Photo of the day: Joop, Francoise, and a Derny.

Joop Zoetemelk has just released a new Nederlands language autobiography, 'Open Boek', to celebrate his 65th birthday this coming Saturday. The book's made big news over in de plaatland because of it contains some sensational personal revelations by this champion who was ironically criticized during his long career for being less than sensational.

Question of the day:  Does your significant other motorpace you?   No?  Didn't think so.
Here, Joop Zoetemelk's wife Francoise handles a derny like a pro.   (Photo from Motel de Jong)

Joop appeared Friday night on the TV show Motel DeJong (video here) - the show of Netherland's top TV journalist Wilfried DeJong-  to promote this magnum opus volume that looks like it weighs as much as a Paris-Roubaix Pave-stone trophy.   Cool book.

For those of you who don't remember him.  Joop is the Netherlands' greatest cyclist ever.  Born and raised near Leiden, he trained to be a carpenter dreaming of being a top speed skater in the elfstedentocht (eleven cities) race.  He started cycling to stay in shape because the canals didn't freeze one winter.

As an Amateur, he worked his way into the elite Amstel Bier squad, and was 1968 Olympic 100k TTT gold medalist before going on to win the '69 Tour de L'Avenir.  He turned pro in '70, and was 2nd in the Tour behind Eddy Merckx, right out of the blocks.   (His suffer to stay with Merckx strategy prompted that old lame joke:  "Why does Joop never get a suntan?  Because he's always in Merckx shadow."  Totally lame.   He, and VanImpe were the only ones who could stay with Merckx.

Despite a near fatal crash in the Midi Libre in '74, Joop went though rest of the seventies as 'eternal second' in the Tour de France (five times he was 2nd behind Merckx, Van Impe and Hinault).   He finally won for himself, in 1980, riding for Peter Post's TI Raleigh Dutch Armada.   Joop was the leader but too nice to be captain on the road.  Post fixed that, he had Knetemann give the orders, and the rest all rode Joop to Paris in Jaune.   It was a Tour full of drama.

First, there was the weather.  It rained almost constantly.   There was an epic stage over the cobbles to Lille, where Hinault and Hennie Kuiper slayed the rest of the peloton.   It was an exploit that cost le Blaireau.  He developed tendonitis, and despite being race leader, his days were numbered.

Injured, Hinault was 5th in the big time trial.  The sharks were circling.  Then, in Pau, the night before the first mountain stage was due to start, Hinault abandoned while still in the yellow jersey.  The press went ballistic.

2nd overall, Joop would have been the new race leader.  But he refused to wear the yellow jersey until the next day's stage was over. (He'd done the same thing in '78, after Pollentier was kicked out at Alpe d'Huez.)

Then, Joop got taken down accidentally by his teammate Johan VandeVelde on the finish climb to Pra Loup in the Alps.

He came back from that mishap, and the next day lost a lot of time on the Galibier to '78 Giro winner Johan DeMuynck, Kuiper and a few others. Never panicked though.  He just doggedly fought back up to the front group.  Jersey saved, he sealed his victory with a win in the final TT over his rival and countryman Kuiper, the same finale scenario that had seen him lose the jersey to Hinault two years earlier.   And Holland had it's second tour winner.



 There hasn't been one since.  It will be 32 years this summer.  (And 36 years since the last Belgian, lowlands are due I think)

He wasn't done though.  At age 38 when he was getting ready to hang up the bike, he unexpectedly won the 1985 professional world road championship in Bassano.  Classic attack.  He just rode off with under 2k to to.  Argentin and LeMond played 'after you', and voila.  Joopie wins the regenboogtrui! 

I ask you cafesupporters, has there ever been a more deserving world title winner?    If so, post and let me know.    It that wasn't enough, for an encore, he won the Amstel Gold race in '87.    At age 41.

The 'sensation' in that his new book contains private revelations that his late wife Francoise (the daughter of a Tour de France executive) suffered for many years from alcoholism; and the detrimental effects it had on their family and their hotel business outside Paris in Meaux.  Not to mention the effect it had on Joop's cycling career, and frame of mind.  It's a sad story really.  More here if you're interested.

Joopie was always a favorite of mine.  And no, not just because he started his professional career with Briek Schotte at Flandria.  More because of his quiet tenacity, and modesty.  A quote from his old amateur JABO teammate Ton van der Valk in the book JOOP says a lot about where that tenacity came from.

"He always rode low gears, 48x20 I guess, but he could always follow us. The rest of us rode a 49x17. Those legs of his were like pistons, up and down very rapidly. He was really a 'souplesse-jongen'. Back then, I never thought he would be a good climber.  I only discovered his talent when we went to a race in Germany, near Hanover.  It was there that I saw that Joop was fantastic going uphill.."

He still goes up big climbs pretty good.  Check out this profile video of Joop doing a charity ride at Alpe d'Huez a few years ago.

Joop is living proof you don't need to be a loud, 'table-pounder' to be a great champion. Just 100% dedicated to Le Metier.   The new revelations this week make Joop's racing career - and his character and dedication - all that much more impressive.   

Benotto dreams...

Before the US National Road Race Championship, August 1982.

Hard to believe now jongens, but once upon a time I could sprint a bike through a crowd fast enough that somebody actually saw fit to sponsor me.

It's a faded memory I needed to keep drawing upon several times this past season...

Way back in 1981 I was recruited by Constantin Negulescu to join his Northstar Bicycle Club.  The ex-Romanian national team rider had put together an elite US Amateur team, sponsored by a slate of leading Italian cycling brands:  Bicicletas Benotto, Gipiemme components, Ambrosio rims, Hutchinson tires and IscaSella Saddles.   With the exception of Hutchinson (who still makes killer tubeless tires... raced this whole season on one pair), most are brands either dead, or largely missing in action.  But back in '82, well, it was the perfect gear.

"Good enough for Roger DeVlaeminck or Moser,
good enough for you!"

Talk about Christmas morning... I can still remember being in Connie's Malden, Mass. basement on that pre-season day as he distributed the fruits of his considerable multi-lingual, entreprenurial talents to a group of hollow-cheeked, wide-eyed and hungry aspirants.   Big boxes came open.   He gave me my gear first. An omen, as it was the last time I'd be 'first' on that team, one filled with some really talented riders.

My Benotto was a 54cm, Columbus steel-tubed Benotto frame.  Mine had diamond shaped chainstays, but some were oval.  It was Benotto team issue, not sure if my frame was made in Mexico or Italy.  It could have been made of stovepipe, it didn't matter one bit to me.   For you see, it was a team issue Benotto.

What did matter was that it was painted in the exact same team metallic gold, with the same blue oval logo decals.   A team issue Benotto.   A pro bike.

Belivacqua solos to Roubaix, 1951 on his
Benotto.

This was the same frame that you've probably seen featured in the opening title sequence of 'A Sunday in Hell':  Moser's bike getting prepped for the Race to Roubaix.   And it was the frame that he won his World Championship in Cristobal Venezuela on, in 1977.

The brand his Sanson teammate Ole Ritter rode in his Mexico hour record attempt in 'The Impossible Hour.'   

And it was the brand that Antonio Belivacqua rode to Win Paris-Roubaix in 1951.

De Vlaeminck, Braun, Mount and Argentin. They all rode Benotto.  

Same frame that Roger DeVlaeminck won Milan San Remo on in '78.   Same frame Francesco Moser soloed over the pave with to win his first Paris-Roubaix that same year, and later that year would threw over the line on the rainy Nurburgring to lose his rainbow jersey by inches to Gerrie Knetemann.   Same frame that my wieleridol Freddy Maertens rode on in the '80 SanGiacomo team.

Moser's Benotto nailed at the line,
Nurburgring Worlds, 1978

Same frame that smilin' George Mount rode in the big time San Giacomo and Sammontana-Benotto teams those same years, in the big professional show in Italy.  Had a poster of George on my bedroom wall.  And one of Moser too.   In that team,  George rode shotgun for leader Roberto Visentini, where his job was to help him over the climbs and be there to switch bikes in case he needed it.

My basement had a Benotto calendar featuring a young Sammontana rider - not well known at the time - named Moreno Argentin.  I used to look at it while cleaning that Benotto, the saddle and bars hanging from old sew up tires as a workstand, and think, "I'm 21, that kid's 21, and he's already on the pro squad.  Why not me too?"

It was a thought seeded by Signore Giacinto Benotto himself at the New York International cycle show earlier that year.  Connie introduced me to him at the booth.  He pointed to the Poster of Mount and said to me, "If you can ride like him, we'll bring you to Italy too".   When you're young, anything seems possible - even if it isn't.  A truth that only set in when I watched Argentin win the Worlds in Colorado in 1986.

Giacino Benotto, and his team issue Benotto, circa 1982.

An Italian bicycle brand founded in Torino in 1931 Benotto was founded by a 24 year old racer - that same Giacinto Benotto.    He moved some production to Mexico a few decades later, where the brand became one of the strongest there, and in Latin America.  A total of 11 world championship rainbows were won on Benotto.  Giancino passed away in 1990, but Benotto continues on today.  For more, check out their website.

Our sponsorship didn't end with a Benotto frame.  There was also a full Gipiemme grouppo, which was actually a mix of outsourced and relabeled components made by other manufacturers:  The same brakes that were also labeled Modolo or Mavic at the time; Simplex derailleurs that had really super retro-friction, never-slip down tube shifters.  Then there were two pair of Ambrosio dark-grey anodized 32 hole rims; a leather covered IscaSelle turbo look alike saddle, and a fistfull of Hutchinson tubular tires.

And then there was Benotto cellotape.  The non-slip candy colored plastic tape in a wild range of colors that was the rage in the pro peloton in the 80's.    For us you could pick any color you wanted, as long as it was blue.  You had to file the sharp flash off the matching plastic end plugs though, otherwise you'd slash your leg at some point and get blood all over.

This 3rd in Manchester, CT was one of the few podiums my
Benotto ever saw.  Must have been the 'no socks, no gloves' 

And then there was the 'kit': A blue lycra skinsuit for the crits
and time trials.  A white long sleeved wool team jersey with flocked lettering for allenamento.  Black long wool tights and a few pair of black lyrca shorts which all had BENOTTO embroidered in white down the sides, and a semi-perforated white short sleeve synthetic blend jersey which was great in hot road races in days when wool was still de-rigueur in summer.  A half dozen white cotton Benotto caps with rainbow stripe for training, and some thin white wool similarly-striped Benotto socks.   And to top it all off a white vinyl Benotto shoulder bag to put it all in.  The only things we were left on our own to supply were shoes, leather strap helmets and freewheels.

Professionally outfitted head to to toe, from there, as in the best Euro tradition, the rest was largely up to us.  That Benotto saw a lot of motorpacing miles, a lot of battles in all weathers and roads, and a lot of sweat. So much sweat, that by the end of the season, the paint was literally flaking off the tubes.   Not the best of paint.. but that didn't matter to me.  It was a team issue Benotto you see.

Moser in maillot jaune, on a Benotto in the 1975 Tour de France.
The most impeccable TT stylist ever.

It did matter to Connie though.  At the end of the season, we all returned our bikes with the same war weary, unsentimental resignation with which I imagine G.I.'s probably returned their M1's and helmets after VE day.  Later, I heard from a teammate through the grapevine that Constantin was (justifiably) complaining about the paint-stripped, oxidized condition I'd returned my bike in.

I admit, toward the end of the season, the care was getting less loving.  It was a bike after all, a tool.  And I was a guy who, well, when it came to 'profuse, corrosive sweating', was world champion material, no question about it.   Maybe the mystique had gone out of the bike, as on it I'd struggled to only a paltry handful of top 5 places, and no wins... a palmares far from the results needed to earn that berth in Italy.  Never mind maintain 'protected-sprinter' status on a squad that was continually searching for, and taking on more talented hopefuls in a rotating, rolling mind game that should have been the prototype for a reality TV show called 'Ciclismo Idol'.   It was every man for himself.    

Old school trick
(photo courtesy raydobbins.com)

Two teammates later told me about my D.S.' indignation over my frame's condition: "Bah..this Eddy...just look at how he brings his bike back to me?   Back in Romania, this would NEVER happen... we weren't spoiled like you Americans.  We appreciated and took care of our bikes.  Why, I even used to polish the spokes....every detail...yada yada.. why we knew enough to hammer a piece of wood up the steerer tube at the fork crown.  The broken roads might cause a failure, and the wood would keep it together.."


As he spoke, he flipped my rusty beat-up Benotto upside down... and lo and behold...discovered a piece of wood (it was an old broomhandle actually) that I'd jammed up the steerer tube as insurance the very day I put the Benotto together.   Yup, Belgian-bred old school baby - Gus Van Cauwenberghe had already taught this 'spoiled' 20 year old American le metier pretty darn well.   No eastern bloc flies on this flahute!

My teammates couldn't believe it, they about bust a gut holding it in, but didn't dare laugh until they told me the story later.  It may well qualify as the one and only time my direttore was left speechless in mid-tirade.

Ole Ritter was Benotto boy.

A year or so later, ambitions unrealized, I went back home where I belonged to my beloved CCB.  I met up with Constantin in Spain about a decade later where he'd emigrated and worked for the Shimano distributor.  In magical Castillian city of Segovia, on a sweltering July day I remember thanking him for his help and apolgizing for being such a young wise-ass.  We shared laughs and recalled old stories of those Benotto glory days over roast pig and gambas al ajillo and vino tinto at Meson Candido, under the ancient Roman Aqueduct.   A heckuva lot easier than being lined out at 30+ mph on that Benotto, in the wind, trying to stay with Steve Bauer and Davis Phinney.

With my ol' D.S. Constantin and Pilar in Segovia.

Nostalgia.  Miss old Constantin, hope he's doing well.  I still have Benotto dreams of those days.  Some center around an opening gap that I can't ever close no matter how hard I pull against blue plastic handlbars.  But in most, the pain has faded, and only fond memories remain.   Mostly they're of a really good guy who helped a lot of young riders like me, when there was little to nothing in it for him, other than a love of the sport, and a desire to create a great squadra.

Connie's team moved to other bike sponsors in following years. Batavus, and Colnago.  Benotto left the international Pro peloton by the early 90's, but the company still is prominent in Latin American cycling.
Constantin has his own bike brand now, available in Spain.  Check it out here.  I noticed in the photos there that Pedro Delgado is riding one.  Says a lot I think.

Happy Thanksgiving cafesupporters.   My best to your families, and eat some turkey (but not too much!)

Meanwhile, over in Arizona

Here at the flandria cafe, it's generally acknowledged that even the hardest of the hardmen need to escape the cold north Atlantic from time to time.  To ride in sunnier warmer climes.

"Hey, that guy looks strong, sign him up."
Izeren Doug, neo-stagaire onscript Brian,
and Brad, up at the crack of dawn.  Not a bier in sight.

After all, Rik Van Looy and the original red guard used to escape the flats around Antwerp for Lake Garda and Riviera winter training camps.  Freddy Maertens would go to Torremolinos in sunny Spain for a November break.   And current euro-wielerthrongs -from topsporter profis to wielertouristas alike -flock to Mallorca, or take up winter residence Monaco.  

But for our Dr. Brad, nothing - not outrageous airline baggage fees, late season barriers to keeping form, nor the non-participation of his plaatlander comrades (despite-continual-exhortations)  - nothing keeps him from his annual pre-Thanksgiving ritual-raid to Arizona.   Out there, it's a rendezvous with our cafe outlier, his faithful Lieutenant Shoeless Doug, and that season finale throwdown known as "El Tour de Tuscon."

Service Course 'chez Doug' .  
Carefully making sure nothing gets left behind.

111 miles of sun, dry heat, wind, and more than a bit of climbing.   And the several dry creek beds you need to cross en route provide some tangible flahute points ...but only if you ride over them.  I'll let the good doctor tell us about this year's edition in his own words...

"Overcast, with more wind than anticipated.  Our new South African neo-pro stagiere Brian - (who we had to pull in to reinforce out squad because certain 'so-called' flahutes who will remain unnamed here continually refuse to fly out with me for this major classic) -  stormed away from his wingman at mile 49 after the 2nd river bed to a fine 5:00.32.  

 ''the 'Bronical', the Windswept and the Bottleless"
Team Flandria is ready for that truly Burgundian 'post-Tour' feast.

"I struggled with 'bronichal exacerbation and lost contact with a mini-peloton at mile 94, but ducked into another group and rode in with a 5:06 'personal best' to use a triathlon term that I know is normally banned from this discourse"  (N.B. it was 5:09:17  according to the official timing  for 341st of 3169 Brad... Goed wedstrijd jongen!)


"Shoeless Doug left a bottle in the car but regrouped for a solid 5:38." 


Great riding guys!  

Speaking of great, Brad also pointed out that the great John Howard finished 17th overall, at age 64.  In a 4:35.   Pretty fast.

Age?  Just a number wielersupporters, just a number.

Herman Van Springel, and the spirit of 68.

Herman Van Springel and co-author Mark Uytterhoeven launch  '68'
Buy it here.

Herman Van Springel has just launched a new book about his career.  It's called '68'.

"Who?   Why '68?"  

OK jongen, just answer one of those analogy questions, the kind they put on the SAT test:
 
"Laurent Fignon" is to "1989"...as "Herman Van Springel" is to___?

A. "1968."

It was a year a lot like this year.  Unpopular wars, unrest around the world.  Students protesting in the streets.   Economic woes.  The music was better though...

And it was a summer when the Tour de France was lost in a heartbreaking final day time trial to Paris.  Just like Fignon  in '89, only that year, the yellow jersey wearer was a flahute named Herman VanSpringel, a man as soft spoken and modest as he was hard.

Wearing jaune, Herman lost the TT, and the Tour to Jan Janssen, Holland's first Tour winner , by 38 seconds.  At that time, it was the closest Tour finish ever.

Many would have been crushed by the loss.  But I particularly like that the Tour loss didn't seem to faze the unflappable VanSpringel one iota.   He shrugged it off, and laughs about it now.  Because 1968 was Van Springel's best year in a pro career that spanned 17 of them.  It was the year he won Het Volk, the Tour of Belgium, and the Giro di Lombardia.  And the year he was 2nd in Paris Roubaix, the Pro world road race championship, and the Grand Prix des Nations time trial.     Check out this good clip of him holding Eddy Merckx all the way to the Roubaix Velodrome that year.

Flandria legend VanSpringel during one of his
Bordeaux Paris victories.  His pacemaker totally rocks.

Herman Van Springel just might be the best rider most nowadays have never heard of.   He's perhaps best known for winning the now defunct (but totally awesome) marathon derny-paced classic, Bordeaux-Paris.  Not once, mind you, but seven times.   You read that right.  Seven freakin times.  Just the thought of riding it once makes me want to sleep for a month.

A peloton of old pros.  An almost uncountable list of wins.    

After a stint as leader for the Poeders MANN team, he went into Eddy Merckx Molteni team in 1971 as an equipier de luxe, and a pretty hefty pay increase.  And that year, he became Belgian pro road champion and finished 2nd in a Giro D'Italia that Eddy Merckx passed on riding.  

Eddy himself said it in Velo magazine a few years ago, "That 1974 World Championship in Montreal?    I never would have won it without you, Herman..."  It was Van Springel who'd gone to the front, and pulled back Thevenet.

The two are still close it seems.  Noticed that Herman's been riding a series of Merckx bikes for a few years now...

His career continued into the late seventies, riding for a succession of Belgian teams:  Flandria, Ijsboercke, Marc-Zeepcentrale, Safir-Ludo.   He rode as a pro until he was 38.  And he's still riding the bike at 68, looking just as fit and like he can still make it really go.   To celebrate the book launch, he did a ride with former mates and opponents Merckx, DeVlaeminck, Godefroot, In't Ven, Vekemans, Verhaegen, Jos Huysmans, De Schoenmaeker and Rosiers.   (News article here.)

Click the video link here

Herman's been on a 'media Tour' this week, even doing a segment on De Laatste Show, kind of a Belgian version of the the Tonight Show. along with co-author Mark Van Uytterhoeven, who's a Laatste regular when they feature cycling stars.  Good clip link here with TT footage from that dramatic '68 Tour finish.  Another here from Sporza.

Click here to see a Sporza clip on Van Springel

Photos of the day: Knicker and Fender season.

Fausto had it right:  Still the undisputed king of training fashion.   

Brrrr...  Cold this morning wielersupporters.

Winter's finally knocking.   The kind of 'winter's knocking' day you pull those old wool knickers and socks out of mothballs.

Here's a photo gallery centered on two pieces of gear that used to mark the end of the go-fast season.  We're talking knickers (or 'plusses' for our UK friends).  And fenders.   They go together like moules and frites.

I'm still nostalgic for 'em, but not in the current urban-fixie-hipster wearing fashion.   No I'm thinking more like Les Issambres or Lago di Garda, circa 1957.   Back when off season training was by 'feel'.  Or as Luciano Pezzi advised, "Da novembre al dicembre, i chilometeri percorsi in bicicletta anche a scopo turistico e ricreativo"   Time to just ride the bike.

Knickers and Fenders.  At this time of year, back in the day, both provided a practical, and useful visual demarcation to tell the rest of the world that your intensity switch is flipped to 'off ', but your intention to keep putting in base miles is undeterred by the cold.   The beret?  Well, that was optional.

Old flemish adage:  "Ride into the cold, and you'll ride through the cold."  

Louison, ou Jacques:  'Qui est mas macho?'

Things I've heard from 'good' riders in knickers and fenders:

The 'Butcher of Bettembourg' awaits his rendezvous  
(Photo from Marcel Erzner, in "Charly Gaul, l'Ange de la Montagne
et son equipe", G. Zangerle, 1988) 

- "I'm on a training ride you knucklehead,  will ya stop half-wheeling me and chill, for chrissakes!" 


- "Hey, you riding on Thanksgiving morning?"


- "You go ahead and chase that mail truck...I'm good" 


- "Allora, dove il tuo caffe di ficidcia?"  (Where's that favorite coffee stop of yours again?)  


- "You wanna do another hour?"


- "C'mon jongen, finish yer trappisten and let's blow this clambake... it's going to be dark in a hour and I don't have lights on."


- "Whoa...I see you went with the argyle today, schweet"

Speaking of argyle, I'm kinda surprised that Jonathan Vaughters hasn't had Castelli equip his boys with knickers with argyle socks for training yet.   JV's a fashion victim - it would be an appropriate statement, don't you think?

Plymouth Rocks: Old school cross!

Did a really fun cyclocross cross race in Plymouth Saturday.


Plymouth Mass. has long been a home of New England cyclocross, this annual race is a few weeks before Thanksgiving, set in the town that holiday is named after.

Thanksgiving was in the air as I drove Friday afternoon 'over the river, through the woods', and across the cranberry bogs to Massahusetts' earliest settlement.   Nostalgia.  

Promoter, and Plymouth cycling godfather Bill Sykes put together another great event. This year's edition was on the weekend of Bill's 60th birthday: That's right, 11-11-11!

I stayed Friday night at my pal Paul McCormack's house, so he took me along to also crash Bill's surprise Birthday bash with his family and friends.  It was a nice celebration for a really great guy whose done so, so much for New England cycling over the years.   It was a good craic, catching up with lots of old friends I don't get to see that often anymore.

Geronimo!!

Saturday morning's cross at Plymouth South High School was not the old 'North' venue I'd recently remembered from the 80's ("No Eddy, this one's at Plymouth 'sout' ")

As Bill said, it was indeed 'old-school cross' at it's best.  The parcours was tricky and had a little of everything:  Windy fast sections across grass and dirt roads, several tricky steep wooded descents around some big trees (!) that wouldn't be UCI approved,  a few off camber traverses, sandy loose bits, a few steep run-ups,  one set of dual barriers, and even a mud bog at the top of a steep 39x27 slog of a climb.  It was cold and windy too, finally some seasonally appropriate cyclocross weather.  

Coming through..

Reconning the course and snaking down those tricky twists between the trees, I was reminded of race announcer Paul Nixon telling me the night before about how he'd broken some ribs in a cross race a few weeks ago (ouch!).   I consciously forced that painful thought to the back of the mind.   It turned out (as is usually the case) that what looks impossible to race on scary before the race, suddenly seems 'normal' once the gun is fired, and like everyone else I was carving no-brakes around those trees like they were slalom gates.  

This time I tried to barge my way up from my by-now customarliy crappy 5th row grid position.  I barged my way up to what felt like the middle of the field on lap one to a cacaphony of expletives ("Hey!  Whoa!  What the...! Look out!  You A..., "). After the elbows settled down, I think I put together a better race than the last few I'd done.   It was 45 minutes, a bloc.   Hard as I could go, whole time.

Team Flandria, chasing hard.   I didn't manage to stay in front of
Marc much longer..

Diced with my Teammate Marc Tatar for awhile, but overcooked it and had a bad patch for awhile in the middle and lost contact.   Then had a good battle with a pretty strong guy from NEBC,  was able to get away from him on the last lap and clawed my way back to get Marc in sight at the finish.   A fun 45 minutes of oxygen debt and suffering.

Feeling like every race is a little bit better...  but I'm still lacking power for the faster parts.  I seem to be OK on the technical stuff, and seem to be passing guys on the steep climbs and run-ups, Where I lose ground is on the faster flat grass and road bits.   My cross races seems to follow a pattern, OK first few laps, bad patch in the middle, fight back for a stronger finish.

Mark T. killin' it on the steep climb to the finish.

Marc T. really dug deep, and did a good ride.   He's had a lot of injuries this year, and never fails to impress me with his ability to fight through  them.   He just gets out there and battles.  One tough dude.

Our teammate Jay Trojan rode the Cat 4 race and did a good strong ride.  Glad to see Spartacus doing some cross!  It's always a good sign when a guy is still smiling near the end of the race.    Jay's a little new to cross, but I predict he'll be killing it pretty soon.

Joyeux Anniversaire au Blaireau...

Today, Bernard Hinault turns 57 years young.

I consider myself quite lucky to have met, and worked with Le Blaireau over a decade ago, even if it was only a few encounters over a few short months.   (I know I probably bore my friends when I retell the stories.  The best is the time he slayed me and a few others on a fun run.)

Spending even a little time together in the company of a person gives you a pretty good insight to their character, into what kind of person they are.   And based on that, I think a lot got written and said about Hinault that is complete BS, especially in the English speaking press.  But I won't retread 1986 here.  For that, I suggest that even if you remember that tumultuous Hinault vs. LeMond Tour, you've got to read Richard Moore's "Slaying the Badger" for a more balanced perspective.  (It's a fantastic read, and great journalism).

Today's cyclingnews article has a quote by Moore suggesting that Hinault's current role handing out jerseys on the podium is somewhat 'beneath him and his achievements'. Well, this crusty old dog respectfully disagrees.

Hinault:  A champion of the regular guy.
(photo courtesy http://marcopant.skyrock.com/) 

That's the problem with modern society's concept of what constitutes a man's 'greatness' nowadays.  I think that many subscribe to the notion that the accomplished need to be detached, elevated, aloof, and accompanied by inaccessibility    Put on a pedestal.  That's a recent celebrity culture notion that I think modern America exacerbates.  And it's utter BS.

I've always harbored an innate suspicion of the rich, powerful and successful.   And encounters often prove this notion to be well founded.  I've experienced that there's often a high correlation between an indivdual's  'success' and 'full of s***'  quotients.  (Copyright 'the Pooch', c. 1986)  Not always, but more often than not.

While undoubtedly charismatic, many so-called 'important' people (more accurately 'self-important') have upon closer inspection and curious probing, proven to be not very likeable.   I'm sure sure you know the type.   Profiteurs behind disingenuous smiles and handshakes.  People who deign to speak 'at you' like you're wasting their time.   Guys whose every communication is backed by an agenda.  You can almost see their brain doing the calculus of 'is this person useful?  Worth my time?'   They're quickly past you to their next 'important' encounter.

And they usually prove to have a lot of skeletons that come out sooner or later.  Think Arnie the Governator. or even Herman Cain this past week.  You get what I'm saying.   Did you see the 60 minutes segment last night about the US Congress?  I rest my case.

Greatness does not require being accompanied by media staff or bodyguards.  And it isn't measured by the number of twitter followers, or the size of your bank balance.  It's measured by character.  And tests of character don't only get passed by picking yourself up from the cobbles to win Paris-Roubaix.   Or riding through a blizzard to win La Doyenne. True character tests also get passed in daily encounters, one on one.  With people you meet.  People you work work with.  Little things that demonstrate the true measure of a man's greatness.

I found Bernard Hinault to be nothing at all like the caricature.  Not scary, distant or arrogant.  He was amazingly friendly.  The kind of guy who'd look you straight in the eye.  Who'd talk with you, not speak at you, and really listen to what you had to say.   Who'd treat everyone with respect, like an equal.  Polite, patient with language barriers, generous with his attention.

A 'regular guy', but far from your average guy.  You could see he was resolute in his beliefs, and positions.  Not intimidated by anyone, or anything.  The kind who wouldn't back down, or take crap from anyone.

And you could definitely tell he used a different yardstick to measure success in life.  For his wasn't built around 'chasing the dough'.  I remember asking him about his home region in Brittany, a place I'd never visited.  His eyes lit up when he described for me the wild Breton coast, the beauty of the paysage.   He told me I'd have to come there some day, and see Mont Saint Michel.   "You come. We'll go. It's beautiful."   As another boy with Keltic blood who also hailed from a rocky Atlantic coastal town,  I understood a little about what he was saying...

Because they say to really understand a man, you have to go and see where he came from.   So to that end flahutes, check out this French TV portrait video of his early days as a pro chez lui.  Watch the interviews with his mother and wife.  There's pride, and humility.

One's roots explain a lot.  Hinault went back home after retirement, and became a farmer.  That's right, the five-time tour winner would get up at 5AM, and work all day, on his farm.   For years.  That, and the PR work he did for ASO during LeTour left no time for riding the bike.   He sold the farm just a few years ago, and I'm glad to see he's rediscovered his love for le velo that went AWOL for a few years when he first retired.  Seems he's riding a lot again, and looks pretty darn fit.   He's licensed his name to his own bike and clothing brand, and is doing more cyclosportives.   Looking pretty content, back among 'his' people.

So how can being on a TdF podium shaking hands with riders, and introducing visitors to the Tour be beneath him and his achievements?   Cycling is a sport of the people.   It's not an 'elite' sport.   It 'ain't no' Formula 1 (although some seem hell-bent on  making it more like F1).   In the gigantism that is the modern Tour, thank Christ we've still got Bernard Hinault up there every day to make sure we never forget the core of what cycling is all about.   He's the Tour's reference, its living connection to its history, and the human character it glorifies.   There's no better way to honor his station within this special sport, by reminding us that cycling's greatest champion still maintains a real, and personal connection to those who love it, discover it, and participate in it.   Hinault?  He's not a presenter, he's the living, beating heart of Le Tour.  A man who selflessly busts his butt to make it accessible to the people, one person at a time.   Regardless of their importance, or station.

That, jongens, is a true greatness.  Just one man's opinion.

I still haven't got over to see Bernard's Bretagne, but hope I do get there someday.  I want to ride around on those steep green windswept coastal roads.  Feel the cold spray of the Atlantic on my face, and, then stop and have some crepes with hard cider in a stone Auberge.  And a pile of fresh seafood just off the boat.   And as Le Blaireau recommended, finally go to see Mont St. Michel.

But for today, I'll have to go there via the web:  Joyeux anniversaire Bernard.   And distant best wishes for continued health, happiness, and many, many more.

Images of the day: Lucien Van Impe - 'De Val' of '77.

When you name your home 'Alpe d'Huez,' you ought to have a pretty good reason.   Well, you can't argue that Lucien van Impe didn't have a good reason for naming his home after the most popular alpine climb among the plaatlanders.   Fact is, he had more than one reason.

For the climber-god from Impe-Mere, those 21 hairpins to the sky provided a venue for his long career's 'highest high', and biggest 'fall'.  Literally.

Van Impe escaped on the Glandon - a bid for a repeat that would end
in controversy.

After taking the maillot jaune there in a Tour he'd go on to win in '76, he'd come back a year later, this time with Henri Anglade's LeJeune BP team, determined to solo to another Tour win on the Queen stage.

The whole Tour came down to one big day in the Alps.  Stage 17.  Everyone knew it would be the day the Tour was won, and lost.

On cue, Van Impe successfully shed Thevenet, Zoetemelk and Kuiper with a series of devastating accelerations on the Glandon, and had pulled out almost 3 minutes in the valley to the finish climb Alpe d'Huez.

But there was a headwind up that long false-flat valley, and on the steep ramps to l'Alpe, the wheels started to come off.   Without any help, Thevenet was dragging the Dutch duo back up to the dancing grimpeur.  The time gap started to fall.   It was like watching a wind-up toy slowly lose spring.   It looked like Lucien was starting to bonk.

Then, to add insult to injury, with just a few k to the line, a TF1 TV car took him down.   The car hit his rear wheel, dumping him on the rocks.  A messed up wheel, a second three stooges style bike change, loss of rhythm, of morale, and game over.  Kuiper and Thevenet flew by him.   Le Tour, perdu.

Watch Belga Sport's great documentary on that controversial day...

You see flahutes, Johnny Hoogerland wasn't the first Tour king of the mountains to get mowed down by a television car.   It had happened before, in 1977.  Only that time, it cost the favorite his 2nd Tour de France.   Le plus ca change...

The French one-two...

The French U-23 riders took a big one-two at the world championships in Copenhagen a few weeks ago.   This coming on the heels of an 1-2-3 for Les Tricolores in the U23 Cyclocross world championship earlier this year.

A field sprint of raging 'espoirs' going for a world title, with two Frenchmen snagging gold and silver.

It happened once before but even the most anorak of you probably can't recall.  That's because you have to go back 75 years to find it.   Way, way back, to the Berlin Olympics Games of 1936.   And to an Amateur road race race immortalized in the notorious Leni Reifenstahl's epic film of those games, "Olympia."   A film that despite its propaganda content is considered one of the top 100 films of all time.  I can't vouch for that, but I think you'll agree the cycling footage is pretty good, particularly for the era...

1936 Olympic Champion Robert Charpentier

I know that for some of you Flahutes this was your father's generation... more likely your grandfathers.  (I'm 51, and my own father was only eight at the time.)   Yet despite the generation gap, the parallels to Copenhagen this year were interesting.

Charpentier outsprints Lapebie. 

The 1936 Berlin Olympic road race was on a circuit outside Berlin that took in the hot-dog shaped Avus motor-racing circuit - basically a divided autobahn connected by two hairpin turns.  The nordkurve was banked with bricks, 'wall of death' style.   Despite taking a triangular detour out and around the countryside, the circuit, much like Copenhagen this year, was none too selective.  And like Copenhagen, the field stayed largely together for the whole race.

In the end, Robert Charpentier outsprinted Guy Lapebie.  Both rider were multi medalists in those Games.  Both took gold in the Team Pursuit, and another Gold in the 'team road race' competition - based on the best overall finishing team in the Road Race.

La Marseillaise rings out over Berlin.  

Both turned pro after the Games, but saw their career trajectory adversely affected by World War II.

Lapebie was the kid brother of 1937 Tour de France winner Roger Lapebie.  After the war, he won a few Tour de France stages, and even finished third in the 1948 Tour behind Gino Bartali and Briek Schotte.  Guy Lapebie passed away just last year, in 2010.   Good bio details here.

I think you'll like this clip, as it's a pretty interesting insight into bike racing of the pre-war era.   Many of the riders had what were then 'new' 3 speed derailleurs.  Their lower gears and high spin rate makes it looks more like a track points race than a road event.