Hunger, and the quote of the day.

Order it here.

Saw yesterday that Sean's new autobiography is coming out later this month.    Add it to your summer reading list jongens.

For those of you who like me are unabashed fans of the hardest man in cycling, there's some great Kelly stories and anecdotes here at Worldwide Cycles blog.   Check it out.  Two of my favorites.

"Figures have become all important, Vo2 max, threshold , 10 second wattage now mean much more than the old ‘my legs feel good today’ and performances have improved as training time has become more efficient .... These tests are not a new phenomenon . Back in the late eighties teams had begun testing their riders and analyzing the figures.... 

Sean Kelly was at the height of his career and winning more of the biggest races than any of his contemporaries.  He was the greatest cyclist in the World at the time and during one test session the coaches were perplexed. They asked,  "How he could be winning so much when his figures did not correspond to such results?"   

Kelly sat back and said...

‘that machine measures power , heart rate , Vo2 max and all that, but what it doesn’t measure is how much pain you can suffer'... "

The other story is one where Kelly reflects on the role his farm upbringing in Carrick on Suir played in learning to suffer...

"...he recounted working days that began at 7 am and finished at 8 pm, no matter what the weather was like. On one not so unusual day a particularly feisty bullock had to be moved. Two ropes were attached and two brothers were warned by their father that no matter what they were not to let go of the ropes. The Bullock was released from a shed and immediately reared up on its hind legs and bucked and jumped all the way across the farmyard. One brother released the rope. The other brother did not and was dragged ruthlessly across the yard, but never let go of the rope. Eventually his Father managed to calm the animal and when the son regained the energy to stand up the jacket and jumper were torn from his shoulder, as was much of his skin. He continued on working."

"A few years later the same young man was riding the cobbled classics of Belgium and Northern France.   When the races would get hard, so so hard for twenty minutes at a time and many of the best in the World were falling by the wayside, the farmers son from just outside a small town in Ireland would think of the day he was dragged across the yard by the bullock and from deep down within he would find the tenacity and courage to endure pain well beyond the limits of ordinary men and he would survive."

"Whilst those around him suffered he managed to hide his own pain. Why should he show it ? There would be no sympathy for a bit of pain endured whilst riding around the countryside on a bicycle when he should be hard at work at home on the farm."

"The finish line would come into sight and the victor would be the one from a group of the hardest of the hard men who would want it the most.  With the option of returning to the bullock on the farm being pretty much the only other choice he had, the young Irishman usually came out on top."

"Books, magazines and Internet articles on sporting success often refer to the fact that the mind usually gives up before the body during prolonged periods of intensity within competition.

The hardships of life are very often the cornerstones of success later on.   Interval training strengthens the body but perhaps it’s the really crappy day at work or the time spent forcing yourself to do the things that you are afraid of that give the mental toughness needed to really succeed, no matter what level you are at."

A lesson in Furbo.

OK, all this work and no wielerplay makes Fast Eddy a fat boy.   But ready or not, this past Sunday, it was time for something hard.  Y'know, an event.

I figured why not the Putnam Cycling Classic?   80 miles, 6,000 ft. climbing just north of NYC in Cold Spring Harbor, NY- on the Hudson River.   It was a UCWT qualifier for the UCI Master's World Final in September in Trento.  That's in bella Italia.

Trento.  Monte Bondone.  Charly Gaul's climb.   'Il mio sogno':  My recurring Walter Mitty fantasy dream.  Of fanning a tiny gear up a mountain road, in the snow, dropping everyone, in a state of grace,   on the way to winning the Giro, in a blizzard.   An opportunity to race the legendary Monte Bondone.    However, slim the odds, how could I not take a shot at that?  

So with more dreams in my head than miles in my legs,  I convinced my ever-game friends Brad and Tony to join me on an early Sunday morning dawn patrol to drive 3+ hours west, and tackle this one.  Preparation?   Schmeparation.

"C'mon, it's only 80 miles... how hard can it be?... just take it easy... it's a gran fondo, not a race...it'll be a piece of cake, you did 60 last week, what's another 20 miles..."  I pulled every enticement out of the bag to sell the adventure to comrades with fewer miles - and absolutely no Monte Bondone delusions of grandeur...

Tony provided our Volvo team car for the day, we loaded the Flandrias and flew across Connecticut while the world awoke.   Pulling into the sleepy start village, we parked the rig and walked to registration down by the river.

As we walked, I noticed a tall guy pulling a sweet new BMC out of his car.   Recognizing him instantly from the old days,  I waved.

"Howya Mike!"

Mike Neel smiled and waved back, but with a quizzical "I think I've seen you before, but have no idea who you are.."    He shouldn't have known me.   But you can bet your last Binda toe strap, I knew him.   Like a teenage Hockey fan from Boston back in the 70's would spot Bobby Orr, or Phil Esposito in heartbeat.

"Who's that?"  Brad and Tony asked me.

"That's was Mike Neel,  ya know?"   They didn't.

I let it go.  Too much to do right now to get into a US cycling history lecture.    Gotta register, get the timing chips, the number, the swag bag, hit the latrine, drive across town to the parking area...ready the bikes.  Short sleeves?  Definitely today, it'll be over 60 degrees.   But linament cream and oil for the legs SVP.   2 Stinger Waffles and 6 GU in the pockets.   2 big bottles, with electrolyte mix.   Short, ez-spin to the line....

A start line comprised of ~300 mostly old guys and gals.  Virtually all Masters.   A few I knew.  Depite this being the only qualifier in the US, most hailed from a 100 mile radius of the NYC area it seemed.   Saw my old CCB teammate Jack Gregory.   And multi world Masters Champion Dmitri Buben.   A whole team of neon yellow fit-looking Tower International team guys with Cipollini bikes that screamed 'unlimited disposable income' - dominated the front row.   I always feel like a fat shite when I look around me on Master's starting lines these days.   Lots of gaunt lean and hungry guys.

They called a few notables to the front line.  Among them getting the full intro and applause were Mike Neel, and 3 time cyclocross world champion Erwin Vervecken, over here  representing the UCI's interest.    Both those guys are wicked tall dudes.   Some US race winners, and world champions from last year's UWCT series too.

The game?  Why, finish in the top 25% of my age group, and win a ticket to Italy of course!   Based on my spotty preparation this year, I had no business really expecting that, but once you're on that line, reason has to go out the window.   Cycling is for dreamers.      Gotta go for it, right?  What the hell, why not?   I'll just be really furbo - y'know, that's italian for crafty, clever, smart, sharp, astute and sly.

Out of town the pace heated up almost immediately.  At about 7 miles a long gradual climb and false flat saw the front group of about 50 drill it HARD to make a selection.    I was struggling to stay with them.. gapped and closing... yo yoing... couldn't get the rythym.. in the 13 and 14 up a false flat.   Yikes, on the limit already!   Hang on another minute.     Shite, I'll never sustain this for 80 miles.    Don't think that way.   Just till that mailbox.   OK, now just to that pole.  Now just till that house.   Just till that...arrrgggggg....

Finally I popped.   Solo and in no man's land now.   Done.  Jack Gregory led a chasing group by me.  Couldn't grab their wheels either.  Really blew.   Uh oh.  Finally enough come by to get a draft, and I sucked wheels for all I was worth to recover.   That group soon caught Jack's and co., and I found myself stuck in the 2nd group on the road.  Maybe 35 or so, maybe more.    I tried to look back and gauge it, but some guy yelled at me for doing that.   (I love it when I get lectured like I've never ridden in a pack before...).  

I soon found myself riding alongside... Mike Neel.   He started chatting,  'Hey, who won the Giro stage yesterday?'   We yacked a while as we were sucked along.  I told him he was looking really great, he said 'so are you'.   We passed the miles, both using all the old tricks to stay in there.   Survive up the climbs in the 25, even doing a paperboy at times on the walls.  And the ol' start at the front and slowly drift back trick going easy over the top to save the legs.  

Mike was still smooth as silk, stretched out on the bike like the true ex-pursuiter he is.   At times I'd sit on his wheel and divert my mind from my own suffering by admiring what Mike was still able to do at age 61.  I only hope I can do the same in 10 years time.

Ostuni Italy world pro championship 1976:  L-to-R:  Mike Neel (10th), Guy Sibille (12th), Jan Raas (8th),
Don Allan (9th) , Eddy Merckx (5th), Felice Gimondi (7th), Bernard Hinault (6th).

I was thinking, I wonder how many guys in this group knew they had a guy in there that was 10th in the World Professional road championship in 1976, only beaten in the field sprint for 5th by Merckx, Hinault, Gimondi, Raas and six day star Don Allan?  

Mike on Mont Royal, 1976 Montreal Olympics.

I wonder if they knew that same year of '76 he'd represented the US in the Montreal Olympic road race?  Crashing in the rain on Mont Royal.  Then picking himself up to become the first American road professional in the modern era, signing for Magniflex in Italy?  A year living hand to mouth, as a gregario.

I wonder how many of them clad in $350 SIDI's knew

1980 Coors Classic saw Mike Neel win 2 stages, including a solo in the Boulder
Mountain Road Race.  

that the entrepreneurial Mike was America's original  SIDI importer, with his company Neel & Katz out of Chicago in the late '70's?

I wonder if they knew about the time he came out of retirement and put together a composite SIDI team for the Coors Classic in CO in 1980.   A team that included Jock Boyer who'd also had a year off due to Illness after having spent a season in the Lejeune BP professional team in France.    if any of them remembered how that SIDI team put together a 'combine' with some other European teams to take 3 laps out of Colombian race leader Antonio Londono in the final 50 mile criterium in North Boulder park, winning Boyer the overall general classification on the final day by just 9 seconds.  

Mike also won two big road stages in the Coors that year himself I think I remember.   The first stage, and then the Boulder Mountain road race.  

I wonder how many guys in that group knew how many top pros he'd coached and mentored.   George Mount.  Mark Pringle,.  Bob Roll.   Kiefel, Hampsten, Phinney.  Just about an entire generation of US Pros, really when you get right down to it.  In Italy he'd lodge them all at the now-defunct Bar Augusto, just outside Bergamo.   Bar Augusto was US cycling central in Europe in those days - run by an Italian bike fanatic who basically adopted the US team.   The walls were lined with framed jerseys.   I went there back in the 90's.   It was a great place.

I wonder if the guys wailing each other at the front knew that they were towing along the genius behind the US 7-Eleven team's victory in the 1988 Giro d'Italia?   The only directeur with foresight to get ski gloves, wool hats and industrial quantities of vaseline on his riders in anticipation of the blizzard on the Gavia Pass.   The guy whose connections, hustle and nice-guy diplomacy guided Andy Hampsten to the US' only Maglia Rosa?  

No I don't think many of them did.  'Cause today Mike was clad incognito, in some California brewery jersey, very much under the radar.    We talked about how the steep high watts climbs were quite different from Nor Cal where he's been living and training and it goes up steady forever.    How some of these walls even made a 25 feel a little too big.   At one point we both corkscrewed up a big one that seemed to wind up through trees to the sky, hanging in.   Most guys were out of the saddle.  I still spun the 25, seated.

After that one, I actually started feeling better, climbing more and more near the front...my goal was very much to stay in the group till the end.  I figured the places for Italy were way up the road in the first group now minutes ahead anyway.  But I really so wanted to stick in that group till the end...   I wanted to finish with Mike Neel.  That would be cool, I thought.  

How to explain it?  I grew up playing hockey on Boston ponds, but my buddies and I would never ever get to skate and play hockey with Bobby Orr.    Not possible.

First US Road Pro of the modern era, 1977.

But this Sunday, I could race with Mike Neel.  

Sorry to report that all-over leg cramping at the steepest wall at 50 miles put paid to that illusion too.  Guess you can only fake it for so long on 8-10 hour training weeks.   As the miles wore on, the power started to drain.    Just couldn't keep the pressure on, had to back off the power just a little to keep the legs from locking up, and let the group go.   Weird, I hadn't experienced leg cramps like that in a race since the spring of 1977:  I was 16 then and racing a 70 mile junior race on a similarly warm spring Sunday.   A day when Mike Neel was more than likely racing as a pro over in Italy somewhere.

The last I saw of Mike (and my old pal Jack Gregory who was climbing fantastic and qualified in the 55+ group) was their backsides slowly, inexorably pulling away, up that climb.   I wasn't so wrecked that I couldn't help notice that Mike was still seated stretched out on the bike, holding the hoods, steadily and smoothly churning a slightly larger gear than the others.   He looked like he was getting his second wind, near the front.  Still a real pro at 61.  Did my heart good to see it.  

I hoped he'd be able to slay those other guys.   Figured he would, cause Mike was always furbo.   I'd have bet good money that he'd have slayed Maertens, Merckx,  Gimondi and Raas this past Sunday if they were riding here.    (But no... I'd never bet against Hinault...)

The rest of that way was just a personal battle to the end.  Chased solo in TT mode for about 7 miles.  Finally a third group caught me and  I duked it out up the final 8 mile climb with them.   Spinning the 23 and 25, the legs came back a bit, and I scraped up enough juice and aggression to go clear over the top with 2 young, strong guys.  We relayed each other down the final eight of so miles of 40mph descent  back to Cold Spring, picking off several more guys who'd come off the front groups.

Survival expert Tony T. (right) in his quest for shelter,
and a pulse rate under 150.

I only had a 13, those two big guys had 12's and 11's.   I didn't really need the big gear though... 'ol Fast Eddy still can fan the legs when there's a banner coming up...and the big climbs are over!  

We sprinted the last 200m, for fun.  One of them pipped me by half a wheel.   And goodnight Irene...I was done!   I didn't even have enough left to pedal up the small rise past the finish banner, pulling over immediately instead.    Pulse?  It hit 190 max.   A new record in the past 5 years for me.  

Did as much as I could, which wasn't much really.  4 hours 6 minutes.   And a nice, even, 100th place overall,  23rd place in my 50-54 age category, exactly at the 50% mark.    Sunday, I was the median man.   Eddy Average.

Tony's still smiling cause it was easier
than climbing El Capitan.

This event was harder than I thought it would be... Ex-US Pro Champion John Eustice put together a really selective course.    Thanks John, for putting together a great event.   The fondo format is perfect for old guys like me.    And the perfect season kickoff.

Dr. Brad came in a few minutes after me, doing a great ride on even less mileage than I've put in this year.  And despite a bout of bronchitis only a week ago, Tony T.  gutted his way though the day to finish a ride he really had no business attempting based on total preparation and recent climbing form.  He got through by patient discipline - keeping his pulse under control and persistence learned from years of mountaineering climbing some of the worlds toughest approaches.  

I was happy to see my old pal Jack Gregory qualify for Italy.   And see that Mike Neel qualfied in the 60+ class.

Go over there and tear all their legs off Mike.   I'll be rooting for ya.  

We're singin' Danny Boy...

After being close to a terrible week in and around Boston, the news from Liege Bastogne Liege Sunday comes to a lot of us around here as a welcome treat!

As my greater-Boston expat-paddy mobile phone and email network buzzed with the news from Liege yesterday morning, a certain subject came up.   So let's put any lingering doubt to bed right now:

Dan Martin is Irish.

I know sure, he may have grown up in Liverpool, have a dad with a UK passport, and not that much of a brogue, but bah... technicalities jongen.   The Irish Diaspora has ruled geography a mere technicality.   As the Irish constitution states:

"The Irish nation cherishes its special affinity with people of Irish ancestry living abroad who share its cultural identity and heritage."   

And like that old joke says, 'an Irishman? That's a man who gets more Irish the further he gets from Ireland.'   

Girona?  Liverpool?  Liege?  Nice?  Vilvoorde?  Boston?   No matter.    Just give him the test.

Can he put away a pint?  Does he have a sense of humor?   Will he try to sing the songs?   Can he understand any of the lingo in the video below?  

Yer man's alright then.     

I might not know much.  But I can attest with 100% certainty and life experience that Irishness is not a matter of birthplace, residence geography or passport.   

It's a matter of culture.   

And it goes without saying, that if Stephen Roche's sister is your ma, well then, you're in.   End of story.         

So we're claiming this one cafesupporters.  Revelling in it actually.      

Danny Boy's death strike past Purito in gritty Ans yesterday scored one for all those lean, scrappy, aspirin skinned, skinny boys out there around the world.  For boys as predisposed to endurance sports as they are to drink, craic, and confrontations both verbal and physical.    

The glory days of the late 80's were way too long ago.   It's been over two decades since Sean Kelly executed a  similarly clinical strike to take Milan San Remo, bridging up to Moreno Argentin, and pouncing past at just at the right time.   Today, an Irishman is again at the top of a monument of world cycling.

It capped a great week for the Irish I think.  Admittedly a week of mixed emotions around here, when our beloved, and still very Irish City of Boston got basically shut down by two Islamist terrorist idiots who foolishly miscalculated, and messed with the wrong town.   What were they thinking?   Can you imagine a city, chock full of Irish cops, all fired up and bent on ferreting them out?   

Guess they never saw The Departed.               

Sean Kelly's commentary on Eurosport Sunday as he watched Martin ride the final few meters. put an exclamation point on the week.  While his verbose British counterpart sucked all the air out of the booth with overly excited commentary, Sean just contributed one word.  A single emphatic syllable that expressed and symbolized a helluva lot more than it said....  

"YESSS!!!"

With big shite-eating grin,  I heard the partisan delight of very same Sean Kelly who came over and rode with us here in Boston, back in 1995.   Sean Kelly himself, who helped event organizers Paul and Alan McCormack, and a small group of us close Boston's Purple Shamrock Pub, hours after his Saturday evening talk in Fanueil Hall to Boston's cycling community.   Good craic that night.  

I'm quite sure Sean liked Boston every bit as much as Boston liked him.

After the L-B-L victory lap ride:  The Commander, Dr. Brad, Tony T., Raph and Nick.   

Yesterday afternoon, a group of our cafe conscripts got out and took a 'victory lap' for two and a half hours.   

While Raphael wore his Garmin jersey in fitting tribute to the events of the day, the rest of us were showing off our new Giordana 2013 FlandriaCafe team kit.    

A lot of the ride talk was naturally about L-B-L.   Remembering Tyler's win there in 2003.  But as the ride went on, talk would swing back to what happened in Boston during the week.   Relieved things were back to normal, but sober enough to realize that in future, 'normal' might mean experiencing more of these kinds of terror attacks on these shores.     

Over a cup of tea tonight, my pal Paul McCormack told my family and I about the time he, his brothers and father narrowly missed being victims of a terrorist bombing outside his dad's business in Dublin back in the 1970's.  They missed a blast that killed 26 people by a mere 10 minutes by for some unusual reason that day 'closing up early.'  Frightening. 

  

Paul had swung by the house to pick up his FlandriaCafe team clothing.   He'll be wearing our red guard kit in the Race the Ras next month, going back home to Ireland from Boston to help raise funds for the National Brest Cancer Research Institute.    He'll be riding every stage of the Ras with cyclosportive riders, two hours before the main race.    Wish I could go with him sounds like a great event.

'The men of the Ras.'   Dan Martin's uncle Stephen once famously joked in 1987 after he'd matched the Giro-Tour-Worlds triple crown of Eddy Merckx, "yeah but Eddy.. you never won the Ras!"  Stephen had indeed won the Ras Tailteann - Ireland's national tour - in 1979.  And Paul McCormack went one better, winning it twice in a row, in 1987 and 1988.    Those were the glory days for Irish cycling.   

Nice to see Dan Martin leading a charge to bring them back.       

The Deer Hunter: A warrior's Battenkill tale.

Had to miss Tour of Battenkill this year.    Other commitments. Not enough training anyway.  Blah blah blah...no whining.  And enough about me.   Way better we talk about the guys who were there.  

One warrior's tale in particular..

Battenkill Full Time Score:  Trojan warrior 1 - Whitetail deer 0.

Our Flandria Cafe-Bikeworks-Flandria Master's team is lucky to have our own 'Spartacus':  Jay Trojan:   Jay's got a great 'warrior' surname that's only matched by his toughness and aggression on the bike.

Jay drove out to America's 'spring classic'  in Cambridge NY to fly the Flandria Cafe flag.  He had designs on a class win... and the form to pull it off!    He was already strong in January, trained hard through all the cold this tough winter.  And got stronger through the spring.   Intervals.   Leading up the northern RI climbs on tough group weekend rides.  Lean, ripped, flying.

Better he tells you his tale...    (Disclaimer jongens:  Don't try this at home!!)

"Why can’t I have a race without a story? BATTENKILL: Started the day totally stress free, carbed up, well hydrated, confident and just really peaceful and calm."

 "So this year I line up in the front row, ride easy for a few miles and no one wants to lead until we take a left to the covered bridge. Then we get moving and my chain comes off out of nowhere. Like in cross, I move my derailleur and get it back on, maybe 3 seconds of working it, too long I guess because one guy decides to pass me on the right (I’m already all the way over) he hits the soft shoulder, panics, loses control and comes back at me and we both go down. Doing about 20 MPH very (luckily) for me no one hits me or runs over my bike."

"Got scraped up and a very sore left side hip, but I hop right up looking back to avoid any other collision."

"They say that a deer smiles at every man...
all a man can do is smile back"  
Spartacus Trojan Maximus.  4/15/2013

"Everyone goes by clear. I see my water bottle in the road, grab it, pick my bike up put the chain on and begin the chase. I can’t believe what just happened - ironically a half mile earlier than last year’s upset. "

"Ohhh I’m MAD, and I realize I don’t have my cell phone any longer nor do I have my prescription sunglasses and my little clip on mirror also gone but I chase and chase. I’m gassed and now realizing this might be another let down but I refuse, more anger comes and I just keep thinking go just a little harder than the front guy and I’ll catch them.... and I did it!! I latched onto the back just before the Juniper Swamp hill, with enough time to recover a little. My feelings are hurt, my side hurts my hand hurts, I’m scraped up... but I’m back with them.
"But that's not all...would you believe at about 25 to 30 miles in, I’m sitting in towards the back, enjoying the slipstreams as we ride along a wooded area on a dirt section.  Suddenly, we see 2 deer on our left, clearly spooked by all the bikes going by.   Now they're running with us, about 10 yards in the woods.  And I just knew."

"Sure enough it happened it what seemed like slow motion..and yet so fast.  The guys were calling out as I did.. “DEER!!”... just like if it were glass in the road or a pot-hole."

"I just knew it was me, and sure enough as it hopped along same speed as us (slight incline 14 to 17mph luckily) it made a cut and a second hop and BAM!!... Direct hit!"

"I don’t know how I didn’t get knocked out.  I have no idea how I went down, but man, it HURT! I think it was head to head and body to body because I thought my jaw was broken, very similar to being sucker punched. Lip all cut inside, swollen face and now my right side hip and body really hurts. No idea where the deer went. And off goes the pack again, disappearing up the road."

This is the last thing Jay saw before impact...  (cafe studio re-creation - simulation)

"By now I’m ready to throw my bike in the ditch and wait for the wheel vehicle but I pick it up and get chasing again. The second time it was easier. So much pain on both sides now, I don’t think about the legs or breathing much."

"As I finally catch back on, some of the guys that witnessed the deer crash were amazed. Rightly so, because now they believe I’m a damn warrior too!"

"Once I got back on I moved up to the front and stayed tucked in and stayed with them on all the hills. More luck is coming but this time it’s not so good, we made it to paved roads and with only 3 miles to go a second group catches us with different numbers, and so they proceed to pass but can’t...or don’t?"

"They stayed with us and now we ride in with this massive group of 30 or so fighting for position. Well that’s when my warrior mentality evaporated. I was hurting and just could not fight, I just could not chance going down again and had to settle for holding my line and watched a few guys sneak past on the left just before the line. Who cares at that point right?"

"I’m fine.  They found my phone so you see, all in all I was very lucky. The phone gets mailed out tomorrow. There were plenty of crashes much worse in other groups; the guy that hit me broke his collar bone, so I guess i did have good luck... maybe in some weird way?"

"Who gets hit by a deer? How did no one else get taken out by it or by me and my bike? The collision happened so fast, I never had a second to react. I have no idea how I landed, just WHAM...found myself on the ground and with my jaw and side hurting."

"I drove home with an ice pack on each side tight to my hips, held in place by my seat belt. What a beating! The funny part is, the ride or race itself doesn’t seem to have taken much of a toll."

"One other funny thing...I had 2 gu pacs on my right side but I guess they popped in the first crash so later in the race when I reached back for some fuel my glove practically stayed in the pouch. It almost would not let go of my glove? What the hell! So I just chewed on the finger tips of my gloves! 

(hahaha.. I made up “the chewing part.” The GU packs did pop though. What a mess!!)"

Now THAT, cafesupporters, is a flahute.    Zeker!

I'm predicting Jay is going to slay a lot of other gladiators at Quabbin road race.   Maximus style.   

Flahute's thoughts on 2013 Classics...

Hoi jongens!

I'm calling 2013 a better than average spring classics season so far.    It's showed that despite attempts to modernize pro cycling (whatever that means) 'old time cycling' is still alive and well.

It was a 'spring'  (I use the term loosely), when well laid plans were laid waste by cycling's gods of tradition.   Somewhere up there, Henri Desgrange, Karel Van Wijendale and a bunch of old-school scammers who built the sport were pulling levers behind the scene, unleashing the cold and precipitation that reminded us all that the spring classics remain timeless tests of hardness,  resistant to the progressive forces of modernization that conspire to take all the unpredictability out of the proceedings.

After a few warm up races in a Disneyesque, warm desert moonscape - with riders enjoying luxury hotels before sub-baked races over pristine and empty roads -  tradition kicked modernization's behind.  The weather back in cycling's homeland provided a cold reality slap to a carbon equipped, electronically controlled, scientifically prepared peloton - reminding us that 'the stuff' doesn't change the essence of the sport:  It's still man-to-man warfare in the harshest conditions.

Here's Flahute's thoughts on what we've all enjoyed so for.


1.   A horse of a different color:  It kicked off with a son of a Moser riding into the Palio.  Another winning horse, sired from champion stock.   The symbolism was there to kick it off in perhaps the most gladatorial, tradtional setting in cycling.  Un vero Moser, the Italian headlines said.   Certo! 

The Strade Bianche race may not have the century old origins of the other classics.   But it's got all the essential, classic ingredients that some much older events have forsaken to their eventual detriment:  Old rough roads,  selective parcours,  classical terrain, and an classically old-world finish venue.

Milan San Remo 1910.

2.   L'Inverno in Primavera!   Some thought the white-out on the Turchino during Milan San Remo was excessive.   Some  - even Tommeke - voted with their feet, saying it was 'no longer cycling'.  

Well, I submit that what we saw on the road to the Turchino was the essence of cycling.  A common thread that's connected champions across the centuries:  Battling against impossible weather.

There's no energy drink, no electronic gadget, no carbon fiber gear that makes the cold and wet any more bearable.   Our modern clothing helps... but just a little.

For the many heroes who just got on with the job that day, they treated a jaded, drug-news weary fan base to a 1910 throwback  when a blizzard saw only four of the seventy starters reach the finish in San Remo.   And to the one even further back, in 1908:  The 'coming out party' of the original 'Lion of Flanders', Cyrille van Hauwaert, who bulldogged an iron bike through a snowstorm to win the Classicissima.

MSR 2013.  Some things thankfully remain the same.   

Over a century later, and the scenario was the same.

The great cycling races, getting dumped on by mother nature.   They're the ones that get remembered.   Monte Bondone 1956.   Liege in 1957, and 1980.   Tre Cime Lavaredo 1968.  Gavia 1988.    All dates and places still written about, talked about, remembered and replayed in close to the same reverential manner as people - most of whom admittedly long gone now - would speak of Borodino 1812, Waterloo 1815 or Verdun 1916.   Battles all.

Those battles that were bicycle races stick in the memory for generations, immortalizing those that completed them.  Providing the fuel for years and years of tales handed down in cafes, clubhouses and training rides.

Merckx battled both snow and
steeps on the Tre Cime Lavaredo, 1968 Giro d'Italia

They're remembered because they're battles.   Underneath modern technology, the classics are still hand-to-hand combat.   There's always unpredictability.  And casualties, unfortunately, are an essential ingredient.  

Those races are never won without great demonstrations of heroism, will and character.   They're not simply won by 'talent' or preparation.  Or boring linear tests of speed or strength.    First and foremost they remain timeless tests of will, character and fortitude.   Of endurance.    Ernest Shackleton style endurance.

I'm a little surprised that of all people, Tommeke didn't seem to get that on the Turchino.

Go directly to Hotel Doha.  Do not pass Go.   Do not collect 200 euros.

3.   De Ronde van Oudenaarde?   The Ronde on Easter Sunday ought to be more than a watt-contest  the 3rd time up Paterberg.   The race seemed to have taken on the rhythm of a Criterium.  A lot of waiting.    

Despite that, it was a good race in the end.   A side by side drag race up the final climb, where Spartacus showed his power and greatness. Sagan his fallible humanity.   Like a wrist wrestling match.

It may have been a great end for sure, but it wasn't De Ronde.  Too many together too close to the finish for one think.   A lot of 'waiting.'  Looked that way anyhow.    No Stijn DeVolder style escape.  Not that it wasn't hard mind ye, just that it was different.  Like an NBA basketball game, it felt like you only needed to see the finale.

The highly intelligent and serious folks at Flanders Classics ought to configure a route that dispenses with the finish over three loops, and takes in the Muur... if not for the finale, then at least at some point.   One big loop again.   Lots of bergs.   A Ronde van Vlaanderen.

In fairness, some of their changes have made the race more spectator friendly... And Oudenaarde is the heart of Flanders, so finish it there.

Just give us back De Muur.  Please.

3.  Saga Sagan:   What you've gotta love about Peter Sagan, is that he's human.  And the personification of 'shrug it off' persistence.  And therein lies his appeal, and greatness.

Defining image:  A suffering Sagan doing the 'paperboy' up that killer 25%+ climb in the penultimate stage, trying to stick with the flyweights.

You know what that's like.  You've all been there.

Just when you figured the kid was licking his voracious chops, and about to win San Remo a-la-Eddy 1966, and kicking off all kinds of predictable, inevitable and droll "The next Merckx"comparisons... or cannibal prefixes...

He fumbled the ball.  

But then he storms right back to win Gent-Wevelgem, riding away in a finale show of strength that proves this kid is a lot more than a sprinter.    And the big favorite for De Ronde.  Pressure.

With a frite-eating world watching, he just misses in Flanders.   2nd!   So what does he do?  He clowns around on the podium, fake-pinching a podium girl's derriere Benny Hill-style in an schoolboy humor attempt to get a laugh out of the photographers.  An act that went viral and set off a ridiculous malestrom of worldwide PC furor, which in turn set into motion the inevitable, pathetic Cannondale PR damage control machine.   A force so strong, it got Peter to go on-camera in English rather than his more comfortable ligua italiano for a heartfelt eastern bloc apology.

For that, he should have come on camera in Steve Martin/Dan Akroyd "Wild and Crazy Guy" costume.   Maybe people would have lightened up a bit and cut him some slack.

The problem with Political Correctness - and those who promote it - is that all sense of perspective, not to mention any sense of humor -gets tossed out the window.  

PC is fascism in disguise jongens.   Someday the great unwashed will wake up and realize it after it's too late.   It's the same logic that sees stupid people try to ban dodgeball from the playground, and suspend a 5 year old from school for pointing his finger like a gun.  But I digress...

The kid in green bounces back to out drag race Phil Gil to win Fleche Brabanconne.   And boyishly gives flowers to Maja this time - instead of a pinch.    

Amstel Gold tomorrow?     Well,  it's his to lose.   I'd say it's 50/50 that he might just do that.  Because he's human.

4.   Marginal gains?    Cue trombones for team SKY.   It's all been written about elsewhere, so I won't monday morning QB.    But I'll betcha the Brits are already micro-analyzing the spring season, and making adjustments for their 2014 assault.

As much as I think their whole scientific approach is a soul-deadening pax on road cycling, have no doubt - team SKY will be an over-financed disproportionate force in future spring classics.

Ian Stannard and Geraint Thomas are two of the most underrated riders in world cycling.   Stannard was just magnificent in San Remo - the moral winner in my book - what a ballsy ride!    You can see a lot of Sean Yates in that big lad.  

5.   Spartacus' greatest:  On to Paris Roubaix 2013 -- Spartacus greatest win.

After chasing back to the front, he was on the ropes.   But he cannily pulled off a 'rope-a-dope' finale with Sepp Vanmarcke that Muhammad Ali himself couldn't have done any better.  It was close though, and Cancellara needed all the tools in his swiss army knife to pull this one out of the bag.

He bluffed with an attack.  Then amazingly still got the Belgian kid to take some pulls.  And cajoled him into leading out the sprint on the track.    As Henri Desgranges would have said, Cancellara won that coveted third stone for his sauna with la tete et les jambes.

Watching it, all I could think of was to compare it to the 2nd Paris Roubaix victory of Rik Van Steenbergen:  A similar 2-up sprint over Fausto Coppi, way back in 1952.

In both cases, a big powerful champion found himself stranded behind the lead group, yet chased back solo... and once at the front, despite being on the ropes, dug super deep to pull out a second victory in Roubaix.   Back in 1952, Rik I was closer to the end of his career.    Some in the media were ready to say he was finished - just like some were writing off Cancellara after Sagan and Moser beat him in Strade Bianche this year.    He missed the move and was stuck well behind Coppi and Kubler, and... well let him tell the story*:

"I don't know what happened but suddenly I told myself that if I didn't try to chase him, if I let myself be caught, they'd all say that Coppi had me beaten, that I wasn't as good as him.   He beat me in the 1950 Paris Roubaix.  He dominated the Fleche Wallone two years earlier, and all our last clashes had clearly been in his favour.   People were beginning to say that he was much better than I.  I realized in a flash that this final stretch of Paris Roubaix was my last chance to confound the critics and show them that I was in fact better than Coppi."

"It was sheer madness, like a piece of bluff in poker, to think that I could catch up to the four leaders all by myself - they were well ahead and pedalling at over 40 km/hr (25 mph).  It was ridiculous.  I was all alone, but I really wanted to do something.  I told myslelf it would be better to die on the road than to admit that Coppi was the better man and slip back into the anonymity of the pack.   I felt slightly better after I'd been chasing them for ten minutes when I saw four Belgian journalists waiting by the roadside taking a time check - they looked stupified at my comeback.   A bit later I saw press and official cars ahead, and I knew the leaders would be just out in front.   Another 200 or 300 meters and I passed Baldassari who had been dropped by them, and then Jacques Dupont punctured.   That only left Coppi and Kubler.  A couple of kilometers further on - I'd been chasing for about ten kilometers - I caught Fausto and Ferdi.   A bit further on Kubler, who was completely done in, gave up, and I was alone with Fausto Coppi. "

"He looked daggers at me.  A look full of resentment..   The same look he gave me in Copenhagen in the 1949 World Championship when he realized he could not shake me off.   So a 'fight to the death' began between us, over the last few kilometers of hell.  Coppi tried to break away several times.   I suddenly felt terribly weak.  Staging that comeback all alone had really knocked me out, and I was terribly afraid that I'd have to quit.   But I clung grimly to his rear wheel and he could not gain so much as a meter.  Before we raced into the velodrome, Coppi had already given up any idea of winning.  He knew that when it came to the sprint I was bound to beat him, and in fact I had no difficulty in streaking three lengths ahead of him in the home straight."

"That was definitely one of the greatest wins in my career.   And it gave me and my manager Antonin Magne more pleasure than any of the others.   I collapsed onto the track.   I was 'dead', unrecognizable.  Magne promptly sent for a bottle of milk.   I swallowed it down in one go and then was sick on the track before doing my lap of honour.  I was in a pitiful state, but I'd done what really mattered -- I'd won Paris Roubaix for the second time, and more important, I'd caught Coppi and beaten him."  

6.  The top performance of the classics?    No doubt so far:  The cobble goes to Belgian impressionist Jonathan Bockstael, whose version of Spartacus Ronde-winning press conference is simply hilarious.

He was also on Belgium's Een TV's  Cafe Corsari just after Paris Roubaix, with another funny parody spoofing a supposed 'deal' between Fabian and Sepp in the finale of Paris Roubaix.

Check out this older clip of him in the supporterscafe of the late Frank Vandenbroucke, doing -  among others - VDB himself, Tom Boonen, Patrick Lefevere, Michel Wuyts, and some football players.   Funny stuff.

Enjoy Amstel Gold tomorrow cafesupporters.  And get out for a ride!

Photo of the day: A bulldog of flanders...

Today I had a 2 week-old (brand new) laptop computer crash, and die.   I spent too many hours at Best Buy getting a replacement, instead of working.   Forget about riding... lost training day today.  I should be enjoying this new Macbook.   I just see it as dollars that could have bought that power meter...

Despite the loss of productivity and aggravation dealing with chain stores and remote corporations whose idea of customer service is based on the 'greater fool theory' (e.g. when something goes wrong, get someone who can barely speak English to try to charge you as much as possible, and only retreat when faced with an almightly indignant rant), I can console myself that my day was not as painful as that of Walter Godefroot in this shot of him in full cry during his victorious ride in Paris Roubaix.  

I was definitely this tenacious locking horns at Best Buy today.   Walter would have approved.  Probably would have thrown in a few expletives to back me up.

Now, I'm catching up on work.   Miles to go before I sleep.   Miles to go to Roubaix.  

Can't think of the end.  Just put yer head down and keep going.

De Ronde Cyclo

Three of our Flandria Cafe guys are currently in Brugge getting ready for tomorrow's Ronde van Vlaanderen voor Wielertoeristen.

Maarten, Tom and Kurt are signed up for the full enchilada - the full distance version - a whopping 259km.

No doubt they're harder men than I.   Back in 2005, Dr. Brad, Marc and I decided that for working stiffs, 140k with a heavy dose of Flemish Ardennes bergs was plenty.   Each of those guys works a full week, squeezes in rides around family obligations, and still manages to eat up the km.   This year, doing it all in a tough winter in these parts.

With cyclingrevaled.com's Barry 'the bullet' Boyce.

Their weekends in prep have been going to early season group Sunday rides, only meeting 2-3 hours before and doing the same ride in advance before doing it again with a group trying to tear their legs off.    As i write this, it's 1pm in Flanders and they're likely in the Flemish ardennes battling away.

I did it in 2005, and it was a great event.  Rain was on and off in the AM, but it got nice at the end.   It was an incredible experience... hope to do it again some year soon!   Here's some old photos that bring back memories of a great trip that year.

Marc was as tired as he was Flanders colors compliant.

Dr. Brad living the hypocratic oath...
"No, I'm not an orthopedic surgeon, but I did stay
in a Holiday Inn express last night"

Good luck over there boys!

Dr. Brad practices his flemish atop the Bosberg.

Ronde over.   Where's the Bier?  

Belgian toothpaste before the power washing.

Holy Thursday!

And speaking of winter weather in spring jongens...here's some great photos of the 1975 Ghent-Wevelgem.   A little old school throwback to whet your appetite for cycling's holy week.

It was a year very likely before your time - almost 40 years ago.  To me it seems like yesterday though.  Back when racing in wool through winter was just what was done.   No fuss.  

In the end this one was a sprint of greats.   With Freddy Maertens winning the sprint battle in true flahute weather.   From a break of 100% 'flandrien hardmen' (It's safe to include Francesco Moser in that category I'd say!)

The faces say it all.  

From left:  Gerben Karstens (4th) and Frans Verbeeck (2nd) are so close.   Rik Van Linden (3rd), Marc DeMeyer (5th) and Andre Dierickx (7th) are hidden behind Freddy Maertens.   The '74 World Champion Eddy Merckx on the far right (6th) looks none too happy.  A young Francesco Moser (8th) and Belgian Champion Roger Swerts (9th) are at the back.   Check out the video of the sprint here.

 And how about riding down the Kemmelberg in the snow!  Check out that road.  

If those conditions happened this year, they'd probably have cancelled the race.   Not carbon rim compliant. I may be wrong, but I don't think there was the same general hand-wringing about the weather by the media, organizers and riders back in 1975.   No whining about the cold, snow and rain with these guys.  

Flahute's law:  The amount of rider whinging about bad weather is inversely proportional to the availablity and abundance of modern winter cycling thermal-insulating-high-tech apparel.

Every guy in that break was a champion.   Michel Pollentier is in this picture too, in the hat between Maertens and Moser.  

Those were the days, eh!    Hope we get to enjoy a similar showdown Sunday with a slugfest between Boonen, Cancellara, Sagan, and company.

Photo of the day: Sneeuw and souplesse.

"The winter that wouldn't leave."   

End of March, and today finally felt like 'spring' rather than winter.  Temperature edging up toward 50 degrees F.    Still winter jacket, shoe covers, thermal gloves, covered ears and throat.  Cold wind.  But the sun was fighting through, and I snuck away from the keyboard for a solid 3 hours.  1 hour of it was all hills.

Searching for souplesse, forcing myself to gear down and spin it up:   Climbing correctly, not forcing it up with brute strength and ignorance.   Seeking that light feeling when you're just spinning up and defying gravity.  It's something you can't force.  You just have to relax, back off and turn the legs, and the rhythm comes.   And when it arrives, you know you're on your way.  

Snow is gone finally though...around these parts anyway.   Been a tough winter, but not that bad really.

 As a barrier to cycling, cold and snow is overrated.   Not opinion, fact.  

This photo of Charly Gaul in the Giro speaks to that.  Check out the guy shoveling the path!  And check out the other dude -  looking stylish in knickers, sweater and giant sunglasses.  A look that needs to come back, methinks.   I know, I'm probably in a minority.   Tant pis!

Charly spinning by, concentrated, souplesse personified. Hands light on the bend of the bars, twiddling a 90+ plus rhythm.    No grunting, no pulling.  When in doubt, lower the gear and just rev it faster.

Snow?  So what.  The race goes on.

I think somebody up there has been looking down. and decided that with last year's doping annus terriblus cycling needed something real to bring it back to what really matters.

Doping doesn't help resist the cold jongen.  Just hardness does.  And it's been a 'spring' full of it...Cold that is.   A Milan San Remo like the retreat from Moscow.   Gent-Wevelgem like Ice Station Zebra.  

And weather.com has snow showers in the forecast for Oudenaarde this 'Good Friday'.

Somewhere up there, Charly Gaul is smiling.  

What about Andy

photo courtesy  www.wort.lu

Saw with some sadness yesterday the news from Tirreno Adriatico that Andy Schleck is still in his long tunnel.    Nice that his CYA oriented team is covering it's butt, feeling the need to make public statements insinuating the kid has mental problems.

As if that's what he needs right now.  

It's bad enough the kid takes a lot of crap in the blogosphere, and in the mainstream media.   But when your own team of polo shirt wearing scientists feel the need to explain you.   Good God, where have the great Direttore gone?    Humans, like Alfredo Martini, Fiorenzo Magni, or Luciano Pezzi - who made a name resurrecting and bringing back to glory several champions who'd been wrecked and written off.

It's all too much like kicking a puppy if you ask me.  OK, so Andy boy didn't grow up as a crusty black faced miner with coal under his fingernails, but as the middle class son of comfortable means in one of Europe's most affluent principalities.   Doesn't mean he's not a warrior.   That he didn't finish on the podium of several grand tours with his own legs and heart.  Or attack solo to win L-B-L.   So quick to write him off.   He's just going through some form stuff right now.  

That's the problem with today's hyper-digi-society.  Every move, 24-7 is out there, under the microscope.   Sure, the Schleck boys reaped and surfed the benefits of all that image maker bs for years.   But now he's experiencing how digi-stardom can be a fickle mistress when the legs aren't turning like you expect them to.  

It's not just the media part - it goes to the training part too.   I'm sure they've got that kid wired with all kinds of data.   A polo shirted NASA team suffering over TSS spreadsheets in labs.   Like Drago in Rocky, a team of accomplished scientists monitoring his every watt, every minute.    Who are now throwing their hands up because they can't 'explain' it with data.

But he's not a machine.  He's human.

Hey, I'm no expert in training, but pretty good at observation and deductive reasoning.   Maybe that's the problem - he's not a machine.  Maybe they should just chill out, let him train and live without the distractions and pressure for awhile.   All antico.   He'll come round.

Maybe the polo shirted scientists are the problem.  Maybe he needs a wise old senator like Fiorenzo Magni to guide him how to get out of the funk.  Il Leone would just put an arm around his shoulder and say...

"Pane e polvere" 

(How did you train Fiorenzo?) 

"Pane e polvere.  (Bread and dust)  That means countless kilometers…400 km per week.  All the time.  Rain, wind, hail, it didn't matter."

Pane e Polvere Quote & Photo:
http://www.bdc-forum.it/intervista-a-fiorenzo-magni-3

"You see this?" (famous photo of a breakaway in 1951 Giro of Magni with Coppi, Bartali, Kubler, Koblet, VanSteenbergen, and Bobet). 

"This is me.  How could you believe I could stay behind these people?   Pane e Polvere.   And willpower.  With the will you can do everything.   Get busy.   I can’t stand anyone who tells me 'I’ll do it tomorrow' ”

So go get busy Andy.

Go somewhere warm.  Or not so warm, maybe that's better.   Unplug from the Radio-Schleck entourage for a few weeks.   No texting and tweeting.   Unplug the SRM.  And just ride your bike like you did when you started.   For hours and hours.   And hours.    And when you're done, eat a little and sleep a lot.  Then get up and do it again.  Repeat.

And when you're so tired of training you're ready to break the bike in half.   You'll be ready.  

Of course, it's not so easy to do these days, is it.   Alfredo Martini in an excerpt from an interview understands why.

"(back in my time) it was easier for an athlete to respect the rules, because there were fewer attractions, less 'benesessre'. I would say instead that we ought to applaud those kids who ride the Giro, Tour and Vuelta today because they really have to abandon something to do it.   In our time, if young guys went to bed at nine o'clock in the evening it was also considered a bit of a 'defect', but you could do it without problems back then, because there were fewer distractions." 

"Today, however, they all have the car in the garage, five TVs in the house, the girls waiting for them outside the door of the house, etc.. Etc.., All things counter-productive in comparison to what it meant to the racer once."

"Before it was easier, it is not true that they were better than now, it's simply because they had another situation. The guys back then had fewer distractions from consumer society. Things that, inevitably, today pull the athlete away from those goals he wants to achieve." 

"Contrary to what you might think, we were not better back then, but in winter we recuperated much better because at eight in the evening we were in bed - not because we thought that we were doing the right thing, but simply because we did not have radio, tv and it was very cold."

"Back then, it was easier to be a pro cyclist. Today, it is much more difficult to do, that's why riders are applauded today more than yesterday, and that's why people gather in a hundred thousand on top of the Zoncolan doing 20km walk to see the runners pass. "

Time tested wisdom and perspective, from two great senatori.   

Heed Martini's perspective.  Cut the 24-7 wireless connection.  

And cut the kid some slack.