjx_42j1jA2SDpD9sajzFGeiOc-CO_vFL6-0ChiAfki1keBhpLfPlcd3eEiu7OAm1w8kzyluS9nhNKEe9BwgK1QrIz3g6tIyFEozt05ExWMBzIQ4WPJ6BM4vOdD1DEN8/w126-h168/Day+1+ARRT+Bridge.jpg" width="126" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Ashuelot River RT<br /></font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This malaise intersected with my certification as a coach and evolution as an endurance athlete. Through my work with charity riders I’ve witnessed and nurtured the transformation of several middle aged folks wrestling with anxiety, depression, addiction, obesity, heart disease and assorted m</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">aladies the “fitness industrial complex” fails to remedy. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But those folks are also smart and successful. I challenge them to question everything I teach. Employing this Socratic method I in turn am forced to learn. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Working with power, heart rate, cadence and a gifted coach, Aidan Charles, I sharpened up my knowledge base. I wanted to continue racing road, gravel and cyclo-cross. But I also heard the siren of such semi-competitive adventure races as the Silk Road Mountain Race, Cape Epic, Paris-Brest-Paris and other exotic challenges. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With all events cancelled we all lost our bearing. All these charity riders bobbed about the harbor without a compass or clue on what to do. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So I chose to be the lighthouse.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Going Big</b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wanted to do something big and bold that would garner the attention of those charity riders, raise some awareness and funds for Best Buddies, and explore the outer limits of my knowledge and experience as a cyclist. And I had to do this within public health guidelines. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of note is that I did not come up with some form of an “exercise” regimen that fit around my “real” life tasks. Whereas I would typically devote about 20-30 dates to assorted weekend cycling events and adventures I needed to be creative, stay in the Northeast, and ride with just a few closely screened riders in my “bubble” of exposure. I chose to cluster a summer’s worth of cycling - seven long rides - into a intensive two-week span. </span></p><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There would be just two pieces of connective tissue between these adventures: the bicycle, and Route 6. Planners initially created this as a New England route between the tip of Cape Cod and the New York state line. After 1925 it would be extended nationwide until ultimately reaching Long Beach, California, making it the longest highway in America at the time. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While I would discover tremendous byways and pathways and gravel roads, I would inadvertently braid these rides along the Route 6 corridor. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nobody writes songs or books about this road. Not Jack Kerouac, Bob Dylan nor Bobby Troup would tell of getting their “kicks” along Route 6. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like this writer, Route 6 is a celebration of all things minor league and aged. Providence, Hartford, Scranton….Denver is its lone major league destination. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">While the chamois sniffers who flock to such locations as Mallorca or Tuscany would never replicate this ride, true cyclists can draw cultural nourishment from just about anywhere...If folks can get teary eyed about gritty Belgian locales, these rides offered just as fragrant bouquets. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Below is a curious description of one fast and furious triumph in a single day followed a slow and futile odyssey over five days. I loved both. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5d0lUZ-bsmzZeH0JJCLsBJxb00TA1hOpH5DxTS7fTN1Zgq4Xgr1dWe-w1ikeGdTUfjbXyMY4zNEh0ee13nekwZ9HGjrn0uc72UClnh0O-LnE37UvSPyYb0YyNNhRc5OM1IvmmIraI77w/s810/PTown+WIDE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="455" data-original-width="810" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5d0lUZ-bsmzZeH0JJCLsBJxb00TA1hOpH5DxTS7fTN1Zgq4Xgr1dWe-w1ikeGdTUfjbXyMY4zNEh0ee13nekwZ9HGjrn0uc72UClnh0O-LnE37UvSPyYb0YyNNhRc5OM1IvmmIraI77w/w410-h230/PTown+WIDE.jpg" width="410" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Provincetown, post ride</font></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: arial; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>RIDE 1:P2P2BB</b></span></font></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Inspiration: Wyatt Ketchell</b></span></font></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><br /></b></span></font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNev3WDrClkBcdfwIwCqpDFQ5Eak-x4sjXyOUnm9aEM9VYzBrmvYDb3dMuCNx5j_0JBi2xfLeNmWD2R6-EfbetwaXJ3hLsFNRqXpFIH_zcK03TF3QLmCNKI8PvZJgWkYhS5Pvn3qdAmpo/s960/wyatt.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNev3WDrClkBcdfwIwCqpDFQ5Eak-x4sjXyOUnm9aEM9VYzBrmvYDb3dMuCNx5j_0JBi2xfLeNmWD2R6-EfbetwaXJ3hLsFNRqXpFIH_zcK03TF3QLmCNKI8PvZJgWkYhS5Pvn3qdAmpo/w126-h168/wyatt.jpg" width="126" /></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><font face="courier" size="2"><br /></font></i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><font face="courier" size="2"><br /></font></i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><font face="courier" size="2">We devoted our ride to two-year old Wyatt Ketchell, the toughest two-year old I know, and his parents. Both Robby and Marya worked in the support role of pro cycling for Teams Garmin and Ineos. And this ride was all about the support team! </font></i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ride 1 would be a fully supported six-rider 255-mile blast over the Berkshires and down across the Bay State, cutting through Rhode Island, and on to the tip of Cape Cod.I rode my custom titanium </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Firefly</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> road bike, which weighs in around 17 pounds., with 28 mm </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Vittoria</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> tires set at 70 psi for comfort. Despite hot weather we had a gentle tailwind. The riders included: </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Caitlyn Braun, Bart Lipinski, Massimilano Accupato, Chris Brits, Michael Serpa</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and myself. Others joined in for patches, including </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Paul Curley, Chris DeHahn, Pat McIntyre, David Fitzgibbons</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jaymz Lipinsk</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">i. The supporters worked just as hard: </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eric Carlson, Leah Carlson, Pam Miller, Chris Miller, Alissa Weigand, Shaun Weigand, John Mosher, Michelle Mosher, Bill Braun</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mary Ellen McIntyre</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> all pitched in to provide vital support. We averaged an amazing 19 mph thanks to those supporters and finished in under 13.5 hours. My lone challenge would be three bouts of cramps in my right leg during the final 60 miles. </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9QWnHENE1bnJSjk5dsqOzYTmeaqyGyI21LXXrUcEOdinKkSk-vp7ldFm0pWhQc_asuYBXU18Tatf7ygiIVUCAPWsh1YFol3j07QUD9-x-6SOJhEv3n0ji7VODgVzJlnAs5XxW84vDzk/s960/NY+State+Line.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9QWnHENE1bnJSjk5dsqOzYTmeaqyGyI21LXXrUcEOdinKkSk-vp7ldFm0pWhQc_asuYBXU18Tatf7ygiIVUCAPWsh1YFol3j07QUD9-x-6SOJhEv3n0ji7VODgVzJlnAs5XxW84vDzk/w168-h126/NY+State+Line.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">NY-MA State Line, 4 a.m.<br /></font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m kind of pleased to report that my coach noted my “file” - which is bike talk for the collection of data from a ride - for this ride matched anything he’s seen from pro athletes he’s worked with over the past decade. Data geeks should see the grid below. (Did I mention I’m almost 60?)</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">RIDE 2: NH2PA</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a surprisingly rapid recovery, I lined up a week later for an entirely different ride.In my desire to try out bike packing, I plotted a route to meet my brother, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Gary Fries</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in north central Pennsylvania. My sister, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Beth Fries</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, would meet us there for some gravel rail trail riding. The prior weekend I had posted the longest one-day ride of my life, so I planned to do 400+ miles in three days. I did the math, three days of 133 miles. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“How hard could THAT be?, “ I asked anybody who would listen. “I have all day to do these rides.” </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnx0avK0h-qC0OeoBzbeDgMOg8ft850MgBfOHzRRyqOdlbEbREfIpNfNq0hjURKPJx4SNecfpz6QyvVf2jmUv49Oe7EjYKnGjUn5RhqoWntTmUDFGtQ64kicSCbVkBBU0Bbur7cpLlyCk/s1280/Day+2+Gravel+Finish.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnx0avK0h-qC0OeoBzbeDgMOg8ft850MgBfOHzRRyqOdlbEbREfIpNfNq0hjURKPJx4SNecfpz6QyvVf2jmUv49Oe7EjYKnGjUn5RhqoWntTmUDFGtQ64kicSCbVkBBU0Bbur7cpLlyCk/w158-h210/Day+2+Gravel+Finish.jpg" width="158" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Pennsylvania gravel</font></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Enter the Devil... And those pesky details. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I switched to a friend’s </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Specialized Diverge</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> gravel bike for comfort and stability. I would then strap on an </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ortlieb</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> handlebar bag, a </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Specialized Burra</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> top tube bag, and then a </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Rapha</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> saddle bag. With camping gear and provisions the bike weighed in at 40+ pounds and climbed like a walrus. I would be self reliant for days 1-3 for navigation, power supply, mechanical service, hydration, food and camping. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Whereas my prior weekend featured a downhill course with a tailwind this would be an uphill battle with a steady 10 mph headwind. And yes, the temperatures would be in the mid 90s. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wSlPczsR-2coyGQPGJgCJWjRRGE331yJE8OACotXwl3vVOYQ1eFgw4CzTKSXiJmPh71xKS2Mb8BeeZ8BlELhtHQeGv3fQJ55uK5ZvRP2JZkrjTnFWpBscc7rl7UYSLDCH4BY_hm4j2M/s1278/Day+1+Scenic+wide.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="1278" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wSlPczsR-2coyGQPGJgCJWjRRGE331yJE8OACotXwl3vVOYQ1eFgw4CzTKSXiJmPh71xKS2Mb8BeeZ8BlELhtHQeGv3fQJ55uK5ZvRP2JZkrjTnFWpBscc7rl7UYSLDCH4BY_hm4j2M/w410-h230/Day+1+Scenic+wide.jpg" width="410" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Single track serenity, Litchfield County, CT</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">RIDE 2, DAY 1</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Inspiration: Ian Pfeffer</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6qYq4lyxEX3xYbXw_t6S_wx4SJRCnF_u7VboaadAbO2RMFjzWUQ5GF8dwqd6A54L_BURg6G7qXzWaRVuhJrvvbhTlTean2MIGwo0fKnO6VdzIwciLsgzvv8bo-WHm9EEXaieipjZo_6c/s1280/Ian+2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="961" data-original-width="1280" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6qYq4lyxEX3xYbXw_t6S_wx4SJRCnF_u7VboaadAbO2RMFjzWUQ5GF8dwqd6A54L_BURg6G7qXzWaRVuhJrvvbhTlTean2MIGwo0fKnO6VdzIwciLsgzvv8bo-WHm9EEXaieipjZo_6c/w168-h126/Ian+2.jpg" width="168" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="courier" size="2"><i>This day's ride would be dedicated to Ian Pfeffer, my Best Buddy, who randomly called ME on Dec. 23, 2019, during perhaps my loneliest of moments. He's wonderful. </i></font></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I simply threw my leg over the bike and pedaled. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I started alone in pre-dawn beauty along the Ashuelot Rail Trail.</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This gravel path would bring me to the Massachusetts line. The saddle bag swayed unusually but I pressed on, only to discover the loss of both Adidas sandals along the way. I moved ahead of schedule but had to stop in Northampton, where </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chris Zigmont</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> had arranged to have THE </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Jeremy Powers</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (6x national champion now serving as a presenter for GCN) provide me a 40-tooth chain ring for the Sram 1x system (that means single front gear). And </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sean Condon</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, an ace mechanic who founded </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Speed and Sprocket</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, a mobile bike repair service, swapped out the ring. As we waited for that service, I soaked up all sorts of info from Jeremy and Sean's wife,<b> Lizz Budd, </b>a certified nutritionist. That Jeremy brought cookies enhanced the stop; the guy is a class act.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYVPW-k4lMpARGxPRY8J6-2DAFl_CCdcNRukxkWpM-ffT9zUvygpLjtvm4UBfEkkVZtQ1fwhDr8QLV28b8qqju8TpD5NwTJIH9r50Jy74fC7LSZu0qQBaARE6jVLNOpKqQlfkLe2nRAD8/s1280/Day+1+ARRT+Linear.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYVPW-k4lMpARGxPRY8J6-2DAFl_CCdcNRukxkWpM-ffT9zUvygpLjtvm4UBfEkkVZtQ1fwhDr8QLV28b8qqju8TpD5NwTJIH9r50Jy74fC7LSZu0qQBaARE6jVLNOpKqQlfkLe2nRAD8/w126-h168/Day+1+ARRT+Linear.jpg" width="126" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Ashuelot River RT<br /></font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thereafter Sean and I set off; his super pull took an hour off my day's ride. He would provide fighter escort deep into Connecticut. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After my blinky light swung off the saddle bag and under the tires of a car my anxiety rose as I expected to start and finish the next day in the dark. That’s also when Sean noticed I had failed to thread the left saddlebag strap over the seat rail. (Duh!). Knowing guys like him is important.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="1"><br /></font></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sean turned back home. I would face a westward grind along the strip malls of Route 6 in Waterbury </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">alone. From there I ground up and up and up, watching the computer click off beyond the 120 miles I expected. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="81" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6nZrJlUwQIpeeWdsFLrLsl-dAIh1cT4ASq-IB9QdHZNftktyFSBeZDjX93G9BxwW7g5dXgbSGXprUfo8y2ktVnfwc0pSmBGBjTpvXj5k87WNboJPoSyDSfv4Cob6b6uuaq1Ts61BjiRU/w107-h81/Day+1+Broken+Light.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="107" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Busted</font></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lacking confidence in finding food, I strapped a chicken parm sub to the bars and pressed on expecting a road finish. Instead I discovered a gravel road and turned on to a wooded single track trail that would make both </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tim Johnson</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ted King</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> proud.</span><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dusty and dehydrated I whistled down a gravel road to find the southern shore of Lake Waramaug in the evening. I had been on the bike since 5 a.m. Although triumphant to know my campground was on the north shore and I had staved off cramping for what would be 140 miles.I pedaled with trepidation knowing I had no rear light, a clicking noise in my drive train, a campsite to set up, and 166 miles and 12K+ climbing the following day (provided THAT mapping proved correct).</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In this Dali-esque mind melt I passed an obese guy wearing a bathing suit, flip flops and tank top riding aboard a moped groaning under his heft. I passed him. With that image fresh in my head I spotted a big red van parked on the white line, forcing me to go out into the travel lane. My initial irritation turned when I read </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">V-E-L-O-F-I-X</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> on the back. I immediately knew this would be </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mike Conlan</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, ace mechanic, industry veteran and top notch USA Cycling official! With his daughter,</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Delaney</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, in the front seat, I received an escort right into the campground. Packed with families, this campground featured ornately provisioned family sites, kids on bikes and skateboards, and a few hundred folks in bathing suits. Into this Brady Bunch scene I rolled with Mike in support. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzRY2cEfwYpDeXlisZXmk22SoRm27O_i3X1J4BU5tWH5cfgqzEr0pBK0pESFlUms_TKrxLNwoFsKBFOBCJGPGL6gsyjeRfPfCmbpVGYTV5pnjDIUURvSI2s-8h4K6Zg2vT3PnuH9abhCM/s1280/Day+1+Pizza.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzRY2cEfwYpDeXlisZXmk22SoRm27O_i3X1J4BU5tWH5cfgqzEr0pBK0pESFlUms_TKrxLNwoFsKBFOBCJGPGL6gsyjeRfPfCmbpVGYTV5pnjDIUURvSI2s-8h4K6Zg2vT3PnuH9abhCM/w210-h158/Day+1+Pizza.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Chicken parm, please</font></td></tr></tbody></table><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />“Nothing beats a clean bike, eh?,” said Mike, directing me to sit down at my site’s picnic table. “You need to eat.” He set down bottles of water and Powerade, gave me towels, stripped the bags off the bike and pulled the bike into the van. With ultrasound cleaners and solvents and who knows wha</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">t else he gave the bike a full workup all while I hit a shower and set up my bivy sack and mattress and tended to all the battery management require</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">d for such an endeavor. While I considered </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> “wild camping” on this trip I opted for the inexpensive sites for three offerings: toilets, power, and showers. All would prove vital. </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKy0Tv7pLPPABPimLPW2F-Z3IxH94_cUJSwNDtV4sdfK6sX6Sb3-2G1_vU402eGTuE7TYMbQO4Mt8zSvOG_0yJXOuT4LyNNLHtwDMDFDVJv0u8-EhlPWJmugWssSPH7IlaDAkB4Puf6zw/s333/Day+1+Velofix.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="333" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKy0Tv7pLPPABPimLPW2F-Z3IxH94_cUJSwNDtV4sdfK6sX6Sb3-2G1_vU402eGTuE7TYMbQO4Mt8zSvOG_0yJXOuT4LyNNLHtwDMDFDVJv0u8-EhlPWJmugWssSPH7IlaDAkB4Puf6zw/w213-h160/Day+1+Velofix.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Mike Conlan, savior</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><div><div style="text-align: left;"><font face="arial">Mike drove off. I cannot begin to describe the gratitude I felt for his support.The sun set. And the stark clarity of my situation set in. I have been sober and single for more than nine months. I had no cell service. No music. Dead batteries. An exhausted body. No food. I missed everybody in my life.</font> </div><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I looked at the Garmin bike computer. I had just done the second longest ride of the year, one of the 10 longest of my life. And I knew the following day would be longer, hotter and harder. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I felt like Buddy the Elf….only not as cheerful. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbRH-rEXPcmczgwLHmAA2c0lva6_-RYPap80HoIQBjiFZ5kHNEvXYUdKEKvDMk1m7RdCgFKaKGcLJNOgdhzyyuU8PRbiKJZb8s5PYYScKc55m9Qilk0IQwI5igbvdRGyfGYX7nZvO9nYQ/s1278/Day+2+store+WIDE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="1278" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbRH-rEXPcmczgwLHmAA2c0lva6_-RYPap80HoIQBjiFZ5kHNEvXYUdKEKvDMk1m7RdCgFKaKGcLJNOgdhzyyuU8PRbiKJZb8s5PYYScKc55m9Qilk0IQwI5igbvdRGyfGYX7nZvO9nYQ/w512-h288/Day+2+store+WIDE.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">Campbell, NY</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">RIDE 2; DAY 2</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Inspiration: Angelo Bryant Santiago</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xzIIN-pmtTfHs7AABk-s1yyah7HrVRHXIBax5FYsTtK0hvYJrDt7yZOllSc4f-JuM9czfhQSbHtNcCVPIwmOiOefsGPgztZIpCymzk61er7jWZaX4R-df0BcY2XB3CBJHjStqAkadDc/s206/Angelo+Bryant+Santiago.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="165" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xzIIN-pmtTfHs7AABk-s1yyah7HrVRHXIBax5FYsTtK0hvYJrDt7yZOllSc4f-JuM9czfhQSbHtNcCVPIwmOiOefsGPgztZIpCymzk61er7jWZaX4R-df0BcY2XB3CBJHjStqAkadDc/w165-h165/Angelo+Bryant+Santiago.jpg" width="165" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="courier" size="2"><i>This day's ride would start in Connecticut, home of the effervescent and wonderful Angelo Bryant Santiago. So I dedicated the ride to him. I had just started to get to know this 100 watts of humanity when COVID 19 hit. I look forward to seeing him soon!</i></font></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I awoke to see the time: 2:21 a.m. Ugghhh...Frank Sinatra’s wee small hours of the morning….I rolled back over and managed to doze a bit….Alas we learn in A.A. that it is always 3 a.m. in the heart of an alcoholic. My anxiety simmered like a kettle. </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsCdHI_ROavS50dLbydKAfowtrcDYziARIFfgviGOc1EgQ1cN_KLxCklPU2gq4DDNNVT-azNHrbUA4n9tNVwXq840T81nj0YKyijhmvL8Bq2KCqLZYL0ftZJYqQadQzsMeRTExZSqSQAM/s1280/Day+2+Departure+silhouette.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsCdHI_ROavS50dLbydKAfowtrcDYziARIFfgviGOc1EgQ1cN_KLxCklPU2gq4DDNNVT-azNHrbUA4n9tNVwXq840T81nj0YKyijhmvL8Bq2KCqLZYL0ftZJYqQadQzsMeRTExZSqSQAM/w197-h262/Day+2+Departure+silhouette.jpg" width="197" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Pre-dawn departure</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This would be the “Queen Stage” of the entire 13-day odyssey. The route - as mapped - would be more than 20 miles longer than the longest stage of the most recent Tour de France. Physiologically this would be akin to competing in an Ironman the day after completing an Ironman and nine-days after completing an additional Ironman. But there would be no tattoo, no high-five, no </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Eric Gilsenen</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> calling out “You ARE an IRONMAN.” This would be alone on an unmarked and unfamiliar course. There would be no support car. I would start and likely finish in the dark. One mistake, one logistical mis-step, a navigational error, a mechanical mishap, a crash, a robbery, and I could wind up in deep trouble. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I only think of that now in hindsight as I write. I did not not think those thoughts. One cannot think like that; otherwise paralysis would set in. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQRtvskd0ACvZRsRLkMPA5SjCW7OIVKhTXHwOx94CoI95-uoB_Vj5A7jTgovdnc2fFJVhId8S862BiFyyQeyfHf-rsSEiOLIF5uKp2Bvuz0Gldl7hWDHIpbQGhOQdeFT4upj-UYKSiCQI/s333/Day+2+ruben.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="250" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQRtvskd0ACvZRsRLkMPA5SjCW7OIVKhTXHwOx94CoI95-uoB_Vj5A7jTgovdnc2fFJVhId8S862BiFyyQeyfHf-rsSEiOLIF5uKp2Bvuz0Gldl7hWDHIpbQGhOQdeFT4upj-UYKSiCQI/w128-h170/Day+2+ruben.jpg" width="128" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Ruben please</font></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had to draw on the courage of a Buddy. I had to go through my day like so many Best Buddies participants who bravely get up alone and hopefully get to a job alone or a school alone, eat lunch alone, and then get home to be largely left … alone. Only to do it the next day and the next day and the next day hoping nothing goes too wrong. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Decades of cycling set me into a mindful mode of prep: plug in EVERYTHING, break down the camp, lay everything out on the table, check it again, go poop (extremely important), eat 400 mg of ibuprofen with three </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sportlegs</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> tablets, clean up everything (especially the undercarriage) and get dressed. And then pack the bike. At the last possible second, unplug the Garmin and phone, bring up the course, shoot a quick video, and check the time. It’s 4:45 a.m. I roll….after 2 km I realize I forgot to turn on Strava and Relive. (Duh). </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I threw my leg over the bike and pedaled.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I noted a sharp pain in my right Achilles tendon.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You may note I did NOT eat. I simply had no food to eat save for some </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Clif Shot Bloks</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> which I hold for emergencies. No coffee to drink. I planned to forage from roadside stores. As I’m in the Northeast Corridor I expected to find something along the course within 30 minutes. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Right out of the gate I hit a series of 18 percent grades. I went up each as would a grim soldier, knowing only more cannons awaited. As Meriweather Lewis falsely believed, I expected to crest a climb and see the water visible below down to which I would speed. I figured I could reach the Hudson within 90 minutes. </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhyaVBWz-gGnv4viKm8PreDZJ-ueLuwuu1JxpCv8CarcFeYjYV0m4xEJrBaehyphenhyphenXRDjqXZtcV_OTEG7cgFDm_RrLQUjAP9zvnP9zduwX7AuaErx6HxYC6hlK-2sYZmU9a7uGJj0TgIlRI/s1280/Day+2+Finish+Garmin.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfhyaVBWz-gGnv4viKm8PreDZJ-ueLuwuu1JxpCv8CarcFeYjYV0m4xEJrBaehyphenhyphenXRDjqXZtcV_OTEG7cgFDm_RrLQUjAP9zvnP9zduwX7AuaErx6HxYC6hlK-2sYZmU9a7uGJj0TgIlRI/w158-h210/Day+2+Finish+Garmin.jpg" width="158" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Garmin file, 9:15 pm</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That would not be. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Amid pre-dawn mist I descended and climbed through a network of Litchfield County’s gravel roads. After 90 minutes of riding I noted the stream along which I rode flowed not with but against me, revealing I still had to climb out of the Housatonic watershed. After two hours I crossed Route 22. No sign celebrated my entry into New York State. I had yet to see a store or gas station or human being. I had seen far more deer than cars. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With the sun up I found myself on NY 53 and tumbling towards the Hudson. At 8 a.m. I finally found a store and ate. My Achilles pain had melted away. I felt serene. Another hour would pass before I crossed the Newburgh Bridge. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Those who attend my cycling classes learn that upon crossing water one should expect a climb. To my delight, after a modest manageable grind I rode atop the New York plateau, following NY Bike Route 17 (thank those advocates!) and rolling steadily west. The enemy, however, became the heat and the headwind. I rode towards a hair dryer set at low. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I finally poured down to Port Jervis, crossed the Delaware into Pennsylvania, and watered up in a supermarket cafe, soaking in the air conditioning, WiFi and electricity. I knew from my mapping the ride would get hard thereafter. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I threw my leg over the bike and pedaled.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Out of Milford I turned upward. My mapping braced me for this: an eight-mile grind at nearly 10 percent. I nailed it to reach US Route 6 and turn West. The climbs would continue but on such a road - featuring a wide shoulder - the climbs would be long but only at about 6 percent max grade.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bottles lasted about 30 minutes. After an ice cream stop I worked around the northern tip of Lake Wallenpaupack and picked up the Oswego Turnpike. In mapping, a straight line typically means a relatively flat route. This would NOT be the case with the Oswego Turnpike, which rolled up and down like a mad bull determined to shed this rider. I survived and whistled down into a small city and spotted a group of boys. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Where AM I?,” I shouted as I passed, a favorite practice of mine during such rides. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Waymart!,” they replied. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Waymart? What aisle?,” I smiled. They didn't.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then I turned into Carbondale where the smile left my face. I studied about a dozen windmills on a far Western ridge convinced I would veer to the north and around. Then I hit a steep seven-kilometer climb. How steep? Sections required me to weave like a paper boy with my laden bike. The only weight reduction would be my empty bottles. I regretted not filling those bottles in Waymart as I realized sweat ceased to flow from my pores….That’s not a good thing. With each turn the climb continued to turn towards the west and those windmills. I hit the steepest pitches completely dry. I considered jumping into a pond...then I wondered about drawing water from a family’s lawn sprinkler.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grinding upwards I passed a home with a guy in his driveway. He had a white pony tail, tank top, cutoff jeans and tattoos. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Could I beg some water off you?,” I asked, content to get a garden hose but half expecting rejection. This was Trump country, mind you, and I looked like some French artist. But I looked like a desperate French artist. When separated by panes of glass we all tend to brusquely judge one another; but in his driveway we stood face-to-face.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He lit up a smile. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“I have some right here,” he bounded two steps towards his garage, delighted to open a mini fridge laden with frosty bottles. I took two, promised to pay it forward, and looked up the climb. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The sun had dropped over the ridge on top of which those windmills churned like a scythe to my soul. He gathered a sense of my dread.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“There’s a store at the top,” he comforted me. I threw my leg over the bike and pedaled. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I pressed steadily to where I could almost touch those windmills when my course turned north and away. I reached that store; drained and filled and drained and filled bottles. From there I returned to US 6 ripped downhill, taking an offshoot I dropped down into a village. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then came Greenfield Road and with another 17 percent grade up to a plateau where I took in two skies. Towards the left I could see the glowing embers of a sunset over the horizon. Towards the right I could see clouds emptying rain. Whatever turn lay ahead would decide my fate. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then came hell. Snyder Road, a gravel washboard descent, pouring me downhill at 45 mph to smack into a short but loose gravel 20 percent pitch - easily the steepest of the day - and I realized I would not be able to pedal. In my attempt to dismount I caught my right foot on the saddle bag. While I stuck the landing I had to dump the bike. I simply could not get the walrus started on such a grade.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had to walk. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darkness gathered. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then rain began. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My Garmin showed nine miles remained; I had been going for 15 hours and had put 151 miles behind me that day.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Full stop. Collection. Reflection. Breathe. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I threw on a reflective vest. Bolted on the front light. Flicked on the rear blinky Mike had provided. I threw my leg over the bike and pedaled. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finally I crossed under Interstate 81 and - as planned - found a</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Subway </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">sandwich shop.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Like some 21st Century Hopper painting I entered the glow inside. The attendant and I stared at one another in curiosity. I struggled to speak. Finally I ordered two large Italian subs - one reserved for breakfast - and loaded up a drawstring bag with water and lemonade for my back and rolled. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I followed the cone of my headlamp into the Lackawanna State Park, allowing my Garmin to direct me in the dark to campsite 90….perched atop a cruel climb. I crept towards some happy campers - my neighbors to be - with my headlamp sweeping like a searchlight. My creepy presence sucked the joy out of their experience. I cracked the awkward silence to ask for help in finding my site, not letting on to my degree of desperation. I arrived alone. Sat. Ate. Discovered I had cell service. I told my family and followers I had arrived. Processed the day. Processed the tasks at hand. Processed the next day. Processed the how. Processed the why. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had made it. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Charge batteries. Set up camp. Hot shower. Hang clothes under the table. Secure food. Zip tie bike to table. Sleep….Hard.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxVblL9ceGvVzY_h9dbdNX_-ddyik4M-ZAquehiqlQKysZHoOw6kXydZ1P94uGu3Q9meqCv8RRzCAda8IWsSIG1MSw211om5JjUzT5SXAG-CIUw195ljPquKaTVOnuTzkf3zF13oHJQ4/s1278/Day+3+Dam+3+WIDE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="1278" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsxVblL9ceGvVzY_h9dbdNX_-ddyik4M-ZAquehiqlQKysZHoOw6kXydZ1P94uGu3Q9meqCv8RRzCAda8IWsSIG1MSw211om5JjUzT5SXAG-CIUw195ljPquKaTVOnuTzkf3zF13oHJQ4/w410-h230/Day+3+Dam+3+WIDE.jpg" width="410" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Lackawanna Dam, Pennsylvania</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">RIDE 2; DAY 3</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Inspiration: Marlowe Roge and Family</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUMMB7XU83yyWE82mNAhJTv6u-7EKNSP5mQ2udcKcnZwnE2IJOk0j4ggqigG42N7sqojzsEWwBDudhJUiOD6tN-Uq-FLP_TJHkQMN07mSo-tZN0TVmibUi4ctmNl54Rpbwll6v1qOnDs/s1280/Marlowe.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihUMMB7XU83yyWE82mNAhJTv6u-7EKNSP5mQ2udcKcnZwnE2IJOk0j4ggqigG42N7sqojzsEWwBDudhJUiOD6tN-Uq-FLP_TJHkQMN07mSo-tZN0TVmibUi4ctmNl54Rpbwll6v1qOnDs/w168-h126/Marlowe.jpg" width="168" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="courier"><i>For my inspiration on this ride, after which I would see my sister, came Marlowe Roge and her family. Regardless of their challenges, Marlowe and Company keep plugging away at life with smiles. </i></font></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></font></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">To my delight, my eyes opened to daylight. I had slept eight hours with my legs slightly elevated on a slope. The time was 6:20...I did the math….eight glorious hours of math. </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-iQOjn50xKwC3IN70eia2d8o7TusQdf0frKoPyv7S_-JQ6tnrWSUWlr2aZdaHwpJ6k8CpHKz152fDlM8SAQQVTA0whX4MSYBdS3IxfOuGDhhmQ9ZB6Mh5lq1HGOawpwXqf0QSUvSAeY/s1280/Day+3+Wake+up.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU-iQOjn50xKwC3IN70eia2d8o7TusQdf0frKoPyv7S_-JQ6tnrWSUWlr2aZdaHwpJ6k8CpHKz152fDlM8SAQQVTA0whX4MSYBdS3IxfOuGDhhmQ9ZB6Mh5lq1HGOawpwXqf0QSUvSAeY/w210-h158/Day+3+Wake+up.jpg" width="210" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">Sleeping in to 6:20 a.m.</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I credited my reduction in anxiety with this third day’s task: a mere 90 miles atop the Appalachian Plateau. As my sister had booked a room in Mansfield, PA, I would adjust my route accordingly. Lying in my tent sleeve I studied the map: I could simply stick to US 6 for much of the day; a bit less beauty traded for lighter grades and access to provisions. On first blush, this road followed the Susquehanna River valley and promised a relatively flat day.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I felt triumphantly good … until … I slithered out of my bivy sack and attempted to walk. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My right Achilles tendon had crystallized. I hobbled to the camp bathrooms only to discover I had just three tabs of ibuprofen left. Expecting the pain to subside as it had the day prior, slowly prepped while eating my Italian sub and sucking down water. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I rolled, nursing my right ankle. The day started with some bushwhacking over a dam and glorious wooded single track to exit the park followed by soft pedaling along a rural road. I saw a “No Outlet” sign and continued. I saw a “Construction Ahead” sign and continued. I saw a “Private Road” sign and continued. It’s a bicycling thing. Not only can we typically get through we often find navigational delights. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-SFwFlQVSC06uaviHaBjqX2oxKkP0KrhGzdsBFhyy22QNeZ_i_4AVHHa2qhXLZ6b-4enw7Hnm_UB1rxPSbUPkeizlcHcjvLzIa6r1Q5FA_0EkWrlVcLrvWeHxBFV_q0BKpz7qQSYOes/s1280/Day+3+Drop+Off.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><font face="helvetica" size="2"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-SFwFlQVSC06uaviHaBjqX2oxKkP0KrhGzdsBFhyy22QNeZ_i_4AVHHa2qhXLZ6b-4enw7Hnm_UB1rxPSbUPkeizlcHcjvLzIa6r1Q5FA_0EkWrlVcLrvWeHxBFV_q0BKpz7qQSYOes/w158-h210/Day+3+Drop+Off.jpg" width="158" /></font></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Morning drop-off</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I found a 100-foot chasm from where a bridge washed away. My ankle throbbed. I re-plotted a course that required backtracking around something called Lily Lake and then dropped into a crossroads called Dalton, which promised provisions. I had squandered 45 minutes and ridden 10 miles to end up pretty close to where I had started. Amid morning fog, Dalton proved to be a lifeless assemblage of buildings akin to a set from Stephen King’s <i>The Mist</i>. I spotted a gentleman dropping off a letter at the post office to seek provisions. He directed me to Route 6 and a diner a few miles to the west. Enchanted by the prospect of corned beef hash I rolled up an on ramp to discover the stage for this day’s play: a four-lane highway with a gritty eight-foot wide shoulder separated by a rumble strip. Given the low volume of traffic, I found it sublime and shifted 80 percent of the workload to my left leg. I pressed until I saw a small college campus with a bookstore cafe. The Keystone College cafe proved perfect: outdoor seating, Starbucks coffee, a Clif Bar, power outlets, cell service, and Advil. I put up my legs, took some professional calls and let the Advil permeate my bloodstream. A light farmer’s rain felt splendid. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHRadlTAi6Y1_pcVtZh4UXSYUpbz4IpEaJjCbHImbQTSf8vKTnthbY6RBa1VZVKtpmXOWFHCsuNnHiXmLoNLqbBfJo2qUpI1feEEh95FQNY1piGwUZ9-bvms1_NxDyLhSHqYYcJfdD7Y/s1280/Day+3+Advil+Breakfast.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPHRadlTAi6Y1_pcVtZh4UXSYUpbz4IpEaJjCbHImbQTSf8vKTnthbY6RBa1VZVKtpmXOWFHCsuNnHiXmLoNLqbBfJo2qUpI1feEEh95FQNY1piGwUZ9-bvms1_NxDyLhSHqYYcJfdD7Y/w158-h210/Day+3+Advil+Breakfast.jpg" width="158" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Starbucks and Advil</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Awaiting the arrival of students, the bookstore staff came out to address their curiosity with this road pirate on their sidewalk. In passing I mentioned my destination of Mansfied. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Oh yeah, that’s about 90 minutes away,” the young man noted. Americans measure distance via driving time, which is wildly incongruous with actual units of distance. But I did the math: 90 minutes at 60 mph is 90 miles. I had ridden about 15 already. By 10 a.m. I had squandered five hours of daylight, the heat and headwinds promised only to build. The prospect of finishing again in the dark returned. A shot of cortisol bloomed in my brain; stress returned. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I threw my leg over the bike and pedaled. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9kFIoSnL2awUnsRQ5xsRFLqZc0DX2otoiRLuyaGii245SGVNTC5f-hoFoiN_hyUcJrJbXb3ruUz3Kw-4F3bd7dYUGkOlgfVtjRoFq5hE56PBtyUP6SyvkC2i13I7BUUSE7yyGEwU4s4/s333/Day+3+KT+Tape+1.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="250" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr9kFIoSnL2awUnsRQ5xsRFLqZc0DX2otoiRLuyaGii245SGVNTC5f-hoFoiN_hyUcJrJbXb3ruUz3Kw-4F3bd7dYUGkOlgfVtjRoFq5hE56PBtyUP6SyvkC2i13I7BUUSE7yyGEwU4s4/w160-h213/Day+3+KT+Tape+1.jpg" width="160" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">A KT Tape day </font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While US Route 6 provided navigational comfort, the traverse to the Susquehanna valley proved challenging. As that river weaves about with assorted oxbow turns, my route cut straight west with ribbons of climbs and descents, climbs and descents. In Tunkhannock I spotted a CVS and dressed my right Achilles in KT Tape. To give it additional support (and to advertise my bad-ass state of affairs) I also did the knee. The stuff works.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I threw my leg over the bike and pedaled. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Finally I crossed the Susquehanna in Towanda, and girded myself for the climb west out of the watershed. The heat and road seemed to both rise. The West Branch of Sugar Creek had sawed out an upward path onto the plateau that separated the Susquehanna from its West Branch. I clicked off the towns like train stops: Burlington, Troy, Sylvania...Sixteen miles from Mansfield I refilled the bottles and bought a cold <b>Peps</b>i for the final push. The edge had come off the heat. The winds had died. The terrain flattened. My Achilles did not hurt. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_Bbj_pxVr3NJCfJWG1y7r4NhFt0ymp3nw5EVfWr7A-x8dnY7BtpwANPFMu5OdNxyf-e0DUIYlHyyXuRpyp49Ciz3-QT8K54Gzk0Rn73cQa2cZGiH0zzvv6t-ZPdYxlzbobG-zE1_CZs/s1280/Day+3+Run+In.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz_Bbj_pxVr3NJCfJWG1y7r4NhFt0ymp3nw5EVfWr7A-x8dnY7BtpwANPFMu5OdNxyf-e0DUIYlHyyXuRpyp49Ciz3-QT8K54Gzk0Rn73cQa2cZGiH0zzvv6t-ZPdYxlzbobG-zE1_CZs/w262-h197/Day+3+Run+In.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">The final run in to Mansfield</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I threw my leg over the bike and pedaled. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQYY8NaXhRO7uePdP6BDK24Ge3ybidFx_uHi-G5fJWM3WF-xeDeb27544417Wwp_CtzoZLMlYCbpuE9VtV8TunwAw9-ysYt12-IuZxEJ3MJgrjWbVDPMYcHreKfQiu-ItAMOSL41Cnues/s1280/Day+3+Store.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQYY8NaXhRO7uePdP6BDK24Ge3ybidFx_uHi-G5fJWM3WF-xeDeb27544417Wwp_CtzoZLMlYCbpuE9VtV8TunwAw9-ysYt12-IuZxEJ3MJgrjWbVDPMYcHreKfQiu-ItAMOSL41Cnues/w262-h197/Day+3+Store.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Penultimate stop</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The late afternoon sun splashed against the barns and tractors and wheels of hay. Cars rarely came along and traveled at museum pace. I drained towards the Tioga River, doing math on how far I had pedaled and realized just how good I felt...or perhaps how badly I did NOT feel having logged 400 miles in three days.The road dropped into Mansfield, I crossed the driver, and turned up towards a Quality Inn my sister had booked. I giggled when I hit the entrance road, a steep final climb, to an ordinary roadside hotel that to me, seemed like the Taj Mahal. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qyzi5aBuV3pbYN4yorJZQNYrElg1oG-PcrK7a4L8l6EdUheUaj-zs6dDj-YF9QGpz_erFjAN__c3vDNwsIGqVm9tjyiCB8IX_ZO0lFNwlFtTd2OXQgMEeOcKbflhy9UHBYJZCRRUc7U/s1278/PCRT+Scenic+WIDE.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="1278" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qyzi5aBuV3pbYN4yorJZQNYrElg1oG-PcrK7a4L8l6EdUheUaj-zs6dDj-YF9QGpz_erFjAN__c3vDNwsIGqVm9tjyiCB8IX_ZO0lFNwlFtTd2OXQgMEeOcKbflhy9UHBYJZCRRUc7U/w410-h230/PCRT+Scenic+WIDE.jpg" width="410" /></a></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>RIDE 2; DAY 4</b></span></font></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">Inspiration: Matt Kisiel</b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><font face="Arial"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP7wRZ8CJPuf2O0eNkswVkNQr4GDgMC5J-xS-aEW2m9iSqtFPrwd-YJFyDy6GV93C4Wec6uZi-FVNbUmcH_g9H9uOcuYYo59J4TWZ52nifLQ8f1SnpRkxhrI7FyojdFVZMpplVcMUf3pg/s960/Kim+Kisiel.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP7wRZ8CJPuf2O0eNkswVkNQr4GDgMC5J-xS-aEW2m9iSqtFPrwd-YJFyDy6GV93C4Wec6uZi-FVNbUmcH_g9H9uOcuYYo59J4TWZ52nifLQ8f1SnpRkxhrI7FyojdFVZMpplVcMUf3pg/w126-h168/Kim+Kisiel.jpg" width="126" /></a></font></div><font face="Arial"><b><br /></b></font><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><font face="courier">For inspiration on this day I drew on the wonderful energy of Matt Kisiel with his sister, Kim. Matt and Kim (not the pop duo you may like) offered up wonderful support to us during the P2P4BB. Like Matt, I totally needed my sister on this day!</font></i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My sister and I drove to Cedar Run, PA, population 36, and met our brother. I threw on some touring shorts to face a bag-free, hill-free ride along the Pine Creek Rail Trail. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigaKkbF3GXbMRFEYR9gRJWWnUFRhpMXLjQnAkNSpZUsa5MiaYCrMBn0U-7Z4Z3Ifa2BeWsjO_OGVgc2NJu_1FX-1XognvqJOsU27-jcwXO9GAIJlffIrnIRIgxLm9sDMoiQVnbCO8HTEs/s1280/Siblings+1.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="158" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigaKkbF3GXbMRFEYR9gRJWWnUFRhpMXLjQnAkNSpZUsa5MiaYCrMBn0U-7Z4Z3Ifa2BeWsjO_OGVgc2NJu_1FX-1XognvqJOsU27-jcwXO9GAIJlffIrnIRIgxLm9sDMoiQVnbCO8HTEs/w210-h158/Siblings+1.jpg" width="210" /></a></div><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Everything hurt. Within minutes I realized the seam of the shorts intersected poorly with the saddle line and the seam line of the prior three day’s wardrobe.No amount of analgesics could knock down this pain. But my brother, whom I adore, had planned this trip for months. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px;"> I threw my leg over the bike and pedaled.</span>I endured pedaling almost entirely with my left leg. I would later discover a lesion three-inches long and a half-inch wide on my right buttock. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We rode to Jersey Shore (not in New Jersey; not near the shore) and back, the southern half of the Pine Creek Rail Trail, my brother being the consummate one-speed monster. Upon completion we showered and sat on the porch of the Cedar Run Inn, mesmerized by the fluttering about of hummingbirds and Mennonite children dressed in logo-free clothing, barefoot, helmet-less, and carrying fishing poles as they pedaled about this river valley. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2-YEPSl4lYLQSq5OSdQ3yRFyowHuZN4KsI5p4TFO259RqhDlB1j_iuwoB0AS8_zhEuiGonJVm0MpUGhMDEmpjP4y4FXRQLwE1fLbwlHFMXbhnEy-BP1I6al8ZJqa8heWQT1KqMpyeR8/s1280/Hummingbirds.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM2-YEPSl4lYLQSq5OSdQ3yRFyowHuZN4KsI5p4TFO259RqhDlB1j_iuwoB0AS8_zhEuiGonJVm0MpUGhMDEmpjP4y4FXRQLwE1fLbwlHFMXbhnEy-BP1I6al8ZJqa8heWQT1KqMpyeR8/w126-h168/Hummingbirds.jpg" width="126" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Hummingbirds</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"></font></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7p9D9JnyMDU2Sr9XzFMQcw1wSIH_1r4ISoLcNTA-Hm0M0HRRbrbf6upftz2thzPYSdXl9H50vQLvZdfN22394jN7mbFj4oKXBcdT525M9nyzi8oaFXYs9uWSfkEADMoaJSK0h03pmzI/s960/Cedar+Run+Store.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7p9D9JnyMDU2Sr9XzFMQcw1wSIH_1r4ISoLcNTA-Hm0M0HRRbrbf6upftz2thzPYSdXl9H50vQLvZdfN22394jN7mbFj4oKXBcdT525M9nyzi8oaFXYs9uWSfkEADMoaJSK0h03pmzI/w168-h126/Cedar+Run+Store.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Cedar Run, PA</font></td></tr></tbody></table><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></font><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As children we once resembled this Norman Rockwell painting: slender and sunburned and happy. I had spent three days along the loud-piped “don’t-touch-my-truck” corridor of our "country" only to drop into virtuous edition of that idyllic America.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7CyMIv7n_eN9KowFMZDtOigTdABm4P4FE38GRTJKOMPLmzx7sYRSsgh4-juaNNKAfxznyhX9bSAZZay6hmguQLUxq7E69wNmLzgikxJuMV7tWZBvu_hTAIefGxqiFZzztgnENoI8q0E/s1278/Wagon+WIDE.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="719" data-original-width="1278" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7CyMIv7n_eN9KowFMZDtOigTdABm4P4FE38GRTJKOMPLmzx7sYRSsgh4-juaNNKAfxznyhX9bSAZZay6hmguQLUxq7E69wNmLzgikxJuMV7tWZBvu_hTAIefGxqiFZzztgnENoI8q0E/w512-h288/Wagon+WIDE.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font face="helvetica" size="2">Horse drawn tour bus, Pine Creek Rail Trail</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">RIDE 2; DAY 5</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre-wrap;">Inspiration: Chris Harrington and Family</b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><br /></b></span></font></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></font></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnwtHIFIJB5uzMyUIbHdq_UbrZB8zupAd3dn-0TpSCCtC-38AsPMOtLxDmAIdYoy4bxIa9PqBurZVealHdwYHIfKiI4MHIaSSNJwB8H-aWYl36eMtkPCNrvrty-zZ4EOnZCaQQQaQcaY/s2048/HP19+Harrington+Football.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1476" data-original-width="2048" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnwtHIFIJB5uzMyUIbHdq_UbrZB8zupAd3dn-0TpSCCtC-38AsPMOtLxDmAIdYoy4bxIa9PqBurZVealHdwYHIfKiI4MHIaSSNJwB8H-aWYl36eMtkPCNrvrty-zZ4EOnZCaQQQaQcaY/w168-h121/HP19+Harrington+Football.jpg" width="168" /></a><font face="Arial"></font></div><font face="Arial"><b><br /></b></font><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><font face="Arial"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b><br /></b></span></font></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><font face="courier"><i>This final day's ride, with my family, would be dedicated to Chris Harrington and his family. The Harrington's have to work a little harder but they always figure out how to keep it fun. And anybody who plays or dances or trains with Chris learns how it's done. </i></font></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Same song, different verse. With rest and healing the pain went down substantially. We rode the northern half, a touch quieter and the views more profound as we passed through the deepest sections of the gorge. Our halfway farm stand in Wellsboro featured ice cream. There were horse drawn tour buses. Clusters of families. Couples galore. We encountered countless folks on e bikes and a squadron of four bike packers from New Jersey at the Tiadaghton riverside campground. While admiring a rider’s Firefly, we heard the call of an eagle. The region is known for hosting pairs of bald eagles commonly seen. Alas, a massive bird swept down along the river and landed on a tree just across the creek. This turned out to be a golden eagle. The weight of the bird proved too much for the branch, which snapped. Clumsily the bird’s powerful wings reached out, swept away the air beneath, and pushed on to that day’s mission without concern. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDlvy9kz8x2GKVIzfPtUZqo_4dFickxq_4TrjPMNiFYRYjUC81SuCeV-RN44cAULr-pkzHmpLSozqTuBRQRHxhxN5MZ5mhvo6O8V54dQmF0auB_5bSGyYuG42lvuE3wyt4Y0BeaNbgwLA/s1280/Map.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDlvy9kz8x2GKVIzfPtUZqo_4dFickxq_4TrjPMNiFYRYjUC81SuCeV-RN44cAULr-pkzHmpLSozqTuBRQRHxhxN5MZ5mhvo6O8V54dQmF0auB_5bSGyYuG42lvuE3wyt4Y0BeaNbgwLA/w197-h262/Map.jpg" width="197" /></a></div><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The eagle simply flew on to the next branch.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Addendum</b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">For those data geeks out there, I've tacked on a lot of stuff below. </b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thanks for reading. </b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div align="left" dir="ltr" style="margin-left: 0pt;"><table style="border-collapse: collapse; border: none;"><colgroup><col width="61"></col><col width="129"></col><col width="140"></col><col width="64"></col><col width="69"></col><col width="89"></col><col width="72"></col></colgroup><tbody><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Date</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Start</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Finish</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Miles</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Elev.</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Ride Time</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Calories</span></p></td></tr><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">July 18</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Richmond, MA</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Provincetown, MA</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">255</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">10,413</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">13’24”</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">7,563</span></p></td></tr><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">July 25</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Keene, NH</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Keene, NH</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">28</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">971</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2’14”</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">1,284</span></p></td></tr><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">July 26</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Keene, NH</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Kent, CT </span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">140</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">4,856</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">9’41”</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">7,383</span></p></td></tr><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">July 27</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Kent, CT </span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">N. Abington, PA</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">169</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">12,703</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">13’25”</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">10,000</span></p></td></tr><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">July 28</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">N. Abington, PA</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Mansfield, PA</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">100</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">6,562</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">8’05”</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">5,541</span></p></td></tr><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">July 29</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Cedar Run, PA </span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Cedar Run, PA</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">66</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">328</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">5’28”</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2,431</span></p></td></tr><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">July 30</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Cedar Run, PA </span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Cedar Run, PA</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">60</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">331</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">4’57”</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2,370</span></p></td></tr><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Avg.</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><br /></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><br /></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">117</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">5,166</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">8’10</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">5,226</span></p></td></tr><tr style="height: 0pt;"><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Totals</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><br /></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><br /></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">818</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">36,164</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">57’14”</span></p></td><td style="border-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); border-style: solid; border-width: 1pt; overflow-wrap: break-word; overflow: hidden; padding: 5pt; vertical-align: top;"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">36,572</span></p></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Relive Maps (Sorry but battery died on Ride 2, Day 3)<span style="font-size: 11pt;"> </span></b></span></div></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">July 18</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://www.relive.cc/view/vJOKXkDmG56">https://www.relive.cc/view/vJOKXkDmG56</a></span></div><div><br /></div><div><font face="helvetica">July 26</font></div><div><a href="https://www.relive.cc/view/vmqXoMw84L6"><font face="helvetica">https://www.relive.cc/view/vmqXoMw84L6</font></a></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">July 27</font></div><div><a href="https://www.relive.cc/view/vE6JmPnWLxO"><font face="helvetica">https://www.relive.cc/view/vE6JmPnWLxO</font></a></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><b><font face="helvetica">Strava Files</font><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></b></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">July 18</font></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3784449270">https://www.strava.com/activities/3784449270</a></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">July 26</font></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520068">https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520068</a></div><div><font face="helvetica"> </font></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">July 27 </font></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520192">https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520192</a></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">July 28 </font></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520284">https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520284</a></div><div><font face="helvetica"><br /></font></div><div><font face="helvetica">July 29</font></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520316">https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520316</a></div><div><br /></div><div><font face="helvetica">July 30</font></div><div><a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520381">https://www.strava.com/activities/3841520381</a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><font face="helvetica"> </font></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-63534635610868427592014-01-31T02:47:00.001-08:002014-01-31T02:47:40.396-08:00Hoogerheide 2-The Course <br />
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Hoogerheide 2: The Course </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfdxUhvDffe8SvQbDLv1WRnhFye1wc5g2R8P12LBLO1kiFsZ35_eET7_LAufsFYhsQQls6BDUgvLMZas7seO8KNLUbJnLnV1Ti9xC0qoJdKkHx2S8fw4bZK8NUdI_2X1bYNOPjRTXq1U/s1600/IMG_0606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfdxUhvDffe8SvQbDLv1WRnhFye1wc5g2R8P12LBLO1kiFsZ35_eET7_LAufsFYhsQQls6BDUgvLMZas7seO8KNLUbJnLnV1Ti9xC0qoJdKkHx2S8fw4bZK8NUdI_2X1bYNOPjRTXq1U/s1600/IMG_0606.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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This drop off is about 350 meters before the finish line. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2JqKA9TtgoBrLlprkySGnAUYYQiYkWnC_4L8WROP3PeqEaJxgrtkxtdjPJuiJ8l7XOkPhhWHBAqG_y5Awb_L4KLMFs5ghl_1SjX94bUeQ_OGqy6npcKICwaDWf89FlHvXVtIXy5w6Sew/s1600/IMG_0605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2JqKA9TtgoBrLlprkySGnAUYYQiYkWnC_4L8WROP3PeqEaJxgrtkxtdjPJuiJ8l7XOkPhhWHBAqG_y5Awb_L4KLMFs5ghl_1SjX94bUeQ_OGqy6npcKICwaDWf89FlHvXVtIXy5w6Sew/s1600/IMG_0605.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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But this run-up (as steep as Northampton's run-up but shorter by say 10 meters) is right before that drop off. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKVMBTQDr2ZqgPEVzYo8KAk8gsoPiTR7128tDaCTskzlqutS7HIsHfooHTIBJPILFqlmaKdq91KbOY1DY5qlaWYo0XDGReteRlNsGxz-GDeBx8G0Kl9jpLEAZ1Z23CdZYwAdiA-k2BACA/s1600/IMG_0603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKVMBTQDr2ZqgPEVzYo8KAk8gsoPiTR7128tDaCTskzlqutS7HIsHfooHTIBJPILFqlmaKdq91KbOY1DY5qlaWYo0XDGReteRlNsGxz-GDeBx8G0Kl9jpLEAZ1Z23CdZYwAdiA-k2BACA/s1600/IMG_0603.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is a photo from the 2009 Worlds at Hoogerheide and ashow the expected crowds this Sunday. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrPlboZkKyNa91pQ81sl3Q9ssqw7CxcpMlnchg4nh7tuq6lwMWOOOXekQAKmx3JCedlVBOPT37-r4Kehd2KA2aNjB0MlyXgjCKcOLwpLVt0-KVzYo-YHO6Ttejweho31pr0L1RCEmHsg/s1600/IMG_0599.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrPlboZkKyNa91pQ81sl3Q9ssqw7CxcpMlnchg4nh7tuq6lwMWOOOXekQAKmx3JCedlVBOPT37-r4Kehd2KA2aNjB0MlyXgjCKcOLwpLVt0-KVzYo-YHO6Ttejweho31pr0L1RCEmHsg/s1600/IMG_0599.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is inside that double-decker VIP area.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicQiOPS9uwhC3yR1Ua1BkKsBjeHtrz8UWxm392jE4I_pW03rdMnz47u8oqGORF-Ewf0ysZcAfnW1751lOwFHH_jjJeiv0rFJX7mTNu5gGb1VNakWVP1QvOnpLTsf2ql-Wrssf8yl1QhdE/s1600/IMG_0598.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicQiOPS9uwhC3yR1Ua1BkKsBjeHtrz8UWxm392jE4I_pW03rdMnz47u8oqGORF-Ewf0ysZcAfnW1751lOwFHH_jjJeiv0rFJX7mTNu5gGb1VNakWVP1QvOnpLTsf2ql-Wrssf8yl1QhdE/s1600/IMG_0598.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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These guests will have a killer view of the riders, but not in the key areas.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XHiJT2ydgi5nYsjmoOUYnMz_2k8gcyofvwV04YrYSH4L6Hliu3iS0k6G9kOrf5XDyi8R4_XW1p13jCG5lcOAouFCmImE2K5a47jAh9oSHiH_NfozQq8tm8iaAqnbZ3tyffXDAvo59ak/s1600/IMG_0593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3XHiJT2ydgi5nYsjmoOUYnMz_2k8gcyofvwV04YrYSH4L6Hliu3iS0k6G9kOrf5XDyi8R4_XW1p13jCG5lcOAouFCmImE2K5a47jAh9oSHiH_NfozQq8tm8iaAqnbZ3tyffXDAvo59ak/s1600/IMG_0593.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The guys are tacking down a foamy carpet on the two-way fly-over.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheq7LsiwNAj9Sbw3DmIYFaqEym1pN3kczyNwwJtWyKiCfqeL1c0aD2Cq_WujEwqyb7HUk6Acaom3jnu8rmeBdTmh1pEPVCeE-mQZm-NEgrNKt3B-RdOZKk-4h5_DjhXSK9Yi48HRER310/s1600/IMG_0592.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheq7LsiwNAj9Sbw3DmIYFaqEym1pN3kczyNwwJtWyKiCfqeL1c0aD2Cq_WujEwqyb7HUk6Acaom3jnu8rmeBdTmh1pEPVCeE-mQZm-NEgrNKt3B-RdOZKk-4h5_DjhXSK9Yi48HRER310/s1600/IMG_0592.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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The course doubles back on itself twice, right in front of the VIPs. The view will be like watching the escalators at Macy's!</div>
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At one of the 180-degree turns, you get a clue as to how gooey this course could become. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs788Qwag-6I6jtGwleGoopgNY-TF2-fDhLgEXEXXto23NSAC3eFM5VvgbDzGZbj-ISMKPkVjUjj6mKrQoHd8bVE5aot8a4FCCCdP9HQBxPAuk5E_fkkfXOAeoBjM6JYlSRSEAii3Co0w/s1600/IMG_0590.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs788Qwag-6I6jtGwleGoopgNY-TF2-fDhLgEXEXXto23NSAC3eFM5VvgbDzGZbj-ISMKPkVjUjj6mKrQoHd8bVE5aot8a4FCCCdP9HQBxPAuk5E_fkkfXOAeoBjM6JYlSRSEAii3Co0w/s1600/IMG_0590.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkywl_MO9Pa4W0CGmcVbvYKXeLW0YPZ3eKH_IizNuM1T27bmwp8ABmhjnrhBa0m8krwm6WECqtqjLuGQYbqe3-vjFtK2KOYHXiTp6o0R_iQXldJ1SaPpMevFxSyzCFKuL1Nhv6bGkW0zs/s1600/IMG_0589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkywl_MO9Pa4W0CGmcVbvYKXeLW0YPZ3eKH_IizNuM1T27bmwp8ABmhjnrhBa0m8krwm6WECqtqjLuGQYbqe3-vjFtK2KOYHXiTp6o0R_iQXldJ1SaPpMevFxSyzCFKuL1Nhv6bGkW0zs/s1600/IMG_0589.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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You can see the roped-off sections for racing versus pre-riding. The result will be a wide-open course on the race days. </div>
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There a few hard-packed gravel sections that will be fast in all weather.<br />
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Some of the wide open grass sections. </div>
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The staff and volunteers, some here joking around on the podium, are perhaps the best I have ever seen. Professional, but fun. </div>
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For you race nuts, I'll give you the quick rub on the Hoogerheide course. It's not too hard. But any course is only as hard as the riders racing on it. </div>
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There are no barriers, as only Adrie Van Der Poel would have it. </div>
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There are four surfaces: two paved stretches; a gooey mud that can get deep; a thick grass; and some gritty hard-packed gravel pathways. There is neither sand nor major mud stretches ... yet. They have roped off much of the course to force the pre-ride to one side to preserve the key grass stretches. Again, Adrie Van Der Poel wants a fast course. </div>
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There is nothing on it that is SO technical that any decent amateur could not ride. After all the hub-bub from American riders saying our courses are not hard enough, this is a course event I could ride. </div>
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The final 500 meters has a tough run-up (some claim they saw one guy ride it), a drop-off, and a punchy little up hill before the sprint. </div>
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The sprint is long; long enough to allow a strong rider to wind up a big gear and come past a "quicker" pure sprinter. </div>
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This course favors the strong and fast over the quick and nimble. </div>
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The first turn is super dangerous; but after that stack up the first lap will not be that selective. The course is really, really wide. </div>
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The second lap will allow a lot of riders to come back from mistakes. </div>
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Everything about this course will favor the fast Lars Van Der Haar over the nimble Sven Nys. </div>
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But consequently, Katie Compton will not have to worry about Marianne Vos' quick start; the course favors the strong like Compton. One can come back from some mistakes. </div>
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It's a really good course for Jeremy Powers. </div>
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Patience. Patience. Patience. </div>
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This should be a far more tactical race than recent editions ... which I like. </div>
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Zdenek Stybar will play a key role in the men's race. I doubt he will win, but he will be strong enough to chase down a lot of early moves. He will be the glue in the lead bunch. </div>
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Keep a start list handy and a second computer; you'll want to look up a lot of names you may not know during the first half of this race.</div>
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But what the the hell do I know? </div>
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RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-37900034366163408922014-01-29T23:33:00.000-08:002014-01-29T23:33:45.384-08:00Hoogerheide 1<br />
Hoogerheide 1<br />
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I'm in the Netherlands, more specifically Hoogerheide. OK, I'm actually in Ossendrecht, about six kilometers south. It is a pleasant bike ride along the Wall of Brabant....which is not a wall, so much as a historically significant ridge that rises up to look out at the windmills standing up to the North Sea.<br />
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The Romans, the Spanish, the French, the Germans and even the Canadians all became familiar with this area during assorted military endeavors here.<br />
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Hoogerheide means High Heath in Dutch.<br />
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Say it aloud: HOOGGGGG-er-HIGH-da.<br />
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Do you feel that word in your throat? Cyclo-cross town names sound and feel like the sport itself; gritty and strong, scraping one's epiglottis like a cobblestone.<br />
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Most of us enter the world of cycling via road cycling, which features places such as Paris or Rome or Madrid. These are places that roll off the tongue delightfully. You can almost hear Handel or Mozart as you roll into the sport.<br />
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Some of us enter through mountain biking, which features pretty places such as Moab and Crested Butte. These places sound like fun campgrounds with pretty post cards. It's like The Sound of Music on a bike.<br />
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And those lovely elements of cycling are like gateway drugs, spritzers and lagers.<br />
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Inevitably, those who truly love cycling, find themselves drawn like Ulysses to the siren call of cyclo-cross, which is like back-alley heroin, with a soundtrack laid down by The Clash.<br />
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Places associated with 'cross sound like what they are: hard. Tabor, Koksijde, Sankt Wendel, Hoogerheide... These are places where the Romans got their asses kicked by savage tribes. And the Spanish are still licking their wounds after the Dutch threw them out after 100 years of fighting. (Few realize that Belgium was referred to as the "Spanish Netherlands" for a long time.)<br />
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If you want to know about 'cross - and all cycling for that matter - pore over a map of this region. For a study of cycling in this area curiously mirrors that which happened in history.<br />
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I find it curious how many cycling tour operators focus on Spain, Italy and France, but nobody I know of ever brings a group to the Netherlands. Hoogerheide is a short bike ride from Belgium. Antwerp, Ghent, and Brussels are not far away. And all those classics - Flanders, Amstel Gold, Ghent-Wevelgem - are run on the roads of this area. And Roubaix is perched on the Belgian border, barely in France.<br />
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This entire area is effectively the delta of the Rhine River, where it empties into the North Sea. Effectively, these guys ran the toll booth for a vast amount of Western European farmers and artisans and traders hoping to get their goods on a boat or off a boat. So while assorted armies and empires pompously stomped into this part of the world, the Dutch adopted a strategy of forging alliances, giving unto Caesar and all that, and then loaning them money.<br />
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...If you didn't pay them back, they made it rough on you to do business here.<br />
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One of the traits of Dutch civilization is they don't like such proud people telling them what to do. Like, the Holy Roman Empire....The match of the Protestant Reformation hit the Netherlands like a tinderbox. A lot of the savagery of the Thirty Years War happened in the Netherlands.<br />
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Almost poetically, the Dutch and the Belgians embrace 'cross with a similar zeal with which they rejected such empires. The French, the Romans, the Spanish, the Germans, the British can do what they like with their empires, but with government or sport, these guys will do it their way. To some degree, the celebration of 'cross here is a big flip off to the Grand Tours. American fans adore stage racers; these guys live for one-day race champions who race not with calculated defense but with savage offense.<br />
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I touched down in Brussels after a pleasant flight with Cody Kaiser, Chris McGovern and Tobin Ortenblad. Fortunately Ortenblad, who dressed like a crystal meth sales rep, did not try to sing on board the flight. I took time to speak with Max Chance, a fine junior from Boulder.<br />
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Upon arrival my driver, Bart, whisked me north and east towards Antwerp and into my hotel, just over the border. To my surprise I encountered the bluest of skies and sunshine.<br />
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After a brief nap in the hotel, I had to get to the venue for the awards rehearsal.<br />
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As I walked out of the hotel, I felt the eyes of three people on me from inside the restaurant. One of them smiled and nodded a greeting. It was a Marianne Vos, who grew up about 40 km away.<br />
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I tramped around Ossendrecht in search of a bike shop. Once there I rented an upright Gazelle for 7 Euros a day. I just walked out with the bike, the proprietor kindly stating I could settle up later via the hotel.<br />
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This little town has an eery feel. I saw about 20 people total, with most of them pensioners. I felt as if the entire place was boarding up for an invasion of sorts.<br />
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I pedaled north by braille, with neither a map, nor a GPS, and not so much as an address, towards the race venue. Keeping the mid-day sun behind me, and following a bike path...uphill into that North Sea wind....I reached Hoogerheide without incident. I immediately found the venue, as this town only has 10,000 residents. The worlds venue will eclipse the town in geographic size and multiply its population sixfold on Sunday.<br />
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I walked through much of the venue, watching the forklifts and trucks and workers steadily erect this temporary city out of scaffolding, trusses, bridges, and fencing. The sheer size of this thing is amplified when it is not populated. <br />
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I found Kees Maas, the veteran Dutch announcer I first met here at the 2012 Road Worlds in Valkenburg. After securing our credentials, we tramped down to the podium for the rehearsal....Something I find comical each time I do so. Nothing goes right; everybody is freezing in this January wind; podium presenters never have a clue about how to dress for outside endeavors; and we always have fun with assorted course workers playing the part of podium finishers, waving to their adoring co-workers who roar with laughter as we pretend to put on their rainbow jersey.<br />
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Adri Van Der Poel drove through the venue in his comfortable Citroen. I pedaled out with my Gazelle, ripping southward with the wind at my back.<br />
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Dinner, some Leff darks, and then research, research, research on the junior men.<br />
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Some of the highlights of that research include:<br />
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Saturday will likely have some rain. The Namur World Cup is likely to be the best indicator of a rider's strength on Saturday. Just sayin'......<br />
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YANNICK PEETERS of Belgium is the hands down favorite. He is the World Cup champion, has more than 10 major wins, and proved the winner at Namur. But he did not win his national title, which went to the 17-year-old ELI IZERBYT. <br />
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The Belgians had an amazing 56 starters and 26 finishers at their nationals. At issue is just how many of them have a chance to win Saturday; and this Lord of the Flies situation can work against them...Somebody has to be Piggy.<br />
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ADAM TOUPALIK of Czech Republic is a favorite. And he is just 17. He was second at Namur.<br />
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FRANCE is always good at this race. They are led by twin brothers, LUKE AND JOSH DUBAU, who shocked all going 1-2 at the Valkenburg World Cup. Josh has not returned a similar result since; Luke, who went ninth at Namur, has been consistent enough to maintain a world rank of seven. But neither won their national championship, which went to SEBASTIEN HAVOT. Watch YAN GRAS, who finished third in the European Championships. Of note with France is that the top eight finishers in their national championships finished within 23 seconds of each other.<br />
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I expect to have dinner with Brook Watts, Mike Plant, Tim Johnson and Peter Goguen while here...Stay tuned for that report.<br />
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Thanks for reading.<br />
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RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-21753721240114196332013-10-17T17:18:00.001-07:002013-10-17T17:18:58.088-07:00Tuscany 5 <br />
Tuscany 5<br />
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The Art of Racing in the Rain<br />
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Hopefully you watched, or at least read, about the most dramatic pro men's world championships in recent memory. I'll spare you the race details the journalists all covered. <br />
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Allow me to provide some behind-the-scenes scenes. <br />
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The Italians do not do everything well. They could use a lot of help with airports. <br />
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But one thing they do very well - from sculpture to architecture to bike races - is presentation.<br />
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The elite men's race started in Lucca, a fantastic fortress of a city about an 80 minute drive from Firenze. While the other start ceremonies were managed by the Italian announcers, either Barbara Pedrotti or Allesandro Brambilla, the UCI announcer traditionally tends to the elite men's race. I drove with Allesandro while he pointed out assorted cycling landmarks in Italian.<br />
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We arrive, get a coffee, and then hit the stage. This entire Medieval fortress town is quietly bracing for this event. Everybody is out in the morning rain, all looking as if they were waiting for a bus. We are a feeble intro ... like the guys who jiggle the cables on a stage before <i>The Who</i> comes on.<br />
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Upon arrival I saw the sign-in stage arranged in the traditional fashion, with one grandiose exception. Carpenters had built a complete elevated runway with a ramp, covered in felt, and equipped with a pair of A-frame racks. The crowd fencing had been arranged to funnel the superstars right up the ramp for their sign-in ceremony and a team photo.<br />
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The thing looked spectacular. <br />
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But the first casualty of battle is the plan. We rambled on with assorted pieces of Italian cycling trivia. I held my own in English, going on about Alfredo Binda and Tulio Campagnolo and such. <br />
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Cyrile Gauthier and Thomas Voekler showed up first. They kindly waited. The French team joined and the photo came off well. Up came a lone rider from Algeria. Then the Mexican team.<br />
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The famous Mediterranean climate had provided us seven-consecutive days of perfect weather. The luck ran out on the biggest day. <br />
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Rain started hard. Umbrellas came up. None of the spectators moved. But no other riders showed up either. Forty minutes to start and the board remained bereft of most signatures. <br />
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Alex Howes, an American I've watched compete since his days as a junior rolled up. Soon thereafter came Andrew Talansky. I got some words with both but they told me what I knew.<br />
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Rain adds enormous stress to a bike race. The mechanics, the soigneurs, the directors and especially the riders have so much more to do. There are rain coats, arm warmers, food, shoe covers, hats, lenses, gloves and vests all to find. Everybody knows there will be more punctures, more crashes, more selections, and more abandons.<br />
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Now add the enormous stress of racing 277 km in the world freakin' championships. And nobody wants to stand on their legs in the rain any longer than necessary.<br />
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As a result of these elements everybody is late to the sign-in ceremony.<br />
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After 30 minutes of stalling with jokes, trivia and card tricks (ok, there were no card tricks) we had about 20 of the 208 riders signed in. And then they all poured up the ramp like freaking Visigoths. <br />
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And we had one pen. <br />
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Suddenly the greatest pros in the world were stacked up in a massive line. Heaps of bikes were all over the beautiful stage.<br />
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And then the rain really started to come down. Suddenly nobody would leave the cover of the stage. The line crammed forward to be under the canopy. Within two minutes the Mount Rushmore of the sport resembled the Marx Brothers in <i>A Night at the Opera</i>.<br />
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This platform became a bike dork's dream. I found myself pressed between Cancellara, Cavendish, and Froome. Contador, Valverde, Porte, Phinney and Roche all smeared into this subway car of fame. The whole thing was like an Al Hirshfeld cartoon in The New Yorker.<br />
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And into the chaos rolled the Italian team. These $10,000 bikes were heaped up as if in a campus police auction. Vincenzo Nibali skidded off the runway and wedged his foot in the slender gap to the stage.<br />
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Throughout this entire process Brambilla is going on and on and on about each rider's palmares. <br />
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"Well this is a shit show," I say out loud, catching a laugh from both Cavendish and Froome. <br />
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Through it all Cancellara stood lias resolute as a statue; power resonated from his soul.<br />
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Barely able to reach down and extract my phone from my pocket, I see the time: 9:49 a.m. Off to the side I notice a Colombian rider nearly get bumped off the stage due to the crowding; his teammate grabbed his jersey to rescue him from the fall.<br />
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"Screw it," I said aloud and routed the microphone upwards along my body. <br />
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"ELITE MEN REPORT TO STAGING!!!" <br />
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And they all left. <br />
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Nobody noticed, or mentioned, the soft spoken Portuguese rider, Rui Costa signing in. <br />
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Like the condemned soldiers at Agincourt they trudged into the sloppy weather to contest perhaps the most epic 277 km in recent cycling history. I'll leave that story to my colleagues.<br />
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RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-41466655805757313842013-09-28T10:31:00.003-07:002013-09-28T10:31:43.670-07:00Tuscany 4 <br />
Il Circuito Fantastico<br />
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FIRENZE, Italy - Sept. 28, 2013 - Fabian Cancellara met my question with a dismissive gaze. Our eyes locked. <br />
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"I'm not here to talk about Sunday. I'm only here to talk about the time trial and to celebrate my bronze medal," he said on Wednesday.<br />
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The question I had asked was whether his preparation for this celebrated road race circuit had altered his training for the time trial. We were both speaking in code.<br />
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Cancellara had arrived in Firenze visibly lighter than he had in Australia, Copenhagen, or Valkenberg, where he brought more weight and hence, more power, to the pedals. And he finished way behind Tony Martin and two seconds behind Bradley Wiggins.<br />
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The following day, unbeknownst to him, he would give me the real answer to the question without saying a word. For that would be the day I would get to ride Il Circuito, the final circuits for the 2013 Worlds.<br />
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I hold Cancellara in the highest regard for three reasons: 1) He races - and wins - with savage abandon; 2) in Australia I saw him patiently give interviews to every reporter in six different languages in the boxes, including one nervous Aussie college radio journalist I got into the very last reporter box in the line; and 3) when his asshole Swiss teammate came to the sign-in table in a raging tantrum over the protocol required for the 2010 road worlds, screaming at me as he stormed off the stage, Cancellara forced him back to the stage, apologized to me for the guy's behavior, and made him pose for the team photo.<br />
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The guy is awesome. <br />
<br />
But he was cloaking his priorities for this world championships. He was here to win the road worlds, not the time trial. Because this circuit is perfect for Cancellara.<br />
<br />
My first exposure to the circuit came by stumbling on to the route Wednesday morning. I had a few hours, had purchased a map, and simply saw a town that looked interesting and could be indexed by my knowledge of the region. In short, I only had to go the same place I had gone every day and keep going. I rode to Fiesole.<br />
<br />
Simply following signs to this town I wound up on the course. Riding alone, the climb cracked me. I pounded up to a beautiful town adorned with bleachers, signage and fantastic sculpture. I realized I was on the course and pressed upward for an additional kilometer of climbing.<br />
<br />
The following day would be my lone day off. I ate breakfast and kitted up with my People for Bikes kit, complete to the socks, and rolled towards the circuit. My credential got me on at 10 a.m. when all the teams were to ride on the closed course.<br />
<br />
Mind you, the pre-ride on this course draws a live audience that matches the crowds seen in most American pro races. Entire schools are released to let the kids go course side to cheer on all the riders.....But oh how they waited for the Squadra Azzuri.<br />
<br />
Just as I approached the course I came upon the entire French junior and under-23 team. I hopped on. <br />
<br />
We rolled upwards towards Fiesole at a comfortable pace, with about a dozen amateurs tagging long like so many remoras on a shark. The boys were just rolling comfortably and I stuck. With such a draft this climb felt easier. The stretches that crushed me the day before were tolerable. As we hit the switchback a French junior turned his head to see me, by then breathing audibly...but at 52 years of age.....screw off kid....I'm still here!<br />
<br />
I swiveled my head back to realize I all the amateurs were gone. Just me and the French kids rolled up to Fiesole.<br />
<br />
Just as I cracked into Fiesole, expecting to continue upwards as I had the day before and contemplating dropping off, I saw the fencing. Fiesole was the top! I had survived and started the descent. <br />
<br />
The climb, it turned out, nearly matched that of Old Littleton Road, aka the "Harvard Climb" outside of Boston. About 4 km with an average grade of 5 percent and a maximum grade of 9 percent. I simply got into the hurt box and stayed there for about 10 minutes. <br />
<br />
I stopped at the top. Checked my text messages. Then did the descent ... like a clumsy boxer .... There is just one turn that requires a bit of brakes. And then I hit the Via Silviate, the shorter but harder climb that followed. This climb hits your legs like an eight-pound sledge. The average grade is 11 percent but the steepest pitch hits 16 percent. The effort is about three minutes.<br />
<br />
I survived and then rolled down through the technical fast section to the finish, where I paused with some journalists. When asked by Italian television how I viewed the loop for the world road championships, I paused. <br />
<br />
I had one word: "Dynamic." <br />
<br />
And it went viral. Of the four road worlds I have called, this is the one route that will produce the truest of road champions. This course does not favor pure climbers, does not favor sprinters, and does not favor the strongest teams. This course is for the best all around individual rider. <br />
<br />
I did the climb again, but with a large group that included the Austrian national team. I descended with the Belgian and Dutch teams. I charged through the city section, where I encountered Evelyn Stevens, who seemed chirpy about the course. <br />
<br />
Then I rolled towards Fiesole for a final loop. I planned to climb alone but noticed a large swarm of red coming up from behind. The Swiss were on their laps. And right in the thick of it rode Cancellara. A flotilla of amateurs had tacked on the back. Of course I did the same.<br />
<br />
We were going about 30 kph as the grade became steeper. The amateurs started to pop like circuit breakers. I filled a few gaps and came within a wheel of the man they call Spartacus. His uphill surge to win Flanders reportedly put out a sustained wattage of 750. This man could pop light bulbs. And yes, I was flickering. <br />
<br />
He rode while speaking to a colleague, his hair flowing as if in a photo shoot. With Firenze below us in full splendor to the right, Fiesole above us to the left, we approached the the switchback where a crowd of nearly 500 had assembled just for a glimpse at such men as Fabu.<br />
<br />
Swiveling his head to study the route and breathing through his nose, he lifted off the saddle, and pressed the pedals. <br />
<br />
I came off like a flake of dandruff. <br />
<br />
I almost went paperboy on the climb to recover and then saw Seamus Downey, who raced for the Killian's Red team in the 1980s. His son, Mark Downey, would be in the junior event. With my heart rate settled, I resumed in time to see Gavin Mannion, the young American son of an Irish immigrant Tommy Mannion living in the Boston area, climbing easy. <br />
<br />
At the top I regrouped, and checked my text messages to ensure I could secure a ride by 2 p.m. from Barbara to attend a junior conference. She noted instead that she needed to leave by 12:15 for an Italian press conference. I looked at the time: 11:50 a.m. and I'm 8 km from the finish line and another 4 km from the hotel. <br />
<br />
I'm also soaked in sweat, kinda hungry, and really thirsty. <br />
<br />
I reply: "See you at 12:15"<br />
<br />
I bomb the descent, no brakes, and end up catching the other American U23 riders. I hit the savage Via Salviati pretty hard and nearly vomit going over the crest. Then I press the urban turns and roll right through the finish line.<br />
<br />
I got to the hotel and even managed to shower by 12:16. We made it to all the appointments. <br />
<br />
But in riding it hard I learned a lot about this circuit.<br />
<br />
Matej Mahor of Slovenia, the emerging superstar who, as a junior, won the silver medal in the 2012 time trial world championships and then took the road race in a bunch gallop, returned in 2013 to win the Under 23 road race at age 18. In his press conference he confirmed what I had suspected: the Fiesole climb was not hard enough. Mind you he was climbing it at 40 kph, but he noted, as I learned, that at speed there is considerable draft. Ironically, the faster the group goes the easier the climb becomes. <br />
<br />
Mahor also confirmed the second climb to be significantly more difficult. <br />
<br />
And after that climb, the technical elements made chasing difficult. <br />
<br />
The issue is that riding without radios, riders were struggling to organize their team efforts. Directors cannot drive forward to provide info. There is only the one 800-meter finish straightaway to enable any rider-to-rider communication. The rest must be done while climbing to Fiesole. <br />
<br />
There will not be a large eight-rider leadout a la Copenhagen or Zolder. The winner will be the best sprinter of the climbers. But this will not favor Chris Froome or Robert Gesink. The winner will have to get over the Via Salviati and then be able to go 70 kph into the city, attacking and counter attacking, and then manage a drag race sprint in the final 800 meters. The finish is for a true bike racer.<br />
<br />
But Mahoric confirmed another of my suspicions. In the press conference he noted that he had shed six kilograms in preparation for this race. And he noted that loss of weight had reduced his power in the time trial.<br />
<br />
I had noted that Cancellara appeared significantly thinner than previously seen in time trials. <br />
<br />
The pro men will do 10 circuits on Sunday. There are clear favorites: Peter Sagan of Slovakia, Edvald Boasson Hagen of Norway, Phillippe Gilbert of Belgium, Alejandro Valverde of Spain, Fillippo Pozzato of Italy, and Geraint Thomas of Great Britain.<br />
<br />
And there are some outsiders to watch: Diego Ulissi of Italy, Bauke Mollema, John Degenkolb of Germany, Carlos Alberto Betancur of Colombia, and Matti Breschel of Denmark. <br />
<br />
Of note is that France's best roleur, Sylvain Chavanel is not on the start list, leaving Thomas Voeckler to carry the tri color into Firenze. <br />
<br />
But know this: the Swiss have brought nine pro men to Italy, their largest worlds team in memory. And Cancellara is THE man here. <br />
<br />
Oh yeah, one other thing...Forecast is for rain.<br />
RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-87454370356291464852013-09-27T10:01:00.002-07:002013-09-27T10:01:36.685-07:00Tuscany 3<br />
Tuscany 3<br />
<br />
Scooter Culture<br />
<br />
<br />
FIRENZE, Sept. 27, 2013 - Obviously there are tremendous connections between this lovely country and cycling. Bottechia. Binda. Campagnolo. Coppi. But zero in on Tuscany and you find an even prouder concentration of cycling heritage that dates back to 1473 when Leonardo da Vinci sketched out the first known design for a bicycle. And they boast of hosting the first ever road race in 1870, a contest from Florence to Pistoia, on some of the same roads used for this year's world championships. Gino Bartali. Fiorenzo Magni. Franco Ballerini. Mario Cippollini. Paolo Bettini. All Tuscan cycling legends.<br />
<br />
And there are amazing rural roads I've already discovered in my limited experience here. There is a weekend culture of cafe cycling, riding, sipping, riding more, sipping more. It's fantastic.<br />
<br />
Back home, however, one would believe that Italy offers a mechanic on every corner offering to lube your chain in extra virgin olive oil, cars that clear away your path, and children cheering you on every climb. <br />
<br />
Reality check.<br />
<br />
Refreshingly, I can report that Italy has all sorts of cyclists, but in terms of cycling transit they are barely ahead of Cambridge, Mass., despite the presence 500 km of bike paths. I see riders rolling the wrong way down streets on dilapidated bikes with under inflated tires. I discovered this after my own puncture downtown resulted in not one but three vagrant cyclists riding with broken spokes and loose axles and even looser racks approaching me, desperate for help. Using only pantomime and pointing for communication, I provided a 10-minute infirmary for these folks whose bikes offered a single redeeming value: presta valves. And then they rolled off into the darkness, headed the wrong direction on one-way street with no lights. <br />
<br />
But in the urban environment of Firenze (which sounds a lot sexier than Florence, the name of my recently deceased aunt) there is nominal bike culture. I would say New York, San Francisco and even Boston has as much true "bike culture".<br />
<br />
And even when I do encounter a cyclist aboard curvaceous carbon-fiber road bikes I realize America has not cornered the market on dorks. Guys here are just as bad with their knees out, their headphones in, their bibs on over their jerseys, and their seat way too low.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
One looking for true bike culture would be better served making the pilgrimage to Copenhagen, Amsterdam, or even Portland for the true Valhallas of bike culture. <br />
<br />
But in Firenze we find scooter culture has taken root. And it's crazy. They shoot the gaps at the lights, swerve from lane to lane, dive in and out of turns.<br />
<br />
At every intersection they swarm at the front of the line, waiting for the red to go green. I don't mean one or two; try a dozen, revving, smoking, scooters at the intersection. And every green light is like a 12-wide start of a moto.<br />
<br />
When my beloved Firefly finally arrived, I dove into the urban setting that night in search of one thing: scooters. The trick is to find a plump couple on one scooter, slowing their start. Once up to speed, I could get on their draft and roll up to 60 kph. <br />
<br />
And despite the noise, the danger, and the smoke, I see the value of scooters in the landscape. When gas hits $7 a gallon in 2016, we will see scooters in America before we see bicycles on a large scale. The good thing here is that Scooters have shattered the car-only paradigm. They are the mosquitos of the road. Motorists have just learned to assimilate scooters into their mentality.<br />
<br />
There is no yelling, no epithets, no horn honking in anger. No matter what the infraction, Italians all just swerve around and keep going. They don't take it or mean it personally, as American motorists so often do.<br />
<br />
And with that, the scooters carve out a space - not so much on the roadway as much as the collective mentality - for bicycles. <br />
<br />
Of course in all this craziness pedestrians are just screwed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-1972287319771577962013-09-26T11:15:00.003-07:002013-09-26T11:15:53.933-07:00Tuscany 2<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
FIRENZE, ITALIA, Sept. 26 - European cities initially disappoint Americans. They simply don't do suburbs well. My experience with most European cities is that of oysters. Brussels, Girona, Maastricht, Paris, Madrid .... Grotesque outer shells concealing marvelous ingredients.<br />
<br />
And Italians really don't do suburbs well. The Tuscan landscape, famous for its manicured trees and inviting architecture, had been scratched with graffiti, confusing signage, and curious waste management. My arrival at Hotel Meditteraneo, placed along the historic Arno River, had been marred by my bike's non-arrival.<br />
<br />
Arriving early, my room would not be ready for several hours. I walked a bit, took Euros out of the ATM, drank cappuccino, and charged everything I had with a battery. My phone rang.<br />
<br />
The voice of Rita Bellanca, all four feet, eleven inches of her, came through the line. Her power triples her size as she - without a single UCI logo on her clothing or a credential around her neck - essentially runs the show. And nobody dares to cross her.<br />
<br />
Rehearsal for awards was about to start. The hotel staff had not given me a packet left with my credential and a note regarding the rehearsal. I leapt into a taxi and we took the most un-interesting ride to the finish venue. <br />
<br />
Expecting cathedrals, fountains and statues, my short ride was a conveyor belt of dumpsters, scooters, trampled plants, grit, train tracks, grime and improvised fencing. <br />
<br />
Expecting the grandeur of Rome, I arrived at a finish venue placed alongside a Soviet style athletic complex, which afforded the organization the necessary facilities for offices, parking, television production and grandstands.<br />
<br />
Don't worry, the images on TV will be great. <br />
<br />
There are about 100 people on site doing all sorts of things.It's like walking on to a Broadway set before dress rehearsal. Cranes and booms and cables and scissor lifts whirring about. Guys are on scaffolds, on ladders, in trailers, under stages, behind stages....There is a melange of Italian, English and French being spoken....And of course the cigarettes everywhere. Somehow I'm comfortable in all this. Sound guys, TV guys, timing guys, officials, cops, marshals, and sprinkled throughout all this are podium presenters. I cannot help notice this one Italian brunette with long hair and even longer legs stacked atop five-inch heels. Man after man shout to her from a distance. She responds to all with a pearlescent smile. Some get close and she adorns them with the classic double kiss. I can only apply one word to her looks: voluptuous. One man walked by gazing at her and stumbled over cable covers, nearly falling to the ground.<br />
<br />
I had work to do. Accustomed to sorting these things out, I sift my way to the awards podium and realize I'm actually early. Traveling in some dirty shorts, a T-shirt, and a sport coat, I'm looking pretty bad. I hardly have a command presence. And with no sleep, I don't feel in command. These rehearsals are where I meet my counterpart in the native language. I've met some great announcers over the years. They are typically journalists who are passionate about the sport, knowledgable about the riders, connected with the promoters. Kaes in the Netherlands, Heinrich in Czech Republic, Mark in Belgium, Peter in Denmark, Rick in Australia, etc., etc., etc. All are good. Real good. Frankly, they all know more statistics and results than I.<br />
<br />
Here I encounter Allesandro Barbella, who has worked the Giro and several other prior world championships. And yes, he's good.<br />
<br />
We bumble through through the awards with a small contingent. Then we head inside, where I meet Angelo, who is managing the production for the entire thing. We arrive to discover the largest production contingent I've ever seen pre-worlds. Typically we have about five people: the sound guy, the two announcers, the UCI person, and then the local person.<br />
<br />
I count 13 people at the table, 12 of which speak Italian. And then the long tall brunette comes to the table, walks all the way around the table, and introduces herself to me. "Barbara Pedrotti". And she presents a card.<br />
<br />
I have no idea what she is doing at the table. Nor can I fathom what the others are doing. After some basics in English, about how the rotation works, who goes where, how we'll be working the "RRRRRRRadio Toscana," what the rotation will be, Angelo turns to me. <br />
<br />
"Richard, you are the leader; you are the boss." <br />
<br />
Huh? <br />
<br />
Feeling like a child on the first day of kindergarten, I meekly accept the task while listening to how it will work. And then - even filtered through Italian - I realize I DO know how this thing will work. I discuss the art of "catching" and "throwing" in announcing an event. I discuss the principle of "less being more", working with the music, using "ramps", and pacing the work. All stuff I've learned from Glenn Stillwell.<br />
<br />
After I speak for 30 seconds in English, about three minutes of conversation breaks out in Italian. And then we do it again. Increasingly it becomes evident that one person has the greatest command of English: Barbara Pedrotti. <br />
<br />
She will be helping as an announcer around the remote starts and as needed throughout the week. All the races start elsewhere and finish in Florence.<br />
<br />
Then I learn the radio station has provided some DJs and personalities who will be on site, weaving into the program. I realize these guys really want a big show and they want me to run it. Like high school basketball, I'm running the three-man weave.<br />
<br />
Barbara gives me a ride back to my hotel via the most arcane route possible. Only with a few days exploration of Firenze do I now realize how circuitous her route was. <br />
<br />
I bid adieu and retire. I still have no bike. I still cannot see the attraction people have for Italia, for Toscana, and for Firenze.<br />
<br />
Yet.<br />
RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-83145664095310553992013-09-25T09:47:00.000-07:002013-09-25T09:47:03.785-07:00TUSCANY 1<br />
Tuscany Chapter 1<br />
<br />
Diary Sept. 21<br />
Florence, Tuscany<br />
<br />
I type because I can barely speak. My voice is like broken glass, shards of vowels and jagged consonants, only worsened by a wheezing, lingering cough and punctuated by eruptions of phlegm.<br />
<br />
I can only pray that eight days in the Tuscan sun will rescue this situation. But I am bringing this shattered voice to the UCI World Road Championships, where I would announce for a week straight.<br />
<br />
With more than 20 years experience announcing cycling events, I have developed a set of rules to protect a fragile voice. A voice for a professional speaker is like the arm of a professional pitcher; abused and then restored over and over and over. To protect the voice I have some rules I try to follow. Sadly I broke most of them in the days leading up to this important event.<br />
<br />
RULE ONE: DO NOT SWAP SPIT<br />
This chaos started in San Simeon, a lonely California beach town with a Twilight Zone fog that cloaks a hidden neon monster far worse than anything that lured Ulysses into danger. I write, of course, of the karaoke bar.<br />
<br />
After working to produce another highly successful Best Buddies Challenge: Hearst Castle, I informed my two guest elite riders, Benny Swedberg and Tobin Ortenblad, that they would not be going up to the Hearst Castle for a dip in the Neptune pool as they hoped. Instead our two elite guest riders were asked to help load boxes from our registration tents. Deflated, they crinkled their pressed suits around the bags, tents, and boxes kindly.<br />
<br />
"Grab that," I instructed, pointing to the massive team cup, a silver chalice presented to the highest fund raising team. "That will come in handy." <br />
<br />
After a curious look, Tobin, got the cup. We loaded into my rental car and headed towards San Simeon, pulling into the San Simeon Inn, the only institution with a bar still open. <br />
<br />
"Let's go," I said, trophy in hand. They were incredulous.<br />
<br />
From outside we could see the patrons, most seated, arms folded, legs exhausted from work stretched out, faces flat in response to a dreadful attempt to sing a Roy Orbison song. <br />
<br />
The patrons included about two dozen Latino men, most of our event staging crew, a handful of our charity riders who had pedaled 100 miles from Carmel to San Simeon. Despite the occasional attempts by an Elvis impersonator to de-fibrillate these flat-lined corpses, most were too exhausted to move... Or were they?<br />
<br />
I strode into this neon blue haze triumphantly, hoisted the cup above my head as if I had just won Wimbledon, and planted it on the table. Swedberg and Ortenblad seemed stunned. <br />
<br />
Then it started. Waves of my colleagues and friends and riders and clients entered by the car load. There was whiskey and beer involved, but I swear I kept steering towards ginger ale. I strode about the place giving folks photo ops with the trophy, and little by little this fostered an almost tribal cohesion. Inevitably, somebody filled the cup with beer. And with each song sung, rock 'n' roll, country, Mexican ballads, the cup went to the singer for congratulatory swigs... <br />
<br />
After a day of announcing, I did my best "Get Off My Cloud," "Hey Ya," "Sweet Caroline," and even joined one of our ride teams we've nicknamed "The Mermaids" for a horrific rendition of "Girls Just Want to Have Fun."<br />
<br />
The entire place veered out of control like a reckless bus of a party. Tired legs were renewed and dancing broke out, spilling into the sound equipment, the video monitors, and cocktail tables. The woman running the Karaoke with Elvis, an exhausted woman pushing 80 (and pushing it kinda hard), sat in a scowl as we smeared into her space. Upon learning my colleague Jon Brideau had turned 29 that day, Elvis crooned birthday wishes followed by shots of tequila.... which I wisely avoided. <br />
<br />
Surprisingly no ankles were sprained. No glass was broken. No marriages were ruined. No cars crashed. And yes, unlike the 1924 Montreal Canadiens, I remembered to bring home the trophy from the party, which had become a Petri dish of bacteria and viruses shared by all. <br />
<br />
That I did not contract smallpox is surprising. But the next morning, September 8, I could feel a monstrous infection growing in my respiratory system. As of this writing on September 25 the last cells of that bacterial terrorist organization remain active in my body.<br />
<br />
<br />
RULE TWO: SLEEP <br />
Sleep is the ultimate elixir for bodies, for minds, for souls .... and for voices. Screw that, right?<br />
<br />
After the karaoke chaos, I collapsed into my room well after midnight. I have a problem in that regardless of when I go to bed or where I am on the planet my eyes flip open at roughly 5 to 7 a.m. EST. <br />
<br />
Like .... any where.<br />
<br />
This curse is so profound that I rarely turn on alarms. True to form, I bounce awake in San Simeon and go to work with a) getting everybody packed up, and b) getting my sorry ass to Northern California to visit with the Simpson family, my home away from home in California, and grab a redeye.<br />
<br />
Mind you this would be the first of a redeye triathlon. I would do a redeye home from California and karaoke, work a week, ride my ass off, and then catch a morning flight to Las Vegas, a redeye home, and then another redeye to Europe. <br />
<br />
By the time I arrived in Italy my sleep cycle had been so scrambled I could find myself nodding off or waking up at the most unusual times and places.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
RULE THREE: HYDRATE<br />
A key to anything involving your physical being - be it cycling, dancing, modeling, announcing, surviving, etc. - is to hydrate. Makes sense, right? But it is so easy to end up de-hydrated. I firmly believe that a lot of people's hunger is actually their thirst. <br />
<br />
That does not mean I actually practice what I preach...<br />
<br />
As I swirl towards the World Championship experience, I find myself drinking anything BUT the stuff I should be drinking.<br />
<br />
To really enhance the dehydration process, I travel to the desert town of Las Vegas with about 3 percent humidity. <br />
<br />
So I broke that rule, eh?<br />
<br />
<br />
RULE FOUR: AVOID LOUD PLACES.<br />
Crowded bars, night clubs, sports bars, and any environment that requires one to drive their voice to simply get over the din are brutal for announcers. I have an idea, let's go to the Interbike show in Vegas! <br />
<br />
With that, let's just add I announced at 'Cross Vegas, watching Katerina Nash and Sven Nys provide a clinic on cyclo-cross.<br />
<br />
That was followed by the next night announcing the USA Crits Final at Mandalay Bay, a phenomenal crit under the lights. I went from that event directly to the airport for a 1 a.m. flight. <br />
<br />
Both events are promoted with a fanfare and production value rarely seen in American races, most of which are conducted as slaughterhouses with rider entries funding the entire enterprise. These evening events only showcase about four events on the card and then focus on fans. And there were 10,000-plus on Wednesday and 4,000-plus on Thursday. The bigger the crowd the harder you push. I push hard.<br />
<br />
I pushed hard - really hard - both nights. I worked the first night with John Lefler and Larry Longo, two of the best in the business whom I fly in for Providence. The following night, I worked with Chad Andrews, whose enthusiasm for cycling drips off every word he utters.<br />
<br />
As an aside I must say that seeing Dave Towle, who did the live webcast commentary, was a treat. He has a most infectious sense of humor that always results in me laughing hard enough to pass legumes through my sinuses.<br />
<br />
So we broke that rule.<br />
<br />
<br />
RULE FIVE: AVOID STRESS.<br />
Have I mentioned I was serving as a production consultant for the inaugural Connecticut Cycling Festival held in Hartford while I was in Italy? My first pair of announcers backed out the week prior, and I had to scramble to fill their spots with two others. Fortunately I learned of the availability of Ian Sullivan, a new announcer I had yet to hear, and the legendary Joe Jefferson. I had to manage several details, write several checks, and leave several notes before I left for Vegas.<br />
<br />
And yes, I'm heading up a great staff putting on the Providence Cyclo-cross Festival, which is like putting on an outdoor wedding for 5,000 to be held Oct. 4-6, about four days after I return from Europe.<br />
<br />
So I fly to Paris, unable to sleep on that leg of the journey. I make the most confusing transfer in the world's most confusing airport, Charles Degaulle, to a small plane headed for Pisa.<br />
<br />
Boom. I pass out. Like totally zonked to the point where I never even see Pisa for the landing and the staff have to wake me up so they can clean the plane.<br />
<br />
Fogged over from the sleep, I stumble down the stairway to the glare of the Tuscan sun which strikes me as lot like Southern California but in miniature, and hop on a shuttle. I enter this modest airport's baggage area which is before we get to immigration, only to discover the bathroom is out of order. I really had to pee.<br />
<br />
Although "AIR FRANCE" never appears on any monitor belts begin to whir about with luggage. Shuttle after shuttle empty. Belt after belt churns. I begin to realize half the folks here are American tourists, and most of those are over age 70. And most of those are really cranky about the bathroom the signage the luggage and generally the lack of a Denny's anywhere nearby.<br />
<br />
My bags don't arrive.<br />
<br />
I really have to pee. <br />
<br />
But my beloved Firefly with S and S couplings making its European debut is lost. We manage to find my one suitcase but the bike is lost. <br />
<br />
And framed by all those elements, I land in a country where I don't know the language, the geography, the customs, and a single human being, and prepare to announce the most prestigious single-day bike race in the world. In effect, I'm walking into a temple that will hold 300,000 people - of which 100,000 have an encyclopedic knowledge of cycling - and I'm expected to preach the sermon.<br />
<br />
Avoid stress you say?<br />
<br />
Check that one off.<br />
<br />
<br />
Completely shattered with little sleep, no voice, a bladder full of urine, sinuses loaded with phlegm, and a cell phone loaded with text message and e-mails, I exit the baggage area without my beloved bike. The electric doors slide open and there stands an unshaven young man in a T-shirt with a piece of notebook paper scrawled with one word "FRIES." <br />
<br />
Werner is Portuguese. I'm American. We're in Italy. We pile into a Skoda van, drop the windows, and head for Firenze (Florence). The Tuscan wind blows joy into my body. I'm revived.<br />
<br />
And we're off. Welcome the 2013 UCI Road World Championships. Hang on.<br />
<br />
<br />
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RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-19146642015406492072013-03-08T09:28:00.001-08:002013-03-08T09:28:05.729-08:00Winning Over the Old Man Wilsons of American Politics<br />
Winning Over the Old Man Wilsons of American Politics<br />
<br />
Much has been written and stated regarding Washington gridlock lately. Coming from the National Bike Summit this past week, I can report one piece of good news. On Capitol Hill the bicycle lobby - and most of the proposed bike legislation - is increasingly received warmly by lawmakers on both sides of the aisle. The same guys who have been locked in some weird prison fight, one wrist taped to one hand and a shank in the other, have come to appreciate the happy, healthy bike stuff.<br />
<br />
For a decade we've been nice and patient, knowing bicycling's truths to be self-evident. We learned to take off the day-glow vest and put on a suit or a dress, to shave, wear deodorant, and not to eat lentils out of a faded yogurt container during a meeting with a U.S. Senator. With polite persistence from us, even James Imhofe (R-Oklahoma) will get it. These guys have been to enough bike path ribbon cuttings; they have received enough positive constituent feedback from business owners; they have been fed enough economic data. They have come to realize the ROI on bike investments - in both financial and political currency - could be better than any other crust of bread available in this political refugee camp.<br />
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Here is the good news from Washington. After 13 years of lobbying by advocates and industry leaders (sadly the racing community does not show up) the folks on Capitol Hill no longer see bicyclists as easy targets. I enjoyed watching 10 lawmakers, from both sides of the aisle, speak at our Bikes PAC reception. I relished the speech a day prior by Secretary of Transportation Ray LaHood, a Republican and stalwart supporter of bike investments. And I was privileged to be at a private dinner with former Rep. James Oberstar.<br />
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I came to this year's summit somewhat deflated and defeated. After the 2010 election and ensuing financial acid bath, federal funding had dissolved. Our ranking champion Oberstar had been bounced out of office by a nut-job Tea Party candidate. Much seemed lost.<br />
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But every lawmaker had one message: Physician Heal Thyself. These guys used to laugh at this dis-organized and disheveled mob. But some, especially Rep. Earl Blumenauer (D-Oregon) rallied our forces. Every politician who spoke had enormous praise for how our forces - actually rewiring all the circuitry after the disastrous 2010 election - simply flowed around any and all obstacles, like water. We kept things going with or without Washington's help.<br />
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Like Obi-Wan Kenobi taking the sword from Darth Vader with his protege Luke Skywalker watching, Oberstar, who had organized, galvanized and trained these Jedi Knights of bike advocacy delivered a message this year: You can win on your own. And the games is being played in your hometown.<br />
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Indeed the victories in bike advocacy are no longer in Washington DC. Great bike policy has gone viral. And its not just in Portland or Boulder. There are so many great things happening in such unlikely places as Atlanta, Indianapolis, Memphis, Richmond, and Orlando. Even AAA, historically an enemy of any transportation funding for anything BUT automobiles and highways, has become pro-bike, going so far as to develop television ads promoting cycling and sharing the road. And they sponsored the summit just to get this word out.<br />
<br />
And there is more going on than just bike lanes and bike paths. Commercial real estate developers in such horrid places as Tyson's Corner - which went from being Virginia farm land in the 1950s to the 12th largest commercial center in America without even being a formal municipality - are starting over to erect new buildings that weave transit and cyclepaths and bike parking into their design. Aaron Georgelas, a developer and cyclists overseeing the construction, described this as the "most important suburban experiment in the world." They have realized that in 1990 walk-up traffic in stores was at just 24 percent. But by 2001 that number had grown to 33 percent and by 2009 that figure had leapt up to 49 percent.<br />
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These "Beltway" communities, suffering from perhaps the worst traffic congestion in America, have surrendered after decades of incessant construction. They have realized that widening highways to alleviate congestion is akin to letting out one's belt to alleviate obesity. After 50 years of relying on highway designs developed in the 1950s, engineers and planners and developers have started over. Woven into those new manuals are bicycles. This community has fallen in love with the Washington and Old Dommion Rail Trail, the Mount Vernon Trail, the C & O Canal Towpath, and countless other bike facilities that also serve walkers and skaters and joggers.<br />
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Get this, Arlington County, Virginia, will no longer issue a certificate of occupancy to a new commercial building unless it provides indoor bike parking, welcoming bike access (no more locking your bike behind the dumpsters) and showers for its tenants.<br />
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I have often stated that the easiest way to build a bike path is to build a bike path. By this I mean once you have one path, it's easier to show the benefits and then build a second. But now that reference point is being established with businesses trying to both attract customers and retain employees. I do not know of any bike facility, lane, or path in America that has failed. Even in such regions considered politically hostile to cycling as Florida, Oklahoma, South Carolina and Mississippi, bike paths flourished. No community has ever torn up a path or painted over a lane to revert back to its prior design. These lanes and paths are simply assimilated into the traffic landscape in the surprisingly stressless fashion with which a family adds another child. There is a bike lane down the middle of Pennsylvania Avenue, arguably America's most famous street, and the motorists have not been impacted at all.<br />
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Another example is in Brooklyn, where city planners overcame inflammatory journalism and a hysterical minority opposition to construct a European style separated bike lane in 2010. The rewards have proven staggering. Sales tax revenues along that strip have gone up 50 percent since the project was completed. And the commercial vacancy rate has dropped to zero. <br />
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A major revolution is underway, according to Bruce Katz of The Brookings Institute. He described this as the "urbanization of the suburbs." Where sprawling strip malls are dying, developers and communities are turning inward to create centers that have urban feel and cater to walk-up access and bike riding customers. His findings on demographic trends proved astounding, including one that indicated the automobile to no longer be such an aspirational object for American youth. In the 1990s more than 50 percent of 18 year olds had a drivers licenses; that number has plummeted to just 29 percent. While a teen coming of age in the 1950s saw the car as freedom and independence, a teen coming of age today sees the car as an expensive, cumbersome and dangerous hassle that needs to be purchased, insured, fueled, parked, registered, and maintained just for the privilege of sitting in a smoldering line of traffic.<br />
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Cyclists, however, hold certain truths to be self-evident.<br />
<br />
But my takeaway from DC in 2013 is is that it is not about DC. It's about you and your town and your business and your lifestyle. You need to be the change you want to see. And the Federal and State governments - struggling to deal with obesity, energy supply and climate change - will support you.<br />
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This came to light for me a week prior to the National Bike Summit. I attended a public hearing, what may be the final hearing, in a different Arlington, the one in Massachusetts. After five years of hearings, debates, votes, editorials, social media campaigns, leaflets, and placards, the public filled the Town Hall to review this plan to take a mile long stretch of Massachusetts Avenue, presently as lawless as the OK Corral, and add medians to protect pedestrians and bike lanes for cyclists. But in order to use the $5 million in approved Federal funds, they would need to ascribe to national standards for lane width. Hence this lawless and lane-less strip would need to go down from four lanes to three for motor traffic.<br />
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This has infuriated a sector of the public who complain of morning congestion on that roadway all ready. Reviewing the audience, I realized the vanguard of the opposition to be cut from the Old Man Wilson cloth. You know the guy, Dennis the Menace's neighbor portrayed by Walter Matthau. They were mostly overweight, probably in bad health, looked to be in some physical discomfort, and pretty pissed off in general. Get this, one guy was stupid enough to spend $100,000 of his own money to defeat this plan.<br />
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I learned that despite unanimous support from the Board of Selectmen, majority support from Town Meeting, support from state lawmakers, support from town engineers, and about 80 percent of the speakers being in favor of this plan, a handful of Old Man Wilsons can stall things in America. If you read a Ezra Klein's article in the Jan. 28, 2013, issue of The New Yorker on how the filibuster has crippled Congress from passing any meaningful legislation, you realize how much easier we've made it to stop things from happening than to make things happen in our system. <br />
<br />
We need to be patient, like water. The average age of a new car buyer in America has now reached 55, the oldest of all time. For folks over the age of 55, those born prior to 1957, the only thing they have known is the ever expanding network of roads and infrastructure for one mode of transit: the automobile.<br />
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But I realized that affairs in Arlington, Mass., are just as important as those here on Capitol Hill. When studying cycling infrastructure, as with military history, we must realize that geographic choke points are what converts places such as Ticonderoga into historically significant locales. <br />
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And this is what the opponents to the Arlington plan, and bike haters everywhere, cannot fathom. The locus of their logic is that the bicycle is a toy used solely for some gleeful Pee Wee Herman spree. The Minuteman Bikeway runs from Bedford through Lexington and in to Arlington Center, where it crosses Mass. Ave and continues about 1.5 miles southeast towards the Alewife subway station. But for those heading due south into or out of Cambridge or Boston for work or shopping by bike, the straight line is Mass Ave and not the bike path. In short, it's the hypotenuse of the triangle. Staying on the bike path adds about 10 minutes to the commute of the average Boston-bound cyclist. <br />
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If the Arlington plan goes forward, legions of soft-core cyclists - students, commuters, children - will be able to comfortably roll north from Boston and Cambridge to the Minuteman Bikeway with a safer, dedicated bike lane. And this means restaurants, coffee shops, doctors, dentists, movie theaters, gift shops, specialty shops, and that adorable salvage shop nobody notices when whirring by at 45 mph in a car will get more business.<br />
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People and animals prefer the shortest distance between two points. And Arlington, like Ticonderoga, is a choke point between the high tech and bio tech and defense tech jobs and internships of the Boston Beltway and the worlds largest college town. College kids ride bikes. And young parents saving for a home ride bikes. And middle-age folks trying to fix their hearts and lungs and heads ride bikes.<br />
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All the stuff written about here, however, is all "pull" marketing. Meaning the self-evident benefits of cycling - less expensive, more expedient, less stressful, more healthful - are the only thing working to date. Like a boxer with just one hand, we're winning over the Old Man Wilsons of the world.<br />
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But the "push" marketing is the second hand. When Peak Oil hits in the coming years (many forecasters, including such wild-eyed hippies as Deutsche Bank and Bloomberg, see 2016 as the critical year) gasoline prices are expected to dramatically rise. Some see $8 a gallon in the near future. <br />
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At such a juncture, our society will no longer view cycling as something Americans want, but instead what Americans need.<br />
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The blueprints are being laid out today for that change. Capitol Hill is ready to support this when the mandate arrives. They have learned, as Janette Sadik-Khan, New York City's Transportation Commissioner, stated during the Summit: "Turns out that what is good for Trek, is good for America."<br />
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RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-49161680392341438082013-02-25T15:24:00.001-08:002013-02-26T08:16:52.956-08:00A Firefly Can Light Up the Darkest Month<br />
Let's start with a text sent to my good friend Gary Thornton on Feb. 23 at 6:37 p.m.<br />
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'CANNOT EVEN COME UP W THE DOOR FEE. AM I OK?'<br />
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At that moment me, two of my children, and wife were preparing to head into Boston for a People for Bikes fund raiser, ostensibly to softly launch the third edition of Tim Johnson's Ride on Washington. <br />
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I had gone through the woods that morning to harvest fire wood to heat my home in the wood stove as the oil tank was empty. I had scoured the refrigerator of our dwindling supplies for some dinner. My wife had emptied the change jar to get our daughter some butter so she could make cookies for Tim Johnson, who had texted his request to her. And I checked the gas gauge on the Subaru, comforted to see the fuel light had not flicked on...yet. With a winter storm gathering, I questioned the wisdom of our attendance at yet another festive event as we anxiously moved up Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. <br />
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I had spent the bulk of the day at the Lexington Depot helping out with the inaugural Best Buddies Indoor Time Trial. "Are you getting paid for that," my wife had asked sternly the day before. <br />
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"Nope," I replied, adding nothing. The silence roared her frustration with our state of affairs. Who could blame her?<br />
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When flirting with co-eds, there's a maxim that is oft repeated by college boys, especially the ones with liberal arts majors and no freakin' clue what to do after graduation: "Do what you love and the money will follow," they proudly exclaim. And usually about five years after that those guys are jaded and doing something they do not love but saving for a home and paying for kids and then saving for retirement....<br />
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I'm living proof that the maxim can truly be applied to a life. But the first word is "do." And know that all love, always, will be tested. And the money may not be that much. And exactly how far behind that money will follow you is constantly in question. <br />
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My family has been patient and forgiving with me, following this Don Quixote husband and father as my Sancho Panzas of reality. The travel, the events, the fund raisers, and the campaigns to the make the world right and just for every deserving cyclist....all is fine so long as the mortgage gets paid and the children get fed and the house feels heated.<br />
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Two weeks prior to this weekend my luck, after a number of years, ran out. With a son in college, a massive mortgage, an overdue tax bill, broken appliances, home insurance, car insurance, holiday bills, dental bills, and assorted financial meteors were crashing through the roof. And the shimmer of Louisville's World Championships had worn off as I waited for the wire transfer from Europe to right our ship. Each day became a scene from a Samuel Beckett play; each time I logged on my bank account it felt like another match burned by Jack London as winter and darkness closed around me.<br />
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And with the gloom of February on our sky, the dashboard gauge for every commodity of our lives - gas, firewood, food, heating oil - went into the red zone. Me going off to serve yet again as an evangelist for cycling did not go over well. <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">At such manic moments every expenditure of money, time or energy is harshly scrutinized. And few are embraced...</span><br />
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On the dashboard of my life, however, the one red light that has never come on was the bike. Bikes keep working practically for free. They rarely fail you.<br />
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So off I went to the indoor time trial to put on a happy face to encourage more people to tilt at the windmill of cycling with me...<br />
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I have a great relationship with Best Buddies, a great organization for which I work part time helping to convert executives into bike nuts. They grant me flexibility with my schedule and enable me to pursue my passions in cycling. There are times I get the better end of the deal; and times they get the better end of the deal.<br />
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This indoor time trial had proven truly successful with nearly 60 participants on Computrainers run by Performance Breakthrough Coaching. With openings in the final slot I had opted to jump in. I rolled my bike up to John Caton, the mechanic from Belmont Wheelworks kind enough to support our event, and asked him to simply lube the chain. Mind you the bike was in horrible condition from a month of winter commuting. <br />
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"I know, I know," I said. "I'm about three weeks away from just tossing the cassette and chain." <br />
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John looked aghast as the salt and the grit and the gooey residue of lube and dirt on the drive train. "You just need a new bike.... No, seriously, you need a new bike." <br />
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But I loved this bike, a 1996 Merlin Extralight. I had overhauled it about two year earlier with a Sram Red Group and Mavic Ksyriums. I adored this bike despite its dinged top tube and one-inch head tube. This thing - with fenders and stickers and a worn saddle - had outperformed <em>The Africa Queen</em> and still begged to be pushed harder and faster. This bike had seen national championships, stage races, a ride from New York to Boston, festivals, urban adventures, and countless sloppy commutes through Boston winters. This bike had been locked to racks during countless public hearings and testimonies and pep rallies to improve cycling. And this rig proudly made the 2012 Ride on Washington with bikes far younger and more modern.<br />
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And this bike rode comfortably. Recently Kevin Wolfson, one of the founders of Firefly Bicycles in Boston, had e-mailed about my fit, noting a customer had commented how well I sat on that Merlin. While I just felt right on the bike, I confessed to Kevin to having never really done much measurement save for knowing my seat height to always be 74.5 cm.<br />
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After being prodded a few times by Kevin, I finally got out a plumb bob and level and measuring tape. I became somewhat self conscious. What if my fit turned out to be the goofiest of contortions? This was me, the guy teaching all sorts of corporate big shots about cycling for Best Buddies and other adventures. The process bugged me.<br />
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Ultimately I did a lot of research, especially on saddle setback. There is little done on this which is kind of important. I found myself absorbed by a little known guru of fit: Bernard Hinault. Le Blaireau had actually written about fit in the early 1980s and his format would be used by Greg LeMond and Laurent Fignon and other European hard men. It's a balanced fit between the powerful aero position of the Dutch and Belgians and the upright climbing set up of the Spaniards. Let's leave triathletes out of the discussion entirely.<br />
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My measurements, I boasted to Kevin, were spot on according to Hinault's formula! And I had done this all without lasers or algorithms or protractors! Imagine that.<br />
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I proudly grabbed this old perfectly fit bike for the time trial. Dirty and fendered, it locked into the trainer. I warmed up a bit, jumping off to make announcements, change music, and top off my water bottle, and then jumping back on. A friend grabbed the tire and noted my low tire pressure, which I use in the icy conditions, and suggested more. I gassed them both up to 110 psi. I continued my warm up and readied for the painful 20 minute race. Moments before the start I heard the explosion. My rear tire, its casing raw from all the salt, blew apart on the sidewall.<br />
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The final dashboard light of my life came on. Even my bike, this perfectly fit, beautifully storied bike, had failed me....<br />
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A rider offered me a rear wheel, but knowing the horrid condition of my chain and cassette, I asked John to switch over the cassette to the loaner wheel. When the cogs came apart in John's hands everybody could see the sludge that had amassed. Holding this syrupy stack of pancakes, he crammed it all together. I re-mounted the bike into the trainer.<br />
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The race proved painful but worthwhile. Jeff Capobianco, the coach and boss of Breakthrough Performance Coaching, charged through the 10 k course. I tried to stay with him initially but realized the futility. He was putting out a solid 400 watts; I chose to stay at 275. He set the fastest time of day. I rode respectably to second in that group and 19th overall.<br />
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Not bad for a fat old man and dirty old bike and borrowed wheel, eh?<br />
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Still shaky from my ride, I helped with cleanup and started wrapping up sound equipment. In came Thom Parsons, the talented videographer from dirtwire.tv. He complained about believing he could ride in the 3 p.m. heat, which did not exist. <br />
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Nonplussed by the disappointment, he pulled out his video camera - as he does at every event - and did a quick stand up with me explaining where we were and what I was doing. I went on and on about Best Buddies and the time trial.<br />
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Then he paused and asked me to talk about this 1996 Merlin, which I adored.<br />
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"So when are you going to get a carbon fiber bike?" he asked. <br />
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I replied that if I was to buy a dream bike it would be a Boston-built titanium bike.....either Seven or Firefly. The things are light, fast and bomb-proof. And they handle everything with elegance. End of interview. And he rolled on to meet at the fund raiser.<br />
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After breakdown and clean up I went home, where I anxiously puttered about - still shaky from the ITT - as my wife and kids got ready to join me for the trip to Boston. Then I remembered the door charge was $5 for an event I was supposedly to help present. This corrosive panic came over me.<br />
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I live by the mantra, if you have to ask for something you don't deserve it. But it became evident to me that I did not even have the $20 to cover the donation at the door for all four of us. And then I learned Grant, our oldest son at Suffolk University, would be coming.<br />
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I sheepishly sent the text above to Gary Thornton, who had come all the way up from Pennsylvania to promote this fund raiser. And he replied:<br />
<br />
"HAHAHAHAHA. I GOT YOU AND YOUR FAMILY'S BACK. YOU'RE GOOD."<br />
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Given Gary's devotion and effort going into this thing, I felt relieved to see the threat of a winter storm had softened. Frankly I could not figure why a guy from Philly would put on a fund raiser in Boston. He had claimed the advice came from my friend Bruno Maier at People for Bikes, noting the Boston scene just had more going on for advocacy. We left our house in a dark drizzle and carefully nursed the Subaru to Boston without the fuel light coming on.<br />
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Once inside I spotted Gary and tried to help he and his delightful girlfriend, Janine Carroll, get the room set up. We were there about 20 minutes early to do just that. As I took lids off deli platters and set out food, my adorable daughter Emma, who loves to attend cycling events with me, stayed within inches of me, lightly punching me the entire time, as I walked about. Madison, my youngest son, took my Samsung phone and started the battery drain with games. As the crowd filtered in, my daughter continued to pelt me with affectionate punches, as I greeted the guests and worked with Gary to develop the "run of show."<br />
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Tim Johnson texted Emma to let her know he was running late....which is standard for Tim. Gary and I reviewed the run of show. The brewery team would start the event with a description of the beers being sampled. And then I would go on. Then Tim. <br />
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Guests streamed in. I cannot begin to name them all but they were all fantastic friends and loyal supporters of cycling in the Boston market. Most were at the first Redbone's events I helped to promote. Others put on 'cross races or crits. They are all stalwart supporters of cycling for both sport and transit.<br />
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One attendee truly stunned me with her attendance. Kate Powlison of Bikes Belong not only made the trip, she did so from her hometown of Erie, Pa., with her mother! Kate lives in Boulder, rode the Ride on Washington (and then the Reve Women's Tour de France). A graduate of Williams College, Kate continues to defend the merits of New England bike culture against anybody in Colorado, California, or Oregon.<br />
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Hmmm.....Long way to go for a Harpoon, I thought, but it is fine beer.<br />
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Tim arrived, grabbed the cookies from Emma, and we readied for the pitch. The basic Tim Johnson Ride on Washington dog and pony show ....It's one which I am the dog and he is the pony.<br />
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Right before I went on, Tim tugged at my elbow. <br />
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"Keep it short....I'll talk about Ride on Washington....You just keep it short." <br />
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I've been doing this awhile. I can stretch it out; I can speed it up. I can edit on the fly. <br />
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I had nothing written, so I took Tim's cues, hopped up on the chair and spoke about how important Tim is to advocacy. And how important it is for racers to embrace advocacy. And how important getting cool people to embrace advocacy - not just in their statements but in how they ride - is to our movement. "Be the change you want to see," I told the crowd. And then I introduced Tim. <br />
<br />
He had set the trap. Gary had set the trap. Kevin had set the trap. My daughter Emma and my wife had set the trap. Thom had set the trap. Bruno had set the trap. Kate had set the trap.<br />
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Tim started to speak...ostensibly about advocacy. But in a lecturing judo move he nimbly changed topics and instead spoke about ... well... me. <br />
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Ride on Washington never came up. He just went on and on about .... me. <br />
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Then Gary leapt up on the chair and went on and on .... about ....well .... me. At this point I'm feeling really uneasy. Tim whispered in my ear, "They got something for you...it's a water bottle." <br />
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By then I realize the whole thing had been a ruse. The entire audience had come out for me. And then Kevin Wolfson, our navigator for the Ride on Washington, wheels out a custom ti Firefly. The folks at Sram had donated a Red group and Zipp 101 wheels. And they had it built to my specs, gathered up through a range of faux questions from Kevin and my daughter, claiming to be working on a geometry project for a teacher. And Harpoon, the greatest brewery on the planet, had donated the space. Dozens of people in the cycling community had donated to this cause. My cause.<br />
<br />
In football they called it getting "ear-holed," when you are clobbered by an unseen blocker.<br />
<br />
I was speechless....aghast....embarrassed. Where I am so well-spoken in public, I stammered and stumbled about thanking those I could. There were photos. There were hugs. I could not get my breath.<br />
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Finally I had to help evacuate the back room and get my kids home. We put this piece of art on the roof of the Subaru, in a pelting rain. As we motored through Boston the fuel light came on. <br />
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After dropping off my son at Suffolk University with a tray of sandwiches, we splattered up Arlington Heights where the rain converted to snow. We got to Lexington. We shuffled into our cold home. I made popcorn and the four of us bundled into the bed together, laughing and wrestling and glowing in each others' warmth.<br />
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The only thing we did have at that moment was each other. <br />
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I woke up pre-dawn, started a fire with the last of the wood, sipped coffee and studied this new bike as one views a sleeping puppy just brought home, trying to imagine our future. I simply glowed. I had a new, sturdy and invincible bike.<br />
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The next day, the wire transfer came from Europe.<br />
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Thank you to all for getting me through such a dark moment with the brightest of friends and warmest of family.<br />
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I will pay it forward. <br />
<br />
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<br />RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-47774180098125379762012-09-19T14:45:00.002-07:002012-09-19T14:45:25.658-07:00Of Podiums and Punches
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So this whole UCI thing is a curious accident that I enjoy and fully
appreciate. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This has been an amazing roller coaster ride I truly wish to stay on. And you should join me. It is way better than the Tour de France with a lot less traffic and a lot more access to cycling legends.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For me this started in Tabor, Czech Republic, where I announced the
cyclo-cross worlds in 2010. I arrived in the frigid but fantastic town thrilled
but intimidated by the formality of the UCI. Let’s face it, announcing in the states
is a back woods affair where the announcer sort of wings it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This would be a formal event with exact protocol. So they
had me attend a rehearsal for the awards ceremony. This came with a chart and a
diagram that had all sorts of dotted lines and arrows and exact
instructions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I responded much like I had when I first sat in high school
chemistry with Mr. Terlinksy and stared at a diagram about logarithms. I glazed over. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There I stood in the cold Soviet athletic facility next to
my colleague, Heinrich, a smoking, bearded, heavier version of the Dos Equis world’s most
interesting man, looking at this chart. The delightful UCI woman spoke mostly French.
Heinrich spoke Czech. I spoke English. And just to help us all out, they assigned
us another delightful woman who spoke Czech and German…. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Huh? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I figured it out as I have now on six occasions. Be nice,
smile, show up on time, and then use the one American universal mechanism to
make people like you: slapstick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I stumble, I trip, I pretend to have my eye poked out…all
with great effect. I have done so in German, Danish, Czech, Flemish, French and
Dutch. It works with security, police, children, racers, officials and timing
crew. Just about everybody likes it....except old ladies; but they’ve been on to me for years,
regardless of culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I almost married such a woman who was 30 going on 69. </span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I sauntered into this year’s awards ceremony rehearsal with a
little swagger. And I brought along 9-year-old Ryjder Hessenfeld along with his
dad, Ted. We hung around a bit and then we met the Dutch announcer, a legendary man,
Cees Maas…or Kees Maas, depending on the translation. I will write about him
later on, but let us just say, I am out of my league with him. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But all we have to do is the awards rehearsal. It is all
about the podium girls, the sound guys, and presenters, and not about the
experienced professional announcers, right? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We knocked out the individual awards rehearsal without
problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then we had to think. For the first time in recent memory we would be hosting
a team time trial awards ceremony with six riders racing for trade teams. Think
about it…. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The presenter needs six bronze medals…..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then the next presenter needs six bouquets of flowers…. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On to silver…. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then to gold… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And how big of a podium do we need for 18 athletes plus
three directors?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (</span>We even had 18 stand
ins, including Theodore Essenfeld and his son, Ryjder.)</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do we hand out six rainbow jerseys? A trophy?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Belt buckles?</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh yeah, it is trade teams…with riders from several
different countries. So what national anthem do we play? We decide to play the anthem
from the country where the team is registered…which is curious should Radio
Shack win, given this team from Luxembourg does not have one rider on its team
from Luxembourg riding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I do not in any way mean to ridicule this process. This is why we hold rehearsals for such seemingly trivial affairs. If we
sweat the details now, you folks on Sunday will inhale in awe at our pomp and
ceremony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So figure that all out. On to race day.....</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We pound through the ceremony for
team time trial without incident, fortunate that Radio Shack did not win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Mind you I am stumbling a bit through some of the protocol
changes from prior years. And there is always some confusion with the flag guys
(think about it, we need flags for more than 70 countries and what would happen
if Morocco swept the podium?), and the sound guy who needs to have access to
the national anthems of 76 nations including Andorra (…..who has the national
anthem of Andorra?) and the podium girls and the medal guy and the flower
guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Am I getting to you? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And it is all on global television. Mind you the sound guy
is frantic when the Russian wins….Because in scrolling down the CD of national
anthems, given to him by the French woman, he cannot find “Russia.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is a holy shit moment…..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We are back stage reading, and
re-reading this CD label and I am thinking about how China and Japan are about
to go to war over an island I did not know existed two weeks ago…Or that four
fine Americans were killed in Libya over a movie no American I know has ever
seen. Then I thought about the Czech uprising in 1968 which was sparked by
what? A hockey game in which the Czechs beat the Russians. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If we could not find the Russian national anthem, I
envisioned all the progress of the last 20 years dissolving….. and tanks rolling back into Eastern Europe. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">….Then I found it…..”Federation of Russia” is under “F” not “R.”
Crisis avoided, no?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sort of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">During the ceremony, and you may see this on TV to the left
of your screen, a television camera operator follows the presenter on stage
with the camera hand held for the bronze medal. The UCI staff, some of the nicest guys I know,
intervene. And they hold the cable to ensure the camera will not go back out
center stage. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You don’t <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>go out
there.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Let go of my equipment” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“You don’t go out there.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Let go of my equipment.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Enter security. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Voices were raised.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Announcers tried to conduct awards ceremony. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fists were clenched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Day glow vests shoved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Orange jackets converged. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cameras turned away from ceremony to controversy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Athletes looked confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Announcers tried to conduct awards ceremony. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">……We endured a serious moment of détente.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">"Ladies and Gentlemen," I said. "May we have your attention for the playing of the national anthem The Federation of Russia"</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks for reading. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-82431406444100290932012-09-18T13:06:00.001-07:002012-09-18T13:06:26.530-07:00A Geography Lesson for Cyclists
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">OK, I am writing this from the Netherlands. For too many of
my friends (and probably myself up until one week ago) knowledge of this
country stopped at Austin Powers’ Goldmember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">OK, I knew more than that. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But when trying to understand just about any other culture,
start with a map. Maps help one understand all sorts of issues: cultural,
economic, linguistic, and athletic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So open up a map of The Netherlands and then we will
continue. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Go on…..I will wait…….</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">………….. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Good, you are back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Try to follow along. Copenhagen, where I worked last year,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> is</span> a city; Limburg is not. Limburg is a
province of the Netherlands. It dangles down between Germany to the East and
Belgium to the west, like a Dutch epiglottis. OK, that helps to explain a
little bit of language. Dutch is sort of German with a filter. And Flemish is
sort of Dutch with a French filter. And then you have the English and those
whacky Scandinavians coming through on occasion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Weirder still is that Spain actually ran the Netherlands for
a while until a) the Dutch simply could not stand being so uptight about sex,
and b) the Brits scored one of the biggest upsets in naval history in 1588.
Somewhere in there is the story of why these folks wear the color orange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (Go read, it is awesome stuff.)</span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Cyclists today view Holland as a cycling utopia. But there
are different reasons. For my advocate friends, much is made of Amsterdam and
its massive amount of mode share by bike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Indeed the Dutch embrace cycling as well as anybody. It is
fantastic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But those into the sport of cycling will rally around
Maastricht and Limburg, the province. Get out your map. Look at the proximity
to Belgium and such cities as Liege. It is right there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the great cyclo-cross, Amstel Gold, and
everything else that is fantastic about Dutch racing. Just to the south in
Germany is Aken. To the west in Belgium is Hasselt and to the south is Liege. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But part of it I discovered while driving from Brussels to
Maastricht, taking in all the flat landscape. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then you drop into the valley of the Meure, or the Maas
(as the river is called in Dutch), and the terrain changes. The Limburg region
is defined by fertile plains with these pronounced ridges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I discovered these on my first day here riding with Theodore
Essenfeld and his son, Ryjder, who is 9.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was on a 52 cm bike but enjoying being outside (typically I ride a
55). After puttering about on the bike paths we worked our way towards
Valkenburg, where I had a rehearsal for awards. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">En route we encountered the cyclo-sportive, with 7,000
riders. Wow. We followed the group. We ended up on a bike path that gouged into
these ravines with sharp, overgrown cliffs to our right. There were chalk caves
in which I learned the Dutch resistance used during World War II to hide. As a
history nut, I drank it in. As a cyclist, I got it. I saw cyclo-cross courses
and mountain bike trails and roads woven throughout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And this, I would learn, is only in the Limburg province. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We came into Valkenburg. Whistles blew and paddles waved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Wow. Team Rabobank came roaring through the turn on their
practice TTT ride. Later came Movistar. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And we were rolling through the final turn before the
Cauberg, the climb that leads to the finish of the Amstel Gold race. With
thousands of riders on the road, I scaled the Cauberg<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>with this 9-year old boy. The crowds were
already clapping and this boy got extra applause. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">By New England standards, the Cauberg is a pussy climb. But
with a Pro Tour field going up this thing at 40 km/hour <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to finish I can only imagine the suffering it
inflicts. And there are dozens of them in the Limburg region. And after scaling
several of them in the 100k leading into the finish circuit on Sunday, the pro
men will then go up the Cauberg 10 times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Oh yeah, there is another climb, the Bemelberg, on the backstretch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Did I mention that I have had fantastic weather? If the North
Sea thinks otherwise, this place can be a crosswind cool zone of mist and rain.
I love the lowlands the way I love New England.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Everybody, from the pro cyclists to the postal worker to the old lady to the 12-year-old school
girl has something others lack: resolve. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Geography does this. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This world championship is ambitious. There is just one
finish venue in Valkenburg. But there are six different start venues: Sittard,
Landgraf, Eijsden, Heerlen (where Eddy Merckx beat Jan Janssen in 1967 to win
his first of three world titles), Valkenburg and then Maastricht.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Eneco Tour, The Tour of Limburg, the Valkenberg
Cyclocross, the Amstel Gold Race and of course this World Championships, the
sixth time the UCI has selected this province to host its grandest ball.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But this entire region is dripping in cycling history that
the American charity ride fans will miss by going to l’Alpe d’Huez. I stumble
about…..there is Jan Jaansen,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>there is
Henni Kuiper, Leontien Van Moorsel, Jan Raas, Peter Post, and Leo Van Vliet…Will
I see Joop Zoetelmelk? How cool is a country that names a guy “Joop”? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And then there is the bike culture…I need sleep. More to
come. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks for reading. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-15318863863997992462012-09-18T12:33:00.001-07:002012-09-18T12:33:14.968-07:00Voice Lessons in Limburg
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Like losing my iPad, something about foreign travel makes us
stupid and awkward and alone. Whenever I travel abroad for these UCI gigs I
feel like a kid who has just moved into a new town and starting school for the
first day. On the outside it all looks good…Like I got it going on… But inside
one simply feels out of place. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The UCI folks are getting to know, and like, me. But it
remains a cautious thing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love travel to Europe and other cultures. And I love
traveling alone. But I hate being lonely. This would be fun if I had a friend
or my family along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because I have to
work eight straight days, I must hole up in rooms alone. First I must preserve
my voice, which is to profession what<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a
hand is to a pitcher’s profession: everything. And because of the language
barriers – although everybody speaks English the nuances of the language are
lost – I end up alone a lot. This makes me come off as introverted, which most
will tell you I am not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">At the end of each day I get unsolicited advice on how to
fix my voice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tea with lemon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hot water with olive oil…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hot water with salt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tea with honey. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Halls….Vicks….you name it, they’ve suggested it. It is not
my first rodeo. What works is this: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Throat Coat tea from Traditional Medicinals, which contains
slippery elm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also I stop drinking beer
but take in a glass or two of Grand Marnier. I hydrate with water constantly.
And sleep is really important. Most important is that I simply avoid loud bars
and restaurants and instead do thinks like long, long walks or bike rides.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I had struggled going in to this event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A combination of August allergies, a sinus
infection, and a dental problem fostered some problems with my voice. I simply
could not recover as usual. A visit to the dentist revealed a broken tooth,
which got me some antibiotics. The voice improved but would it be enough to
handle eight straight days of announcing at the world championships? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let’s find out, eh? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I nailed day one, the team time trial. Then the reparation
began. Riding the hotel bike 10k back to the hotel is a start. No talking. Then
I started the constant rehydration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Whilst trying to type this, I got drowsy. I rode for 90 minutes on the
hotel bike, simply touring Maastricht, before fishing up with pad thai.
Everything is done alone. No talking. I return to the room alone. I stay alone.
I checked e-mail and then fell to sleep at 9:30. I would sleep for 10 hours,
which truly may have been the most important ingredient. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I got to the venue for day two solid. No problems and
actually better than day two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is
how I will mow down the entire eight-day gig. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But day three proved interesting. I awoke without the alarm…having
slept miraculously again….and got ready for my favorite part of European lodging,
the breakfast.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was so ready for those
funny looking meats, the eggs, the cheese, the cappuccino and of course the
pompelmousse juice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As I sifted through my clothes with the blinds drawn I
remembered having heard my phone, which is also my alarm, shutting off in the
night. I had gotten up to charge it but neglected to turn it on. While brushing
my teeth I sauntered over and turned on the phone….. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">9:25!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">“Holy shit the junior women were to start at 10 a.m.!!!!!! “
I thought. “Or was it 9?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I flew down the stairs sliding on shoes and buttoning shirts
and charged to the bike rack. I grabbed bike 2365 and pounded towards
Vanderburg. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whirred through roundabouts
with my foot down as an outrigger, and then charged towards the hill. I climbed
at a pace as stern as any race I had entered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I topped off the hill and shifted up for the final 2 k to the event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I flipped out the phone….9:49 a.m. as I entered the Tissot
booth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had ridden 7 km on a hotel bike
with a Shimano Nexus 7 speed uphill in 19 minutes. I was blown…..But relieved
to learn the race started at 10:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Voice held up fine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks for reading. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-47715653032847246612012-09-16T09:01:00.005-07:002012-09-16T09:01:54.459-07:00Limburg Worlds: Day 1Limburg 2012, Day One
First there will be no apostrophes in these reports.
Why, you ask?
This is coming to you via my aging HP Thunderclap. Instead of impressively tapping it on the Bluetooth keyboard and iPad, I am boxing on the broken keys. Actually the letter o and k have no keys. In my sleep transatlantic haze, I left my iPad on the plane.
I discovered this 120 km later in Maastricht. So instead of typing out my blog, I spent the day frantically trying to reach United and/or Brussels Airways, which manages its baggage. No, they did not respond. Gone.
Sucks.
But Holland is fantastic. I arrived under a dull spitting sky to find a lackluster venue next to a construction site. Frankly the Lowlands of Belgium and Holland always present a gray curtain as their stage; you must learn to pull them back to start the show.
I caught up on e-mail and then napped.
When I awoke I had no sense of time. Neither my laptop nor phone were updating the time. But the sun remained up so I figured it to be around 3 p.m. So I did what has become routine in Europe: I rented a hotel bike.
Within 100 meters I rolled under the highway interchange and onto the Fietsnetwork of bike lanes and into the core of the city. Masstricht is a fantastic city tightly woven around the Maas River, downstream from Liege in nearby Belgium. This would be recon ride, getting my bearings: train station, restaurants, bike shops…and then how to get back. The bike costs about 7 euros and I hoped to go back out after I exchanged money and checked on my work schedule. I ended up checking e-mail; when I looked up rain had started slashing on the window. I turned the bike in and returned for more Internet lull.
Later I walked about looking for food before I realized with all the jet lag and latitudinal difference it was like 11:45. The place was evacuating by bike; all sorts of couples lazily tumbled the pedals, side-by-side, brushing each other’s hands, smoking or texting as they rode. It is about 20 percent pedestrians, 40 percent cars, and 40 percent bikes. And they ride without helmets comfortably through a city made for all three to get along. No horns. No anger. No more fanfare than we might find at a coffee shop at 8:30 a.m. Everybody is courteous and quiet.
I found no restaurants opened. After walking an hour I returned to the hotel bar to find my UCI staff. Marching orders for Day 2. Lots more to come.
RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-26137929535912233362012-01-28T22:44:00.000-08:002012-01-28T22:52:58.493-08:00Sand HockeyKoksijde 3 <br /><br />The contrasts here are remarkable. Let me give me you some of the amazing numbers about this event: <br />• They have sold out 45,000 tickets for Sunday. They have an additional 10,000 VIPs. (Which makes us question how "important" one is if there are 10,000 of you.) And this venue is smaller than Roger Williams Park in Providence. <br />• They have used 18 km of hard fencing. Every piece of hard fencing in Belgium is deployed here. They had to go to the Netherlands to complete the job. <br />• There are 22 camera positions. <br />• There are three massive VIP tents. With flooring, tables, silverware and china. And I stopped counting beer tents – each one large enough to swallow all of the tents of the Madison nationals - at seven. <br />• There are 24 countries represented. <br />The scope of it is hard to comprehend. And yet, the event has a quaint – almost naïve – element. The Cross Worlds have not yet achieved the multi-media, pyrotechnical sophistication of the NFL in terms of production. I have been stunned by the lack of overall production value. They just don’t realize how much more we could do. <br />And despite the raucous nature of the beer tents after the races, and the festive nature of costumes, the flags, the bells, and the horns, I must concur with Meredith Miller’s assessment that these crowds are … well….tame. They don’t make that much noise. <br />Perhaps tomorrow will change this opinion. Or maybe that’s my job….<br />Yesterday we had 15,000. I awoke to a rather somber breakfast in the dark, where I sat studying alone in the restaurant with just the Korean member of the UCI management committee, awkwardly formal in a three-piece suit. I drove to the venue with Beat Wabel, a former junior world champion and several time Swiss national champion, and Peter Van Den Abeele, the UCI cross boss who was also Belgian national champion, and his daughter. <br />They all could recall stories of racing at Koksijde. In 1994, Van Den Abeele had won the national championships and received the honor of getting the front row slot. In those days every country got one slot per row. He gave up his spot to Paul Herygers, out of respect for his prowess in the sand. To this day, the largest dune on the course is named Herygers Dune, named so after Paul Herygers passed Richard Groenendal here in 1994 on the final lap, patting his Dutch rival on the back as he blew by to score the world title. <br />Even by Belgian standards, that day set new heights. That dune is a natural amphitheater which is used for countless photos showing thousands of spectators. Van Den Abeele recalls that day in 1994 because the entire Belgian team – stunned by the sheer size of the crowd – fired off the line and blew all their fuses and circuit breakers. Only Herygers could put himself back together to salvage the day. <br />We arrived on this air base as the sun scoured its way through the clouds. After some recon, I learned from the sound guy that they had a separate microphone for me on the X Dune, where crowds were forming. I checked it out and felt I could do some pretty serious damage. That would indeed be the case. <br />So after some research and prep work, I braced for the juniors, which could be the toughest race of the weekend to call. We reviewed the protocol, which includes a really cool starting light system, and then started to prepare. There would only four races this weekend: Juniors and Under 23s are Saturday; Elite women and men Sunday. <br />The production is very precise. My colleague here is Mark Bollen, who has announced races in Belgium for 31 years. That seems daunting; it IS Belgium after all. That means Museew, Boonen, Aerts, Vervecken, Nys….He’s a delightful guy and we both have worked with the great Peter Graves.<br /><br />I was surprised by how matter of factly he simply started the roll call without the fanfare I expected for the world championships. I stumbled through the Flemish, the Dutch, the Czech, the Spanish and the French names and we lined ‘em up. But it had all the grandeur of reading that days’ high school detention list. <br /><br />The juniors fired off the line and I tramped up to the X Dune, found the microphone and what appeared to be about a 200 watt amp patched into the 70 volt system which fuels cones of speakers all around the venue. I hit the microphone hard, clipped out the amp, and the thing went dead: good idea gone bad. <br />I scrambled back to the finish line took my place in the box and called the front of the race well enough. But one only talks of the heroics of Goliath and never sees the epic battles of the Davids from 10th place back. That is what makes ‘cross great. <br />But hell, this is worlds and these Goliaths, even as 111-pound juniors. Mathieu Van Der Poel was the heavy favorite, having won every World Cup, the Dutch nationals, and of course having the genes of Adri Van Der Poel in his body. He was thumped hard on the first lap, got behind a pile of Belgians, and appeared downright human. He finally got control but had to fend off a surprisingly strong Wout Van Aert of Belgium and France’s Quentin Jauregui, who fought back to score third. The race was a race for four laps but finished in strands. <br />One race done. After awards I spotted Tom Simpson, my California friend. We tramped about getting frittes and Jupilers. We had three hours to kill between races. We got hats and posters and books and stickers…. And this was the slow day. <br />Then came the Under 23 race, which featured the Orange Crush: six Dutch riders, three of which would start on the first row, two of which would be on the second row; and David Van Der Poel who would be on the third row. Again we had a heavily favored Dutch rider in Lars Van Der Haar. Unlike the junior race, he fired off the line to grab control of the race. And unlike the other race, the Belgians fought back. Wietse Bosmans pounded up to Van Den Haar and actually applied pressure. Three times he dropped the Dutch hero; three times Van Der Haar fought back. Farther back a scramble between Arnaud Grand (Switzerland), Clement Venturini (France) and Michale Teunissen (Netherlands) fought for third. Then up came Michiel Van Heijden who rode brilliantly. These three went hammer and tong in the deep sand. Van Den Haar made mistakes. The final lap would be a game of sand hockey elbows and hips and hands deployed to either stay upright or defend positions. Brakes were checked, hooks were thrown, risks were taken …. All this was done while swinging the body about wildly like the boom on a ship to keep the keel set in a single groove in the sand. To come out of that groove risked all. During the last time through the Herygers Dune, Van Der Haar steered Bosmans off his line and his Dutch henchman passed. Bosmans responded in the deep sand, dove under Van Heijden and pinned him into the fences. All three separated and all three fought back together, just as France’s Arnaud Jouffroy made contact as the group hit the pavement for the sprint. <br />Van Der Haar repeats as world champ. Bosmans gets Belgium its second medal, a silver. Van Heijden gets Holland its third medal, a bronze. <br />After the awards I visited with Dan Ellmore, a great friend and supporter. Then I caught the shuttle to the hotel…Dinner there. Boring, eh? <br />Tomorrow it’s Fort Apache. <br />I did have an amazing meeting and will likely make another cool announcement in the very near future. <br />Thanks for readingRichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-79157100990574443332012-01-27T16:17:00.002-08:002012-01-27T16:18:33.064-08:00Koksijde 2Koksijde 2 <br /><br /><br /><br />After a numbingly bizarre transition in the hotel, I awoke at 10:17 a.m., grabbed coffee, and hit the shuttle to the venue. The sun had come out as Pierre drove the Nissan diesel van to the venue on wet road. He pointed out to me how poor the bike lane – which would blow away any such thing in America – was by design. <br /><br />In warm sunshine punctuated by drizzle out of clouds passing off the North Sea, I hit the ground and started to walk the course. With some sleep, my mood had elevated dramatically along with the weather conditions. Within a minute of arrival, I spotted UCI staff I knew. I bumped into American fans, and the entire experience began to bloom wonderfully. Brook Watts, Theo Kindermans and his wife, Katherine Cagle, Matt Howie (sp?), Molly Cameron, and countless other Americans swarmed the press center and course. Photographer Will Matthews and I stumbled about the course infatuated with the riders able to master this course. <br /><br />The sand of Koksijde defies description. This course is laid out on a military base atop dunes. The only thing the base is used for now is rescuing beachgoers and sinking fishing boats. <br /><br />The numbers in Koksijde are astounding. Organizers announced the event had sold out at 42,000…..Let me say that again….SOLD OUT. <br /><br />Here are some more: <br /><br />These guys have the entire venue hard fenced. That means 18 km of fencing. They ran out of fencing in all of Belgium and had to get more from the Netherlands! <br /><br />Much of the fencing has been braced by secured side panels set at 90 degrees. They are concerned about crowd control and the fencing actually collapsing. <br /><br />There are as many tents near the finish line as they had at Tabor and Sankt Wendel…The only difference is that this is just in the finish area. By the pits and the dunes there are four more massive tents such as those. <br /><br />So with all that, today’s pre-ride was fabulous. There were probably 2,000 people here today just watching that. <br /><br />For you folks handicapping at home, here’s the rub: <br /><br />• Sven Nys has not been here for a few days, choosing to forego the public pre-ride<br />• Klaas Vanternout has been here for five weeks. <br />• Zdenek Stybar railed the course yesterday doing 15 hot laps. <br />• Caroline Mani rode today, but was obviously in pain. <br />• Katerina Nash rode the course for the first time this week…as in, she has never raced here before. <br />• Japanese riders are wildly popular. And even their fans get dragged into photo shoots and beer parties. <br />• Jeremy Powers and Zach MacDonald looked fine. <br />• Tom Meeusen will surprise people. <br /><br />The pre-ride ended and I went to the rehearsal for the awards ceremony. I’m working with Mark Bollard (sp???). This guy speaks five languages and has announced for 31 years! I feel like a French guy going in to Yankee Stadium to talk a little baseball. <br /><br />This guy seems nice. <br /><br />The Louisville folks had their presentation for 2013. They did a nice job. Better, in my opinion, than the prior two I witnessed. I wish them luck. <br /><br />More to come tomorrow. Thanks for reading.RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-82643642247270876742012-01-27T16:17:00.001-08:002012-01-27T16:17:25.101-08:00KoRichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-14847158044596737592012-01-26T17:22:00.000-08:002012-01-26T17:23:33.691-08:00Koksijde 1Koksijde 1 <br /><br />Air France Hangover on the TGV<br />Me and Bruce <br />Out Go the Lights….Twice<br /><br />So I’m re-opening my blog to give you all my recounts of the 2012 UCI Cyclo-cross World Championships. <br /><br />So the departure from Boston via Air France to Paris would be uneventful. I had the unusual departure of 5.30 from Logan. This means an arrival in France of 12:30 in my body but 6:30 a.m. in France. <br /><br />Having given my liver a break, I could not turn down Air France wine while I read countless European ‘cross results to prepare for announcing my third UCI Cyclo-cross World Championships. <br /><br />I plowed through results and action movies on the flight and touched down in what seemed like no time. <br /><br />We arrived on a dark and damp tarmac and began the confusing parade of Charles De Gaulle Airport, a massive tube of humanity with countless ports of entry. Paris is a fascinating hub with massive columns of Asian people flooding up against colorfully dressed African women and heavily made up French women. How can French women get away with so much make up and pull it off? <br /><br />The entire arrival heightens my senses. Every cylinder, every synapse is firing as I bathe in the French language with just enough mastery to convince everybody I actually speak French….which I don’t. So all their directions are in French which means I stupidly do things like walk right off the train platform! <br /><br />I’ve discovered I’m booked on the TGV from Paris to Brussels! Fantastic adventure! Stay tuned. Next stop is Brussels and then north on a regional train to Koksijde<br /><br /><br />Brussels-Koksijde<br /><br />January in Northern France and Belgium is not all that cold…With a damp mist and gray sky it penetrates every building, every coat, and every soul. I disembarked from the TGV, snared my bag, and then dragged about the Brussels Midi Station to sort out the next leg of the trip, a train to the North Sea. <br /><br />Given the multitude of languages and cultures and immigrants tumbling about Europe, one would expect to see some comprehensive signage. Nah....One simply must be polite and brave and willing to ask what the hell to do. Frankly, I like it because I have those skills. But this experience would rattle the average American suburbanite. <br /><br />I bumbled from the info booth to the wrong ticket booth to the correct ticket booth and got myself ticketed for 18 Euros. With 40 minutes to kill I dragged my bags across the trolley tracks, walked a block or two, got a bottle of water to offset the TransAtlantic wine on Air France, and then dug into Cruz Verde for a box of ibuprofen to offset the TransAtlantic wine on Air France. <br /><br />After a lot of beer drinking over the holidays, I sent my liver to the cleaners for a few weeks to prepare for the Tim Johnson Ride on Washington. Despite a few trip ups after cross nationals, I did really well and felt great. I like not drinking.<br /><br />But there was no way in hell I was going to Belgium for Cross Worlds without drinking some beer! So this is a beer drinking vacation. <br /><br />So with this airline hangover, I tramped up the stairs to the train platform for the 11:14 train to Koksijde. I found one person on the platform: Bruce Fina. <br /><br />Bruce and I are funeral friends. We go a long way back and will undoubtedly go a long way forward. I thoroughly enjoy his personality and passion for promotions. I could tell by the gray hairs that that the strain of pulling off the masters world championships and the 2013 elite worlds had taken its toll. <br /><br />Our recent division over the calendar, when he wanted me to move Providence to accommodate the USGP moving its calendar date but I refused, has been settled going into 2013. <br /><br />So we boarded the train and spent the 90 minutes talking about American ‘cross, his life in Austria, World War I battlefields, the NFL, and particularly our appreciation of the New England Patriots. I gazed across the lowland landscape with its modest, brick homes, its fabulous modern windmills, and studied the Fietsnetwerk of bike paths and lanes. We arrived and parted ways; my driver, Wilfred, greeted me and off I went to the UCI host hotel. <br /><br />Wind spattered rain on the Nissan van as we splashed through Koksijde. The landscape reminded me of Cape Cod or the Outer Banks in off-season. I saw the venue and could not fathom how 50,000 people would cram into such a small area. This venue is one half the size of Stage Fort Park and they would be hosting the world. <br /><br />There is one key element to Koksijde: sand. I’ll describe this more tomorrow after I walk the course. <br /><br />After rolling through Koksijde, we rolled eastward to the host hotel. I arrived and checked into a simple, neat four-story hotel with a foggy view of the dunes. I had a gift bag with a bottle of brandy, a deck of cards, and some With that I plugged in my electrical adaptor purchased last year in Germany. And into that I plugged my power strip, intent on charging EVERYTHING I had. <br /><br />“POOF”. <br /><br />The thing shut off and the strip went dead. And I could not get a charge at all. Dead. With a dead laptop and dying phone, I got a snack in the bar and attempted to sleep….With my body protesting the nap at what it perceived to be 9 a.m. But I conked out lightly. I woke up refreshed, asked for help with the electricity thing, and waited in my room….And waited…..Finally the desk clerk arrived with a new adaptor which did not fit. Frustrated, I grabbed a pile of World Cup results and went to the restaurant. <br /><br />These trips are wonderful…but also wonderfully lonely. And with a dead computer they are that much lonelier with no e-mail and no Skype. But I drank a double-double Belgian beers, ate small shrimp with the shells on, and ordered the Cassolet de Poisson…which was fantastic.<br /> <br />I pored over results of the Under 23 and Junior World Cups. Here goes my rant on announcing: nobody gets paid to announce the elites. The elites each spend nearly a decade on the trophy shelf of the sport. We all develop a solid sense of who they are, how they race, where they live, what they won, what they lost, etc. We announcers all brush up on the facts before we work a big event but we’re smearing more icing on the cake than most of us can eat. <br /><br />At the worlds, I put a lot of effort into the Junior and the Under-23 categories. I doubt any of you have ever heard of Vojtech Nipl, but he’s an amazing young rider. These guys don’t have trading cards, look like their 12 years old, and only emerged on the scene in the last few years. I spent four hours tonight analyzing lap times of World Cups this season in these categories. I love that you recognize old names such as Van Der Poel and Frischknect in these ranks. These kids race their brains out. And announcing here fills up my library for future announcing at the elite level.<br /><br />After dinner I returned to the room, saw the staff had fixed my power outage in one sector of the room. Then I decided to plug in my power strip in another outlet just to try it….. <br /><br />“POOF” <br /><br />Only this time, I blew out the entire third floor! Totally in the dark, I groped my way to the desk only to realize they had closed for the night. I wandered into the kitchen and with pigeon French explained the predicament. The bad news is that Belgian circuit breakers are touchy; but they go right back on! And I’m in business! <br /><br />Thanks for reading. I’ll give you my course report and handicap the Saturday races tomorrow!RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-1041117210904897002011-09-30T03:28:00.000-07:002011-09-30T03:31:39.744-07:00The Magic Bus: Homeward BoundAfter such an amazing week in Copenhagen there would undoubtedly be an emotional collapse. But today could bring me close to a nervous breakdown. <br /><br />I’m still processing the death of my sister just two weeks earlier. I’m two weeks away from my Providence race (thankfully Laura Low, Glenn Stillwell, Tom Stevens and others are on the job). The cost of living in Copenhagen has completely broken my bank. And between the time changes and the paucity of Internet connectivity I’ve kept in touch with my wife and family by a single Skype session, two phone calls, and text messages. I was way off the back with e-mail and expected to be fired by every client I had. <br /><br />Everybody in my family is emotionally scraped up. And I’ve been over here in cycling la-la land…And I would have a few "las" on my final day abroad. It's like being served too much cheesecake.<br /><br />Sarah McLachlan’s “Building a Mystery” is playing over and over in my head, notably the line “you’re so beautiful; a beautiful fucked up man.” <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />The alarm went off at 6 a.m. and I had to spend 75 dk to get online just to check my itinerary and eat aspirin to ward off a hangover inflicted by those British folks. I saw that thankfully the flight did not leave until 1 p.m. I collapsed into bed for another two hours.<br /><br />Again, I would sit alone at breakfast, starting to write this piece. But this morning I would have company at the adjacent table when Mark Cavendish’s mother and her husband (not his father) sat beside me. We had a splendid time discussing his career and they were very complimentary of the job I had done. <br /><br />Actually I was in agony over a mistake I had made. After successfully peering into the mob of cyclists and seeing the Australian Michael Hepburn unravel in the rush for the sprint to decide the U-23 race and then seeing just a sleeve of a jersey in the train station of the women’s race to recognize Giorgia Bronzini I screwed up on Sunday in the big race. It’s announcing, not Tweeting, but somewhat similar. You need to think before hit send. But sometimes you cannot do so. <br /><br />In the decisive crash that took down Thor Hushovd, I saw the USA jersey, Garmin helmet, and white glasses of the famous sprinter, Tyler Farrar. And made mention of that. Unfortunately what I really saw was the Garmin helmet and white glasses of the famous American roleur Andrew Talansky. <br /><br />So I screwed up. But at that level, I wish I had paused and double checked. But you cannot retrieve words. <br /><br />Only at the end when Farrar emerged in the sprint to finish 10th did I start to question my call. <br /><br /><br />We lingered over coffee and I savored this last morning in Copenhagen. I knew how much shit was about to hit the fan upon my return. All I could do about it, however, was get home. And for a bike nut, this trip home would be fantastic. <br />I got a ride to the airport with the organization’s shuttle, joining Guy Doblar, a Belgian official who served as the chief commissar, Kurt Sauer, an American official who lives in Tokyo and surprised me with his command of French and Japanese, two other officials, and the Danish driver. I sifted into the airport experience. The first element of re-entry into America came on a television, where I saw the highlights of Buffalo defeating New England with a buzzer-beating field goal. Believe it or not that proved to be a top sports story in Denmark, where there are several fans of American football. <br /><br />But the big story in all the papers would be the men’s road race. <br /><br />After a purchasing a hot dog in hopes of fending off this sickening hangover and anxiety disorder of my return to, I headed towards the gate. On the people mover a guy stepped in behind me. I had noticed him earlier. He had a distinct look about him, slender and fit with jeans, T-shirt and long gray hair cut well. But something about his features, which had some resemblance to Charlie Watt of The Rolling Stones, gave off intensity. He had seen some things in his life. One could tell. <br /><br />“Ah, the voice!” he said, smiling to me. “You were amazing.” <br /><br />I thanked him for the compliment and asked about how he liked the event. Turns out he’s Peter Dejong, chief photographer for AP. He’s covered 15 Tours de France and probably as many wars: Somalia, Bosnia, Iraq…Cycling is the one sport he adores to cover. Although he lives in Amsterdam he was headed to Paris, where his girlfriend resides. <br /><br />We dug into an intense discussion on everything he had done; he took as much of an interest in me. We talked all the way down the ramp and on to the plane. <br /><br />I had found him so fascinating that I never looked around the gate. I filtered down the aisle to my seat, 21D, with a kind older woman from Jutland in the middle seat, 21E. The window seat remained empty. <br /><br />As others filed onto the plane, I looked up to allow a passenger to get to 21F. There was the French sprinter, Romain Feillu. Holy shit! Then I looked up to see Sylvain Chavenel a few rows up. Behind me sat Laurent Jalabert! Ja-Ja himself! Thomas Voekler had his young son with him. I was on the plane with the entire French elite men’s team! They all few coach!<br /><br />I spoke politely with Feillu in my horrible French for perhaps two minutes and then let him be. I did not get my photo with any of them; I did not ask for an autograph. I never do that. <br /><br />We arrived in Paris’ Charles DeGaulle Airport where camera crews were there to greet the cyclists. L’Equipe, the greatest sports paper in the world, had high praise for the French performance overall at worlds and the media responded. <br /><br />I filtered out to Terminal E, pressed through customs with a pile Third World line cutters and found myself removed from cycling entirely…..poof……with nothing to do for four hours. And having been cleaned out by the Danish cost of living, I could barely afford the Orangina. <br /><br />Processing all of this - the loss of my sister and the emotion of her service; the thrill of Denmark; the looming stress of our event in Providence; my own health issues (more on that in a later blog) – just braided together into a confused torpor. And I had nothing to do: no Internet, no phone, and no money….Just me and my little cart to wander about looking at things I could not afford. <br /><br />And then it occurred to me that the date was Sept. 26…..I had been so wrapped up in my own stuff that I had again proven to be a finalist in the world’s worst father contest. My daughter turned 15 on Saturday without so much as a text from me. What a jerk, eh? <br /><br />I nearly came unraveled. <br /><br />Eventually I got home….After a bus and subway transfer I met my wife at Alewife and got the update on all the hardships of life at home, including my daughter’s loss of her left lens of her eye glasses, rendering her practically blind. <br /><br />Home again. Dig in. <br /><br />Thanks for reading.RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-85995030328099673682011-09-28T03:15:00.000-07:002011-09-28T03:21:01.129-07:00Great Britain: Start to FinishThis would be the big day. The elite men’s 266 km road race. Denmark is infamous for rain and gray skies. But through the entire week only the second half of the women’s time trial had been wet. For Sunday’s elite men’s race Copenhagen received the most spectacular weather of the year. <br /><br />After breakfast I walked to the start area, dressed in my UCI shirt and suit coat. Peter would be at the road circuit in Rudersdal and I would handle the ceremony of the sign-in and start with help from Jens, a fine guy who handled the Danish with ease. <br /><br />I arrived to find about 500 people gathered around the fences for the sign-in. But I studied some nearby cross walks and realized rivers of humanity were striding into the venue. It was 8:15. <br /><br />At 8:30 I started to work the crowd and Jens slipped right in fine. Effectively I just started goofing on assorted countries and telling jokes. It’s sort of fun because I can wheel out the same jokes I’ve beaten to death in America with nobody noticing. <br /><br />At 8:50 the first rider appeared: Thomas Voekler. We were on a tight time table so I spared him the interview. After a slow start I called teams to sign in and they just poured in the venue. By 9:15 there were 5,000 people in the square. The biggest crush came for the Danes of course but Hushovd, Cancellara and Cavendish drew massive cheer. <br /><br />As I read off the teams, I realized Germany had built a perfect team for this race with two great closers in Danilo Hondo and Andrei Greipel, with Tony Martin and Bert Grabsch there for the leadout train.<br /> <br />Before they all were done I had to assemble the start. This is effectively a roll call of 200-plus riders by country and then by name. This includes Arabic, Basque, Slavic, and Flemish names. One has to simply be comfortable making mistakes and keep on rolling. The riders don’t mind too much when you butcher the pronunciation and most of them I get close. <br /><br />Then I hand off the microphone and dash for the Tissot car, leaving Jens in charge. The poor guy’s microphone totally shit the bed and they had no announcing for the start. <br /><br />We rolled. <br /><br />I’ll leave the race reportage to the pros, but will give you a couple of insights that may have been missed on some websites. <br /><br />The crowds assembled along the sidewalks as we rolled out of town for the 28 km from Copenhagen to the road circuit in Rudersdal simply blew me away. As we reached the actual circuit, however, they seemed a little sparse at first. As we approached the final turn, however, the crowds thickened to enormous density. And at the home stretch the place was packed. And those crowds would continue to come in all day. Police called the crowd 250,000! That would be nearly 100,000 more than Australia. <br /><br />I jumped into the booth with Peter just as the field roared by, with a breakaway of little known riders off the front. That group would gather an eight-minute gap in two laps and then the front of the bunch went all red and blue as Great Britain went to work with Germany helping out. <br /><br />After about 100 km the most significant event of the race occurred: a curb-to-curb pileup that put defending champion Thor Hushovd, Tony Martin, and American sprinter Tyler Farrar stuck in the back. <br /><br />With no radios in the riders’ ears, no teams were able to respond to the inventory of crashed riders. <br /><br />Hushovd was stranded with no team support and never recovered. And Martin never got back. Farrar, however, turned in an amazing performance to get back up to the main bunch and appeared on the wheel of Taylor Phinney for the sprint. <br /><br />Another great ride was Ben King of the US. In his debut ride at the elite world championships, King worked with the Germans and Brits in the chase. Just 23, King is part of an American youth movement still gaining a place with the Pro Tour riders. King’s boyish looks seemed to hardly help as initially the Germans seemed to be asking him to stay out of their way. But King persisted brilliantly at the front for several laps, at one point over cooking a turn and putting a foot down. I can only fathom how a crash at the front would have been detrimental to his career. <br /><br />Thereafter the race became a desperate series of attacks with stars: Johan Van Sumeran of Belgium went off and caught the survivors of the break. But British team continued to churn faster and faster, ultimately producing one of the fastest worlds in history, with an average speed over 46 kmh (about 27 mph). Only Cipollini’s Squadra Azzuri at Zolder went faster. <br /><br />At one point, Nicki Sorensen of Denmark fired off the front. I delivered a Cosellesque "NOW COMES DENMARK! NOW COMES DENMARK! NO COMES DENMARK!" And the place went apeshit, with Peter picking up off that in Danish. The audible roar shook the place. <br /><br />But the Dane would be retrieved. Still the host country would finish with five guys on the first page of the results, a stunning but overlooked achievement. <br /><br />Thomas Voekler fired off the front to drive a three-rider break that produced great applause. The French had gone with every move, but that would be the last move. <br /><br />The British retrieved Voekler, who even went solo before surrender, and started the setup for Mark Cavendish. <br /><br />They were nothing but fantastic, holding Cavendish at 20th position for five hours. But in the final 3 km they curiously surrendered the front. Australia swarmed on the right; Germany punched through on the left. And suddenly Farrar appeared on the wheel of Phinney! And then Fabian Cancellara appeared.<br /><br />But this would only be a flourish of the matador’s cape. As they turned to face 800 meters uphill to the finish, Cavendish dismissed the train and got on the back of a motor bike, just one rider, Geraint Thomas. <br /><br />By the time they leapt off the saddles, the front of the field had no British jerseys for the first time all day. But as the bunch stretched apart, doors started to open on the right side and Cavendish punched through and drove to the line. On the far left of the field, however, rode Andre Greipel of Germany who forced photographers to make a huge gamble on Cav. The Brit paid off. Holding of Matt Goss of Australia and Greipel, who won bronze in a photo finish with Cancellara. <br /><br />For Great Britain, this would be the first gold medal in the men's road race since the late Tommy Simpson did it 46 years earlier. The entire country lead the medal count with six medals. The US was shut out. <br /><br />And then done. Really done. I knocked out the awards ceremony with Peter. Received some truly kind comments from people, swapped a few business cards, and moved towards the booth to retrieve my bag. <br /><br />Please read the race reports elsewhere for more details. Those guys do a good job. <br /><br />The sheer size of the crowd then overwhelmed me. Despite having all access badges, I could not move in the road and had to go outside the fences and climb back in to get to my booth to gather my things. <br /><br />This event was like a massive air mattress slowly deflating. <br /><br />After debriefing and bidding farewell to Peter Piil, I gathered my things and a beer and looked for my ride…..Uhhhhh…… <br /><br />I went from being the toast of the event to being absolutely orphaned. <br /><br />Finally I just hopped an event van and went to the press center, where I found Philippe. We made the drive back to the hotel for that vacuous lobby procession that follows every event of such a magnitude. <br /><br />There would be a drink with Peter V. (I don’t dare misspell his last name here on the fly to get this done) and a Belgian agent for television and riders. There were handshakes all around but I stayed in for dinner….again alone. <br /><br />Crossing the lobby, however, a pile of British folks detained me for drinks. Conversing in English was fun. And only at the tale end of the discussion did they point out Mark Cavendish’s mother sitting at the end of the group. Turns out I was in the epi-center the world according to Cav, whom they had followed and supported since his days as a junior. <br /><br />These encounters at this event never seem to end. Fantastic. <br /><br />Good night Copenhagen. <br /><br />Thanks for reading.RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-54593043852150672132011-09-27T06:49:00.000-07:002011-09-27T06:50:23.146-07:00Dinner with the Piil FamilyLet me start with apologies. I don’t mean any disrespect in rushing my reports on the Saturday events. My schedule became crowded with obligations and I could not sit and write as I had hoped. <br /><br />Let me follow up with a comment on modesty. I do not fall for the fanfare of Mario Cipollini for his accomplishments, although he earned every degree of them. What has stunned me is the humility of cycling compared to the bullshit braggadocio of crappy American athletes – high school football players who win things like state titles only to poop-the-bed of real professional athletic tests at the top level. I don’t begrudge them for that, but I tire of cycling heroes who do things such as win a stage in the Tour de France and never consider themselves worthy of much praise. <br /><br />And yet here I encounter such people who have done such things yet feel as if they have accomplished nothing……..This is sad. I’ll detail this later. <br /><br />This day would end with a fantastic family dinner with my new best friend from Denmark, Peter Piil. He’s my announcing colleague. Super professional and proficient in Spanish, Danish, German, and history and art and sport and travel….We’re practically soul mates.<br /><br />I’ll fill you in later on meeting Paul, his 80-year-old father in law who continues to ride 12 km each way every day and remains sharp as tack and thin as a rail. The entire family comes and goes by bicycle. <br /><br />Americans cannot fathom this. As people wish to leave, they do so individually. It’s really, dare I say, an American concept. But in America people are stranded by the car in which they are attached. Everybody at this table – and we had perhaps 10 people – could go in and out of the dinner party as needed because most were traveling by foot or by bike. We sat on the ninth floor of this apartment, with all of Copenhagen beneath us, smearing fois gras on toast, devouring roast beef, and enjoying fresh melon. I got an overview of Danish history – from 800 AD to World War II – and a great deal of conversation, which I dearly craved. He is not just a wonderful announcer, but a TV personality in the making who wants to avoid the hype. <br /><br />He is complimenting me incessantly about how I have “inspired” him. But after discussion I learn as a television reporter Peter has done the Olympics several times, W <br /><br />We had finished the day with the junior men and the elite women’s road race. The junior men’s event would see a remarkable finish with Pierre Henri Lecuisinier – I know, sounds like expensive kitchen equipment, pounding away in a late move and outlasting Martin DeGrave of Belgium and Steven Lammertink of the Netherlands. <br /><br />And then we had the women’s event, an exercise in patience. This would go from being one of the cruelest slow races to one of the most savage finishes I’ve witnessed in decades of watching women’s cycling. <br /><br />This thing started so poorly I had to walk around to get oxygen. This was curb-to-curb rolling about, with Judith Arndt riding dead-freaking-last for the first 80 km. I could not feel anything but pity for Emma Pooley of Great Britain, the only one to animate the event with attacks early on. But Arndt insulted her by remaining last. When I explained the term “DFL” to the Malaysian official she laughed for about 20 minutes. <br /><br />Humor is in short supply in Malaysia.<br /><br />After six of the dullest laps of racing ever witnessed, the attacks began. Arndt advanced. Linda Villumsen, a Danish native riding for New Zealand, tore off the front and sounded alarms. All the favorites put out the fire and then Clara Hughes of Canada countered. She opened up a massive gap quickly and held a 30-second margin with one lap to go. Farther back there would be crashes that took Evelyn Stevens out of the contest. Then came wave upon wave of leadout trains. With just two kilometers left they collected the brave Canadian. And only in the final turn, with 600 meters to go, did the Italians appear with 2010 champion Giorgia Bronzini in tow. They fired uphill to the line and put Bronzini perfectly in place to outsprint Marianne Vos of the Netherlands and Ina Teutenberg of Germany. The result nearly matched 2010, with Vos scoring her fourth consecutive silver medal in the event. <br /><br />From there I headed back with Philippe to the press office and sat around with a bunch of friendly French guys. Up walks Sean Kelly, speaking perfect French with an Irish brogue (strange, eh?). Next to me is Charly Mottet, who works as a technical delegate for the UCI. And we drive back with Philippe Chevalier. I would later learn in another drive with him that he was a rider but “not a champion”…..And then he notes that he rode with Greg LeMond for Cyrile Guimard’s Renault-Gitane team. Afterwards I learn he won a stage in the Tour de France, but he modestly describes himself as “not a champion.” <br /> <br />Eeeesh…. The humility of it all. <br /><br />I arrive to the hotel to find Peter. He drives me across town to his in-law’s apartment. En route I learn that in Denmark cars are taxed at 180 percent of their value. But as a result of that the prices of cars are so low that people will travel to Denmark, purchase a car, and ship it home at a huge savings. People that do own cars own tiny ones. <br /><br />We arrive at the apartment and use an elevator that is no larger than a phone booth to get to the ninth floor. Two average Americans could not fit in this thing. <br /><br />We arrive to this splendidly compact home that overlooks Copenhagen at night. There is a table set for 10. This would be the only meal I shared with another person the entire time in Copenhagen. Announcing for a straight week requires a lot of quiet time alone. That and I don’t know anybody, so the dinner invitations do not come to me. <br /><br />But I adored this family as they splashed between Danish and English for their guest. <br /><br />I had no idea what to expect for food. We started with a loaf of fois gras and toast and jam. This was followed by cole slaw and roast beef and potatoes. We finished with fresh melon. <br /><br />Quietly at the end of the table sat Paul. We had wine; he had good Danish beer. <br /><br />Peter engaged me in a Reader’s Digest edition of Danish history, which is first written in 800 AD. The Romans never got close to these people and they did a lot of ass kicking over the years. These are the folks that put the Saxon into the Anglo-Saxon. Only then did they integrate our alphabet into theirs. <br /><br />But in 1940 the Nazi’s swept in and occupied them on their way to Norway and Viktor Quisling’s attempt to match Hitler in both politics and haircut. <br /><br />Paul was 10 years old then. He can recall assorted horrors of the war, notably when the Allies screwed up a bombing and destroyed a school. <br /><br />The cool thing about Danish Resistance is how it involved bicycles. Every day the King of Denmark would ride about on horseback. This promenade became a daily declaration of Danish sovereignty. The citizens would escort him on bicycle. Each day became this massive bicycle celebration. <br /><br />Peter and I hit if off fantastically and I dearly hope to return the favor when he and his wife, Charlotte, return to the US. <br /><br />The only concern I had that night was stretching my voice the night before the elite men’s race. He drove me home in his compact Fiat through light drizzle, pointing out assorted landmarks. <br /><br />I got into bed before the biggest day of my announcing career. <br /><br />Thanks for reading. Two more dispatches after this!RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-77321918105967156452011-09-24T13:48:00.000-07:002011-09-24T13:56:09.175-07:00Copenhagen Road Race 1The Eritean Express and the Beauty of the World Championships<br /><br />So today would be the first day of road races in Copenhagen with the junior women and under-23 men. I feel like I’m running a grand Quidditch match at Hogwarts. We have to read names that are Malaysian, Vietnamese, Dutch, Russian, Latvian, Greek and Eritrean. <br /><br />I love it. I love different language. I love different culture. I love the world. <br /><br />To quote Joe Strummer: “I’m so bored with the U.S.A.” <br /><br />After a night of bad Richard Gere movies that ran too long and Skype to home that ran too short, I awoke to an alarm. For me this is rare. I have this weird knack for waking up about five minutes prior to an alarm actually sounding. <br /><br />I crave the day I sleep in, not because my schedule allows but because my body allows. I’m kind of a stressed person, I suppose. <br /><br />But I nearly hit a button which would have led to me oversleeping ….. That would have been bad. I love this gig. I actually like stumbling through French. But I’m still somewhat of an outsider. People in this organization are kind to me, if not downright affectionate. But they are also equally stressed and I’m trying not to cause them additional stress. I do not get invited out; I do not get pulled over to tables; I do my job…and quite well, thank you. But I spend my nights alone in a hotel room writing this stuff. <br /><br />Copenhagen sounds exotic, I know, but I’m not on vacation. I spend time researching riders. Do you know how futile it can be to find info on junior cyclists? And the Under-23 riders are just as tough. Guess what I did today before the U23 race? I spotted a French rider’s bike during the sign-in ceremony and snapped a photo of the stem. <br /><br />Now most of you are thinking this thing had a Garmin or a Power-Tap or some other ridiculous device. No, this thing had the Rosetta Stone of the race. The rider had the list of numbers to watch taped to the stem. <br /><br />Look, I got to watch guys such as Baden Cooke and Tom Boonen race as Under-23s. That’s on top of several great American and Canadian stars in the making. But in the moment of seeing them we are all like “Who?” <br /><br />The U23 race is where to get the autographs before the lines get long. This is where announcers build up their mental data banks. <br /><br />But this guy’s list gave me the info on who to watch. <br /><br />The World Championships is ALL about protocol and pageantry; and I’m all about rock ‘n’ roll….So maybe it’s a bad fit. But I’m playing by their rules. And I learn a lot. <br /><br />The day starts at breakfast with everybody, the officials, the UCI staff, the dignitaries, etc. busting down the door for the hotel breakfast. Then it’s off to the races held 30 km to the north of Copenhagen. I drive with Philippe of the UCI, a great guy who four years ago spoke no English but today can carry a conversation with me. My French is about 20 percent of his English…. We get along great. But like all my friendships here they are on wobbly stilts of language. English to French; English to Dutch; English to Flemish; English to Danish. <br /><br />English is not superior, but it is the global default. It’s the second language of nearly every culture on the planet. <br /><br />We arrive in car lathered in UCI stickers and get access everywhere; this is a far cry from 1980 and showing up with Dave Cox and Billy Rudnick in a VW Beetle with five bikes and no hotel room. That is where my cycling odyssey began 30 years back. <br /><br />I unload, find my way to Lars the sound guy, get a microphone, and meet up with Peter. Then starts the pageantry. <br /><br />The junior women must sign in, go to have their bikes inspected, and then assemble by nation. They are wonderful athletes but the sheer magnitude of the World-Holy-Crap-Championships flusters all. They stumble with cleats and wheels and the sheer spectacle of it all. <br /><br />Peter Piil, a super announcer, rocks the sign-in next to me, calling each name. Then we dash to the start line with a French guy whispering in my ear to speed it up, to have all the riders assembled with five minutes to start, to interview that dignitary with the flag in and clear the media and be on that side of the fence or the other and I do it all with a smile to show that I am not nearly as stressed out as I truly am. <br /><br />The poor junior women feel the same stress. <br /><br />We get them to the line at 9:24.50 and start them at 09:30.00. I pride myself on that like a pilot. <br /><br />These poor ladies roll about a kilometer and then smash into the fences, with a New Zealand rider down next to Jessica Allen of Australia, who won the world championships three days earlier. Game over. Winner gets a trip to a Danish hospital. <br /><br />Racing just 70 km these women race brilliantly despite a few more crashes. This boils down to a bunch sprint with Lucy Garner winning to get Great Britain its fourth medal. Jessy Druyts breaks the drought for Belgium with a silver. And the Danes get their fourth medal with Christina Siggaard winning the bronze. <br /><br />I took great joy in watching Thi That Nguyen of Vietnam (pronounced Tee-TAT Gee- YEN) attack solo and then ride to a solid finish. Kids from Asia and Africa and South America who may never get to some coveted European club can earn their berth on the start line here. And then they can prove their worth and valor by attacking as she did or by simply finishing with the bunch. <br /><br />After a short break we start the U23 race, a 168 km race; 12 laps on a 14 km loop. There is the same drill with the sign-in ceremony and then the same French guy whispering in my ear that we need to start on time and “der are too times as many ridoors in these race.” <br /><br />Peter and I pound out the procedure. The ceremonial starters would be Michael Plant, VP of the Atlanta Braves and a member of the UCI Management Committee (a great guy) and Tom Lund, president of the Danish Cycling Federation and the Cycle City Copenhagen program (And also a great guy). I interview Mike in English; Peter interviews Tom in Danish. We start on time. <br /><br />The race unfurls in a curiously negative fashion. Although Brazil has just two guys in the race they both go up the road in separate two-rider breakaways. They are doomed. <br /><br />With three laps to go they are finally recovered and a counter attack is launched. After assorted skirmishes a breakaway forms with riders from Denmark, Italy, South Africa, Kazakhstan, the Netherlands, and Eritrea. <br /><br />…..Upon reading this a sound of a needle scratching a record should run across your brain. Eritrea? <br /><br />Do you mean war-torn, impoverished, African hell-hole of a nation, Eritrea? Yes. Eritrea has become a cycling-crazed country. They had dozens of flag waving fans at the finish line. I spotted them and tried to give them a sporting experience like never before.<br /><br />They started three riders, two of which would hang in the field, one of which would end up sideways in the feed zone, but one of which Netnael Berhane, rode in mythical terms that only Homer could describe. The kid crossed a gap to a breakaway and went right to the front to take his pulls. And he never missed a pull. <br /><br />As announcers we both played this up. And the Eritrean fans went nuts, banging on signs, waving flags, and dancing. <br /><br />Sure, Australia and Belgium and Italy would organize the chase and retrieve this break. <br /><br />But with less than one lap to go, when they were caught, Berhane was the last one to surrender the break. We love that the Spartans fought the Persians to the death. We admire the 54th Massachusetts for charging into the cannons at Fort Wagner. And we revel in Cool Hand Luke defying all the authority. But this kid from Eritrea is what makes the UCI and the Worlds a great thing. <br /><br />The heavily favored Australians took control of the race with newly crowned TT champ Luke Durbridge pounding to the front to set up their ace, Michael Hepburn, for the win. But they found themselves stranded on the front. The Italians swarmed from the left; the Belgians swarmed on the right; and they still had 800 meters to go. They were characters in Tennyson’s Charge of the Light Brigade, left with an impossible task. <br /><br />And as the bunch swarmed to the front and made a right turn to charge uphill to the finish, Berhane of Eritrea dug in and stayed right in the wedge. Amazing.<br /><br />Just like in the junior women’s race, all the cannons fired too early. The French emerged on the front with not one but two strong riders; the British found a door and pushed through. As Italy and Belgium faded, the French surged forward to finish 1-2. And the Brits put on a late charge to score their sixth medal of week. <br /><br />Oh, the Americans? They did not place a rider in a single breakaway and only managed to get Jacob Raathe in 81st place. Not a single medal yet this week for America. They rode well but fell short when it counted. <br /><br />And the so-called Rosetta Stone taped to the French guy’s stem? Not one of the 34 numbers listed on his stem of the “Riders to Watch” made the podium. And only one made the top 10. <br /><br />These riders all spent way too much time looking at each other. They would attack, stop, and look back. I stated on the speakers during the race, Merckx, Kelly, Maertens, Hinault….those guys never looked any where but straight ahead when they attacked. <br /><br />And how about the French guy who had those numbers taped to the stem? He rode to second place. As Ulysses S. Grant said in 1864 about Robert E. Lee, “stop thinking about what he is going to do to you and start thinking about what you’re going to do to him.”<br /><br />The Eritrean guy got 28th. Frankly, he deserves a pro contract. <br /><br />Thanks for reading. More to come.RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-11134523260835151392011-09-22T13:45:00.000-07:002011-09-22T13:48:43.688-07:00Copenhagen: City of CyclistsCity of Cyclists <br /><br />“Rush hour” in Copenhagen proves that bicycles are the salvation of cities. Overall, American “mode share”, or the percentage of trips made by bike, is 1 percent. We get excited by certain cities – Portland or Boulder – where the mode share reaches between 5 and 8 percent. Witnessing that, average Americans would describe those towns as having “everybody” on bicycles. On my daily commute, I proudly can note that on the Beacon/Hampshire Street corridor in Somerville and Cambridge that the mode share in September will reach upwards of 10 percent in the world’s largest college town. <br /><br />Copenhagen mode share overall is 40 percent! And there are corridors where the mode share, by my estimate, is 70 percent and the remaining mode share is 20 percent pedestrian. The remaining 10 percent is split between buses and cars. <br /><br />The impact on an American visitor – even a cycling evangelist such as me – is staggering. As I walked from the hotel to the race venue at 8:30 am I encountered the morning traffic jam. The first thing an American notices is the lack of noise. Watching Copenhagen “rush” is akin to watching a skating rink. Everybody is gliding about quietly on bikes. <br /><br />Quiet.<br /><br />American’s used to such ridiculous vocabulary as “work out” and “exercise” and “play date” would likely assume this picture to be painted with athletic types intently pedaling about with helmets and Lycra. Throw that out. <br /><br />Everybody is on heavy-duty bikes with chain guards, fenders and upright bars. They are dressed for work: men in full suits; women in heels and dresses. Nobody is sweating or breathing hard. They all whisk about without helmets or concerns. And they do all the stupid things on bikes Americans do while driving to work: texting, smoking, eating, and talking on phones. The only difference is they have a sustained heart rate of 120 bpm and we’re stuck in traffic. <br /><br /> Old folks press by on pedals, children spin along, parents move toddlers in basket bikes, handsome executives with chiseled looks, and statuesque women in heels. Everybody is on bikes.<br /><br />And they are running not in pods of five or ten….They are riding in rivers of cyclists that defy counting. Not the thousands, not the tens of thousands, but the hundreds of thousands. Daytime, night time, rain, sun, snow…..They ride. <br /><br />They ride at night. They ride in rain. They ride side-by-side. They ride hand-in-hand. They put their children on bikes. They put their children on boxes attached to bikes. They ride. <br /><br /><br /><br />When the Arabs held us hostage in the early 1970s, America responded to its addiction to oil by putting its foreign policy on a military footing. But the Danes gave the Arabs the ultimate FU: they stopped driving. This addict simply got clean. <br /><br />And today mayors from around the world – including Tom Menino of Boston and Michael Bloomberg of New York secretly steal away to look at Copenhagen for answers.<br /><br />It works. <br /><br />There is no expressway, parkway or highway in the center of Copenhagen. These planners looked around the world and realized that widening highways to alleviate car congestion is akin to punching more holes in your belt to alleviate obesity. <br /><br /> Most major corridors have three users: the cars get the center; there is a bike lane separated by a curb; then, separated by another curb, there is a walkway. This is not one or two streets but every street. <br /><br />There is a train system, bus system and as importantly a bike system. Bike are parked everywhere. The race center is City Hall and by way of taking an alternative exit I found myself in the basement where employees get indoor bike parking. In my Boston office building with more than 1,000 workers I am one of perhaps six cyclists and we are left to fend for ourselves. In Copenhagen this City Hall has perhaps 300 workers and I counted more than 200 bikes in this parking rack. <br /><br />So to my American friends reading this and smirking about this utopian rant, I offer a few curious beneficial byproducts to this system: <br /><br />1) TRAFFIC: If you read letters to the editor about American cycling initiatives or listen to the anecdotes of Americans, you’ll hear about the frustration and anger caused by cyclists. But the core of this emotion is the frustration endured when a cyclists – paying little in the way of fees, insurance, taxes, fuel, etc. – gets to the front of the line. But American motorists need to realize that more cyclists mean less traffic and more parking spaces for them. Downtown Copenhagen has no traffic jam for motorists. Granted the fees and fuel to own and operate a car in Denmark are equally prohibitive. But when motorists do need to travel in Copenhagen it is done so without delay. I pity any American in an ambulance during rush hour.<br />2) BEAUTY: The weight loss industry in America is $60 billion a year while our bike business is just $6 billion. A 60-year-old Danish woman – wearing no make up while pedaling every day – is far lovelier, sexier, and more fashionable than the average 20-year-old American female trying to mask obesity with tattoos and piercings. If the Danes did away with smoking they would live and love to be 150. In America, meanwhile, we need only visit a Walmart on Saturday night to play “bingo”. Simply shout bingo when you see an American with either an air hose or a Rascal scooter. You’ll be stunned by the time you leave. <br />3) SAFETY: Many of my friends reading this will be incredulous about this report. Most will question the safety of urban cycling. But they cannot comprehend a life with so few cars. The indoctrination of Americans with cars starts with cartoons. Fred Flintstone got to work in the past via car; George Jetson gets to work in the future via car. Right? But if the mode share shifts slightly, great things happen. Every study ever conducted concludes that as cycling mode share increases people are safer: the motorists slow down; the pedestrians gain confidence; cyclists gain proficiency. Increasing cycling is the only thing shown to actually improve safety for all users. <br /><br /><br />So into Copenhagen lands the UCI road world championships. <br /><br />Being here I took out a hotel bike twice so far. Once at 3 a.m. to alleviate jet lag. An absolute magical hour I’ll never forget. <br /><br />But today, the rest day for us, I ventured out again in mid-day bike traffic. I rolled about with ease and without a helmet. There were so few cars out that I never had an agro moment. <br /><br />This cycling mad country, by virtue of pedaling everywhere at 15 kph, has enormous respect for cyclists who can pedal faster than 50 kph. <br /><br />Of note is that Tom Lund is the president of the Danish Cycling Federation which oversees racing and also the head of the Cycle City, which has been at the vanguard of making Copenhagen the world’s greatest cycling city. American bike advocates, fueled by the recent exploits of Tim Johnson, have learned to embrace racing to advance their cause. The racers, however, have much to learn. <br /><br />Today I had a day off so I took a hotel bike and just started riding. The separated bike lanes are incredible. The entire culture is so attuned to cycling that it feels safe. Take away the cars and the rage and it feels safe…In 1996 when Copenhagen really got active about becoming the world’s greatest bike city, there were 252 serious accidents for cyclists. That number has dropped to 92 last year and 78 percent of those involved a car, meaning they were not bike accidents but car accidents. <br /><br />This sounds awful to some but when you see the sheer number of cyclists, rivers of cyclists, who do so safely. Copenhagen cyclists pedal 3.2 million kilometers between every one of those accidents. A cyclist in Copenhagen is far safer than a motorist in America. <br /><br />Denmark can lead by example. <br /><br />This investment has paid off. American visitors I meet in the lobby are stunned by the bikes and the same quiet rush hour. <br /><br />This city is the world’s best bike city by Discovery, a top five tourist spot in the world by The New York Times, and the second safest city in the world by Trip Atlas. But it is also considered the world’s best business city by Forbes Magazine. Just ask the American executives in the lobby of my hotel….Guys from Nebraska and Missouri and Kansas just stand in awe of this place. <br /><br />OK, I’ll write about road racing tomorrow. <br /><br />Thanks for reading.RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-77836813565978928362011-09-22T03:06:00.000-07:002011-09-22T03:11:14.789-07:00Copenhagen Time TrialsThis would be just my second world championships as announcer. The UCI had added the juniors to the mix, so racing started Monday. Although hard to believe, the UCI had not held a world time trial championships until 1994. <br /><br />And for the first time, the UCI had decided to integrate the juniors with the elite worlds. Here is out it would go: the junior women and the Under-23 riders would go on Monday; the junior men and the elite women would go on Tuesday; and the elite men would go on Wednesday. <br /><br />There is the second UCI event under way here too. That is the convention of the UCI, its key committee members, its promoters, and its best officials. I was brought in when the UCI changed its official language from French to English. In the Czech Republic, I worked with a guy who spoke Czech. Then came Australia, where we did the entire thing in English. Germany had me work with Germans (but they spoke impeccable English.) And in Denmark, I got to work with Peter Piil (no relation to Jakob Piil). A real pro with nine Tours under his belt, Peter speaks perfect English and has great experience in radio and television doing all sorts of sports. <br /><br />We met on Sunday afternoon for the awards rehearsal and hit it off. I had pushed through jet lag on just two hours of sleep and had little reserves. <br /><br />Anybody familiar with time trials would recognize the junior women’s event. The first group would do a 13.9 kilometer loop, leaving at minute intervals. How the officials seeded this event is beyond my imagination but they pinned it right. The last rider to start, Jessica Allen of Australia, rode to a win ahead ahead of Elinor Barker of Great Britain and Mieke Kroger of Germany, who finished second and third respectively. They would launch the medal haul of those three countries. <br /><br />After a lunch break, the UCI changed it up for the Under-23 race. Instead of one lap, the young elites would do two laps of a slightly longer course to complete a 35.2 kilometer race. I must admit the UCI came up with a brilliant crowd-pleasing idea to do this. They send the riders off in batches. Just as the last rider leaves the ramp, the first rider of the batch nearly completes the first lap and begins the second. And after a 20-minute break on the start ramp, the final rider of the batch has started the second lap. This enables the start of the second batch. This is repeated for five batches. The fans see a lot of action; the Shimano neutral support can support every rider; and the television cameras can cover the event. <br /><br />On to this technical urban course went the Under-23 riders. The Australians came to Copenhagen sharply focused on medals and titles. Michael Hepburn rode the course with particular ferocity setting the fastest splits at ever check. Then he made a mistake, going off course and on to a sidewalk on a turn and causing tire damage. On a subsequent turn he appeared to suffer a puncture and crashed. <br /><br />He leapt up, got a replacement bike, and kept pedaling to post a crushing best time of day. <br /><br />This course would make a triathlete cry. There were a number of tight turns, patches with cobbles, and countless raised pedestrian crossings. Riders were given a tail wind to start but had to jackhammer against a headwind on the way back to the start-finish. Average speeds would drop 5 kph in this wind. <br /><br />Then came the Danish phenom, Rasmus Quaade (don’t ask by it is pronounced Quail). With some of the sloppiest form I’ve ever witnessed at the World Championships level, Quaade stomped out a time 11 seconds faster. On the hot seat, he had to wait for Australia’s Luke Durbridge, the 2010 silver medalist. He rode a perfect ride, winning by 35 seconds. <br /><br />After one day’s racing, Australia had three medals, two of them gold. And these riders had about 5,000 spectators watching. <br /><br />Day two returned to the Junior womens’s course only to have the Junior men and then Elite women completing two laps for a 27.8-kilometer race. The very first bracket saw New Zealand’s James Oram post a blistering time more than a minute faster than any other rider in his bracket. And it seemed fast enough to stick. Most of the favorites fell short until the later brackets. It would be a Dane, Mads Wurtz Schmidt, who bested the time by just 4.11 seconds. With the Danish crowds in a lather, Wurtz Schmidt had to watch the entire final heat roll. One Aussie, David Edwards, seemed capable of beating him but fell short to finish third, behind Oram and Wurtz Schmidt. The crowd went bananas as Denmark scored its second medal of the week and its first gold in several years. <br /><br />The elite women would go next in the exact same format and same course but in vastly different conditions. The first batch of riders had a clean course, with Canada’s Rhae-Christie Shaw setting the first fast time of 37:46. She took the hot seat and watched her teammate, Clara Hughes roll off. A two-sport Olympian, Hughes had been out of the sport for a number of seasons. She started to best her teammate at every checkpoint on the first lap. <br /><br />And then it started to rain. <br />As the rain intensified, Hughes came in with a new fastest time of 37:44. Canada had 1-2 and the course conditions worsened. <br /><br />In the penultimate bracket rode Evelyn Stevens. But the Wall Street wizard could not master the bricks in the rain. Instead New Zealand’s Linda Villumsen, born and raised in Denmark, rose to the occasion and posted the new fastest time of 27:28. <br /><br />In the final bracket rode Canada’s Tara Whitten, America’s Amber Neben, and Marianne Vos of the Netherlands. But most attention went to the Germany’s Judith Arndt and defending World Champion Emma Pooley of Great Britain. <br /><br />At the first time check, nobody on that list shook the standings, save for Whitten. On the leader board were three Canadian flags in the top five positions. As Neben and Vos faded, however, Arndt started to advance. She pounded out a 37:07 to bump Villumsen out of the lead and await the arrival of Pooley. Perfectly built for the hilly course in Australia, Pooley simply could not match the speed of Arndt. She finished third at 37:31, bumping Whitten off the medal stand by just two seconds. <br /><br />Having started off a bit sluggish, the women’s time finished in electrifying form. <br /><br />And the women received a huge crowd for their ceremony, with numbers easily exceeding 8,000 on the City Hall Plaza. <br /><br />Wednesday would be for the elite men. Nobody went to work and the lunch time start drew tens of thousands of spectators around this course, extended out to a 23.2 km course on which these superstars would do two laps. <br /><br />Preparing to announce the world championships is somewhat futile in that one has no idea who will be riding until the day before. Some federations – such as Italy, Gret Britain, Australia and New Zealand - put amazing focus on the worlds, but others do this event almost as an afterthought. They may have some individuals who give the event its due priority and get some medals. If a federation treats the worlds like it’s just another crit, they get the medals they deserve. <br /><br />So for an announcer the drill goes like this: walk to the media center to get online. (The Marriott folks chisel their guests here just as badly as back home, not even offering wi-fi in the lobby!). Grab the start list and start researching. With events of last week, I could not do my normal preparation. Peter Piil, my colleague, saved me with a printed booklet of every riders palmares. That said, finding stuff on juniors is nearly impossible. <br /><br />Then I pen in a coded set of letters and numbers next to each name in the start list giving me a quick reference sheet of talking points. I perfect this thanks to Larry Longo, with whom I have done countless call-ups at mountain bike races over the years. Bringing more than 100 guys to the line is a real challenge that trips up a lot of beginner announcers. I like to think that nobody can match us in doing a call-up. <br />For many riders there is nothing next to their name. Then I head to the Tissot timing booth, a cockpit of information that includes a television monitor, microphones, timing screens, and our paper work. <br /><br />To our left sat Phillippe of Belgium and Beatrice of Malaysia. He speaks French and English fluently; she speaks English, Malay, Thai and a handful of other dialects. Phillippe served as the boss at the ‘cross worlds in Germany. The best officials are typically the nicest of people. They can be firm but patient. You know they are in charge. <br /><br />So in this booth is this amazing kaleidoscope of language and color: Phillippe steadily speaking French and English into a radio; Peter pounding out the call in Danish; and my rantings in English. All the while, the screens are blooming in colors and information used by all to study this speed. If the road race is a poetic MS Word document, the time trial is a linear spreadsheet, an Excel document of speed. <br /><br />As I prepped for the elite men’s time trial, however, I could not be anything but awestruck by the resumes of the guys in the very first bracket, seeded to be slowest. Just about every guy had been national champion; most had posted UCI wins, and several had scored the podium at the worlds at some point in their career. Almost every name had something noteworthy penned in the margins. <br /><br />The early star in the men’s event would be Jesse Sergent, a 23-year-old from New Zealand who destroyed the entire first bunch with a 58:10. For non-cyclists reading this dispatch, know that a major achievement of a cyclist is to ride 40 kilometers in under an hour. This means a rider is traveling in excess of 25 mph. But these guys were riding 46.4 kilometers and going under the hour routinely. <br /><br />In the second brackets Alexandr Dyachenko of Kazakhstan dualed with Nicola Castroviejo of Spain. The Kazakh took the hot seat with a time of 57:03 and stayed there until the final bracket of 15 riders lined up. Each of these guys in the final bracket had two-page resumes, a stock ticker in fine print of amazing results. <br /><br />But everybody knew this race would not be about anybody but two: four-time World Champion Fabian Cancellara of Switzerland versus the upstart Tony Martin of Germany. <br /><br />Everybody brought their best. Jack Bobridge, a former U23 world champion in his debut, posted the fastest splits and out-rode his American nemesis Taylor Phinney. Former world champion Bert Grabsch plowed a massive gear to also lower the split times. And England’s Bradley Wiggins whipped about the course with leg speed developed on the track. <br /><br />When Martin rolled of with number 2 on his back, however, the game was on. He blew away the fastest split time at 10.8 km and kept pouring it on. Behind him, however, was an uncharacteristically flustered Cancellara, who learned with 10 minutes to start that his bike needed to be adjusted to fit UCI regulations. <br /> <br />Like seeing Babe Ruth in a cold sweat, I could spot immediately off the ramp that Cancellara did not have his typical form. His gear was too light; his position unstable; the bike rocking too much. Conversely, Martin’s back could be used to serve hot drinks and not a drop would be spilled. Smooth as glass. <br /><br />Meanwhile the Dane, Jakob Fuglslang, rode with the country behind him, turning himself inside out in front of 30,000 spectators, delivered top-five splits. He was writing a Rocky Balboa script along the way only to have Martin pound out an Apollo Creed punch line with his subsequent numbers. <br /><br />Martin rode the first lap and closed on David Millar, who had started 1:30 ahead. <br />During the second lap, Cancellara and Martin received their splits via radio earpieces. Martin could enter turns cautiously and explode out of them. Cancellara, however, had to take risks, bombing into corners with abandon, only to have Martin continue to add to his margin. <br /><br />Finally Cancellara took too big of a risk on a cobbled corner, got the bike on a bad line, and went into the fences, barely staying upright and coming to a dead stop. Game over. He had to concede gold then; but the silver had also slipped away as Wiggins rode a perfect race to get Great Britain its third medal. <br /><br />Martin pounded out a convincing victory with a time of 53:43. This guy rode a technical course on a windy day at an average speed of 51.8 kph. This means if you lined him up with a good regional rider, the fastest guy you ever see riding through your town, and then stopped them both after one hour, Tony Martin would be more than 13 kilometers, or about 8 miles, up the road. That puts him in another area code from the fastest guy in your town. He put 1:15 on Wiggins and 1:20 on Cancellara. <br /><br />Here’s the medal count after the time trials: <br /><br />Australia: 4<br />Great Britain: 3 <br />Germany: 3 <br />Denmark: 2 <br />New Zealand: 2 <br />Switzerland: 1<br /><br /><br /><br />Note: nothing for the Americans, the Belgians, the French, and the Italians. Zink, zip, nada, zed. Something will have to change in the road races. <br /><br />And then we are done. I eat alone. Stay alone. And prep for the road races. <br /><br />Thanks for reading. Tomorrow, I’ll write a bit about Danish cuisine…..That should be a short dispatch!RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410874728993719208.post-71098347433380855722011-09-21T02:00:00.000-07:002011-09-21T02:07:14.273-07:00My Five Rules on Death and DyingFive Rules on Death and Dying <br /><br />I feel blessed to be bathed in the fluorescent light of the Amsterdam airport. Given the emotional and geographic and sensory geysers of the last two weeks this three-hour reprieve is deserved. <br /><br />Pre-dawn in such places is hallowed. Traveling alone we are contained, given shape and form, by the forces of society in motion. And yet we are left alone, anonymous. I feel like the characters in Hopper’s <em>Nighthawks</em>; they can only guess at my regrets, tragedies, frustrations, fatigues, and desires. <br /><br />And I can only guess at theirs. We have a magnetic deal on the distance we can and cannot be from one another. So we move around each other in brittle polite silence.<br /><br />But I have no feelings right now. I have been scrubbed clean of thought. I am barely putting out a signal… Please and thank you are handrails of recovery. <br /><br />I am en route to Copenhagen to serve for the second time as the UCI official announcer for the road world championships. A dream gig, eh? <br /><br />Indeed it is and I will work hard – beginning today when I study every start list and bio - to secure this job for as long as they’ll have me. <br /><br />But honestly I need this Amsterdam interlude for the personal cushion. <br /><br />For as nervous as any announcer may be to call the world championships, I am coming off speaking at my sister’s funeral. That was a tougher gig. <br /><br />My sister’s death last week would produce my family’s sixth funeral in ten years. They were not distant relatives but immediate, earth-shaking deaths to my family. <br /><br />My speech to conclude my sister’s service had three components: thanking so many people for their support; outright plagiarism of truly gifted writers; and my five rules on what to do during times of death and dying. <br /><br />Here goes: <br /><br /><strong>Rule One: Ask</strong><br />Rule number one is “Ask.” I find it terribly rude to allow somebody to suffer without asking for information.<br /><br />So let me tell you what happened. <br /><br />Less than two weeks ago, I sat on the sixth floor of Brigham and Women’s Hospital in Boston, chatting away with my sister, Kim. Although a bit loopy on meds, she used my conversation to move from grave and disoriented to upbeat and chipper. I had no illusions and recognized her slide toward death, but we had the most pleasant of chats. <br /><br />The cancer that first hit her in 1984 and returned in a new form in 1986 and then a new form in 2007 and yet again in 2010 had found a new home. After her breasts, her lungs, her bone marrow, and her blood had been raided, the cancer found a new place in her brain. Her legs, her speech, her ability to even swallow were being shut off by her brain; like the fuse box in a house, the cancer had found the spot where it could flip off switch after switch after switch. <br /><br />But she had always bounced back and I kind of hoped, listening to doctors, that we could get her to the holidays and who knew? Perhaps another summer of beach trips with my kids. <br /><br />When I left her to travel to California for a Best Buddies event, I said “Love you…” in that sing-song way that is not intended to be the final good bye. <br /><br />And she replied “Love you, too,” in the same manner. <br /><br />And I bounced back – just as the door closed – “Love you more.” <br /><br />Click. <br /><br /><br /><strong>Rule Two: Show Up</strong><br />Rule number 2 is “Show up.” For five straight years we had been showing up for my sister in Herculean ways. We had learned a lot about medical things. But after countless pre-dawn pacing sessions at the ICU of hospitals, bidding farewell to my sister on the sixth floor – not the ICU – gave me confidence that I could start a trip that would take me to Monterey, Calif., for Best Buddies and then to Las Vegas for Interbike, and then after an eight-hour stay in Boston to visit Kim and swap out socks and underwear, I expected to head off to Copenhagen. <br /><br />Off I went to the Audi Best Buddies Challenge: Hearst Castle, where I scrambled about and tried to forget about Kim for a bit. In effect, I was asking people to employ my own rule number 3 on managing death and dying: “Make no Judgment.” For what you see is not what you get. There is no correct way to grieve. Everybody seeks comfort in different ways during such circumstances. <br /><br />I had been away – calling cycling events – when my father passed, my sister’s husband (which happened a week apart in September 2001) died, and when my sister passed in 2002. <br /><br />When I touched down on Thursday, Sept. 8, in California, I started getting some bad text messages about Kim’s condition. The next day, like the calving of a glacier, her body simply started to collapse under the enormous pressure of all the cancer. “Success” would have meant enormous suffering just to gain another month. We made the decision to stop curative treatment and begin palliative care. She went off oxygen and on to morphine.<br /><br />As I worked the Best Buddies event, doing my best to be upbeat for these riders doing this great charity event. The numbers kept coming; oxygen dropping, heart rate running at almost 140 bpm, and morphine increasing. Three times during the event, I called home to talk with my wife and children, including my brave 17-year-old son who sat loyally by Kim from Saturday morning on. <br /><br />My son had learned the first two lessons well. <br /><br />I could handle her passing; but talking to my children left me in puddles. Three times I withdrew from the event and hid behind buildings to simply sob uncontrollably. <br /><br /><strong>Rule Three: Bite Your Tongue</strong><br />My third rule on death and dying is “Bite Your Tongue.” Everybody grieves differently; everybody is a work in progress; we all seek comfort in different fashions; and there is no correct way to grieve. I had a lot of work to do that day and I did it. My work is fun and upbeat. So when it came time to announce the Friendship Criterium, where pro riders and celebrities pair up with Buddies on tandems for fun races, I asked my dear friend and colleague Larry Longo to help announce, in case I broke down. <br /><br />As I got started, however, I realized my sister Kim – a teacher of teachers – needed me to knock it out of the park for these kids. So Larry and I rocked it. <br /><br />Once I got to the post-ride barbecue, I settled my clients, took care of some production details, and realized my phone – after all the calls and texts – had died. Smashmouth came on. Pardon me for not grieving appropriately, but I love that band. I totally got into the show and checked out. I hate to admit if felt great dancing with the riders I knew and especially the Buddies. In hindsight, Kim would have loved that I did it. <br /><br />My initial plans called for me to head to Las Vegas. But I awoke to dismantle those plans to get home, hopefully in time to see Kim before she passed. Oddly, few people save for my closest of colleagues realized my situation. I felt as alone as I have ever felt…..ever. <br /><br />Throughout Sunday – as I worked phones with airlines and untangled myself from obligations with the event – I kept receiving the metrics on Kim. Her amazing little heart continued pumping at 138 bpm for the third straight day. <br /><br />The best I could get out of my airline was a 6 a.m. flight out of San Francisco. This gave me a night with my dear friends, The Simpsons, in Burlingame. This included dinner with a 14-month-old boy, John Paul Simpson. <br /><br />I collapsed into bed at 9:30. I awoke at 4:30 and learned by text that Kim had passed. I had missed it. <br /><br />I just wanted to get home. I returned a rental car, simply leaving the key on the seat to make the flight. I fought through security, found my way to a window seat at the rear of the plane. At the last minute, a heavy woman wedged into the seat next to me. I’m typically judgmental and annoyed by heavy Americans. <br /><br />As I sobbed and typed, my head turned towards the window, this lovely woman simply kept handing me tissue after tissue without asking any questions. No judgment. <br /><br />I arrived and silently stumbled through the Boston transit system. As I came up the stair at Alewife Station, I found myself side by side, stride for stride, next to my nephew, Nathan. We emerged to see my brother, Gary, and sister, Beth. My wife Deb was two cars behind them with no knowledge of their presence. Somehow were all together. Nice. <br /><br /><strong>Rule Four: Make Lasagna </strong><br />I got home, dropped bags, and we swung by the home of my wife’s colleagues, Liz and Steve Curran. They had prepared a full dinner for my family. I truly can handle the death stuff; but these acts of kindness – often by people who don’t know the deceased but know the family – move me to tears. We received dinners every night. And time after time I am swept away with emotion. <br /><br />We had a whole ham one night. Then came wonderful teriyaki bowl from my sisters colleagues at Wediko Children Services. And the lasagna from Best Buddies continues to feed the household. <br /><br />My later father, a sullen WWII vet, would remain on the periphery of such events – deaths, operations, births, etc. – and simply mutter, “What are you going to do?” If the situation were a flat tire or a broken pipe or grass fire, he would be at the helm and fixing things. But in medical circumstances beyond his reach, he shut down. <br /><br />Making lasagna cares for people caring for the ill or the injured. When there is nothing else to do, feed people, care for their children, and help them with their laundry. These acts are profound. <br /><br />My friends at Harpoon heard of my sister’s passing and forced three cases of beer on me. Flowers arrived. Notes were sent. Comments on Facebook and e-mail and text were crucial to me. <br /><br />Thank you. <br /><br /><strong>Rule Five: Laugh </strong><br />On behalf of my family I wish to apologize for anybody we may have ever insulted at assorted wakes, funerals, receptions, and hospitals for apparently having a good time at an inappropriate moment. <br /><br />Throughout my sister’s illness, we went through wild swings in moods. But there is closeness with this experience – with friends, family and casual daily coffee-shop acquaintances – that is profound. Trust me, I broke down and wailed like some Greek widow on a number of occasions. <br /><br />I actually believe it should be required. This death process with my sister started in 1984, when she was first diagnosed. The past five years have been a steady degradation of her health and quality of life for her. Having her dignity shaved away, layer by layer, has been as difficult to witness. <br /><br />For the family this past five years has been a series of fire drills followed by eye-blinking meetings with medical teams followed by vacuous bedside vigils. Some were alone with Kim and blinking monitors and beeping devices; some were with her awake and chatty; and others were with family and friends. <br /><br />Once in the ICU last winter, with Kim intubated on a breathing tube and unconscious, my brother, Gary, my nephew, Nicky, and myself passed the time in this gravest of locations….In this somber place we were laughing uncontrollably about something. We could not stop. <br />Kim’s passing was hard. I lost a business; turned down a job opportunity of a lifetime; lost countless promotions and failed to close several deals due to my time required in a hospital or a rehab facility or simply spent holding a hand or walking a beach. <br /><br />But I had so much quality time with my family and witnessed the emotional growth of my children and their cousins. One could not buy such an experience or tutelage.<br />Kim’s service we took the opportunity to pose for a family picture. Surrounded by the sound system in the middle of the Putnam Room at the BC Alumni House, we staged for the shot. Macy Gray’s “I Try” came on. <br /><br />This entire family broke into chorus, clutching one another, waving back and forth in broad smiles. Kim’s passing had made us so close to on another. These children were so strong as a result of this experience. <br /><br />Afterwards many of the kids continued to dance. <br /><br />And I trust that in the event of my passing folks that come together have some laughs….hopefully at my expense. <br /> <br /><br />I’m now in Copenhagen, having announced the first two days of competition. I’m totally alone, surrounded by folks speaking Danish, French, German, Flemish and assorted Scandinavian dialects. It’s good that I have nobody as it protects my voice. <br /><br />The emotional strength to go through this wonderful, albeit lonely, travel experience came from my family. <br /><br />Today is the men’s elite time trial. I’m going to crush it.RichardFrieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16796018153918476187noreply@blogger.com0