It's this Sunday, June 3rd. And they have a Cannibal category (as I don't have a TT bike or aero bars) which I've entered. 8 AM start times. Just over 11 miles. $15 registration fee. I'm in there. Anyone want to get in there with me? Here's the link:
FLOYD BENNETT FIELD INDIVIDUAL TIME TRIAL
Wednesday, May 30
Tuesday, May 29
Where to Draw the Line
While realizing I’m relatively new to the sport, I can’t help but think of doping every time I think of professional racing. Don’t get me wrong--it’s not like I spend my day pondering the life of a professional cyclist and what it might be like to line up for any of the one-day classics or major stage races. That’s not what I mean. What I do mean is, how much of a difference does doping actually make?
With all the hoopla in the media lately about this one confessing and that one confessing (see previous post titled I Got Your Confession Right Here to read about how I really feel regarding Bjarne Riis and his recent admission), how can I not ask myself such questions? Does a needle in the ass or chewing a few lemon-flavored Starburst filled with testosterone really make that much of a difference? What exactly does it feel like when climbing a mountain when your blood is filled with juice? Is it that much easier? Or is the pain the same yet your average speed climbs a few miles per hour?
Obviously, I’ve got lots of questions, so can we get our hands on a former professional to take a ride with us one of these days so he can elaborate on all of the above?
And what about the professional women racers? Are they on the juice too? If so, can you imagine a soigneur rubbing down one of the girls and asking if they want a bit of synthetic testosterone for the following day’s competition? "Put a little hair on your chest for the big race?"
Further, not to give Bjarne Riis any more credit than he deserves, but during his confession, he did state that if a racer lacks the talent, all the drugs in the world aren’t going to help. While I have zero experience with doping, I’d have to agree with Mr. Riis on that one as it seems intuitive.
For example, think of the Tour de France. Roughly a hundred and eighty racers come together for the biggest bicycle race in the world. Maybe twenty of them actually have a shot at winning based granted half of those twenty aren’t sacked based on doping allegations. These twenty represent the cream of the crop, the best of the best from around the world.
How many of them are doping? All of them? If they are, the winner is still the best of the best considering the playing field across those top twenty was equal in terms of equipment, dope, nutrition, etc. What it comes down to is talent, right? The point being, Riis has a point.
I still want to know if the premier sprinters are doping. I’ve read that the sprinters will pop a huge caffeine pill not far from the finish, but that’s only what I’ve read. I know I’ve said it before, but take a guy like Robbie McEwen. Dude can sprint at 45 MPH but put him in the mountains and he hangs all the way in the back. My inclination is to say he’s not a doper. Does a racer need testosterone to sprint? Or just to hang with the peloton during those long flat stages?
As a final word on doping (not really final, but you know what I mean), I was speaking with Mr. Picco yesterday morning before the botched group ride when he offered me a can of Red Bull. To me, as much as I enjoy a can of the delicious nectar, drinking eight ounces of pure caffeine/sugar before a ride is the equivalent of doping. I’m sure that sounds somewhat ridiculous, but getting hopped up on a serious caffeine rush would cause me to ride a bit harder than I normally would. Again, there’s a lot of gray area there, but it is what it is. At least in my head.
With all the hoopla in the media lately about this one confessing and that one confessing (see previous post titled I Got Your Confession Right Here to read about how I really feel regarding Bjarne Riis and his recent admission), how can I not ask myself such questions? Does a needle in the ass or chewing a few lemon-flavored Starburst filled with testosterone really make that much of a difference? What exactly does it feel like when climbing a mountain when your blood is filled with juice? Is it that much easier? Or is the pain the same yet your average speed climbs a few miles per hour?
Obviously, I’ve got lots of questions, so can we get our hands on a former professional to take a ride with us one of these days so he can elaborate on all of the above?
And what about the professional women racers? Are they on the juice too? If so, can you imagine a soigneur rubbing down one of the girls and asking if they want a bit of synthetic testosterone for the following day’s competition? "Put a little hair on your chest for the big race?"
Further, not to give Bjarne Riis any more credit than he deserves, but during his confession, he did state that if a racer lacks the talent, all the drugs in the world aren’t going to help. While I have zero experience with doping, I’d have to agree with Mr. Riis on that one as it seems intuitive.
For example, think of the Tour de France. Roughly a hundred and eighty racers come together for the biggest bicycle race in the world. Maybe twenty of them actually have a shot at winning based granted half of those twenty aren’t sacked based on doping allegations. These twenty represent the cream of the crop, the best of the best from around the world.
How many of them are doping? All of them? If they are, the winner is still the best of the best considering the playing field across those top twenty was equal in terms of equipment, dope, nutrition, etc. What it comes down to is talent, right? The point being, Riis has a point.
I still want to know if the premier sprinters are doping. I’ve read that the sprinters will pop a huge caffeine pill not far from the finish, but that’s only what I’ve read. I know I’ve said it before, but take a guy like Robbie McEwen. Dude can sprint at 45 MPH but put him in the mountains and he hangs all the way in the back. My inclination is to say he’s not a doper. Does a racer need testosterone to sprint? Or just to hang with the peloton during those long flat stages?
As a final word on doping (not really final, but you know what I mean), I was speaking with Mr. Picco yesterday morning before the botched group ride when he offered me a can of Red Bull. To me, as much as I enjoy a can of the delicious nectar, drinking eight ounces of pure caffeine/sugar before a ride is the equivalent of doping. I’m sure that sounds somewhat ridiculous, but getting hopped up on a serious caffeine rush would cause me to ride a bit harder than I normally would. Again, there’s a lot of gray area there, but it is what it is. At least in my head.
Sunday, May 27
Seven-Minute Headstart
Where the hell did the Staten Island guys go this morning? I showed up in New Dorp a few minutes before 8:30 when Andy informed I had just missed the A group as they had apparently started early today. Of all the days they have to start before the usual 8:30 departure, they had to embark ahead of schedule today? The day when I drive down from the depths of Westchester? Unbelievable.
Actually, it’s nobody’s fault other than my own as I should have given Mr. Dalton or Dr. Rob a call on Saturday to ensure those guys would even be riding today, although lucky for me, I ran into Anne on the way out of the parking lot.
“They already left.”
“They already . . . oh shit. I forgot they were leaving early today.”
So the chase was on. According to Richie (who had rolled up with Andy and Hugo), the rest of the guys had seven minutes on us. How he knew it was seven minutes exactly is beyond me, but that was the number I had in my head as Anne and I stepped on the gas.
Halfway along Fr. Capodanno, my heart rate reached 170. While I don’t know my max, I know my average from a 3-mile time trial is 175 and that’s pushing it as hard as I can. By the time Anne went vaulting past me up the hill leading to McClean Avenue, I was up around 180 and I don’t think it dropped below 170 for the next hour, which hurt. A lot.
Even with taking short cuts straight down Bay Street and past those long straights out near the West Shore Expressway, Anne and I either (a) never caught up, or (b) completely passed whoever was out this morning. I’m not sure how that would even be possible considering we spent at least ten or fifteen minutes hanging at the bagel shop waiting for somebody, anybody to show up, but sure enough, no one rolled in while we were waiting.
And that was it. Anne and I easily averaged 20 MPH in an effort to catch a group that never materialized yet if I don’t admit that Anne did a hell of a lot more pulling than I did, I’d feel as if I were lying, so let me say this: Anne did most of the pulling. To be exact, I’d say she did at least sixty to seventy percent of the work all the way to the bagel shop. And on that last hill before the break? Halfway to the top I tried to keep up with Anne but she didn’t seem to have much intention of slowing in the least, so I figured, Screw that, and simply backed off. If I could only use two words to describe the way Anne rides, I’d use the same two words that I would apply to the way, Ed, Rob, Brent, Tommy, and the Polish brothers ride: f*ckin’ badass.
Now if you don’t mind, today’s my birthday (properly pronounced birfday), so I have to get back on the couch and kill a few hours in front of the TV.
Actually, it’s nobody’s fault other than my own as I should have given Mr. Dalton or Dr. Rob a call on Saturday to ensure those guys would even be riding today, although lucky for me, I ran into Anne on the way out of the parking lot.
“They already left.”
“They already . . . oh shit. I forgot they were leaving early today.”
So the chase was on. According to Richie (who had rolled up with Andy and Hugo), the rest of the guys had seven minutes on us. How he knew it was seven minutes exactly is beyond me, but that was the number I had in my head as Anne and I stepped on the gas.
Halfway along Fr. Capodanno, my heart rate reached 170. While I don’t know my max, I know my average from a 3-mile time trial is 175 and that’s pushing it as hard as I can. By the time Anne went vaulting past me up the hill leading to McClean Avenue, I was up around 180 and I don’t think it dropped below 170 for the next hour, which hurt. A lot.
Even with taking short cuts straight down Bay Street and past those long straights out near the West Shore Expressway, Anne and I either (a) never caught up, or (b) completely passed whoever was out this morning. I’m not sure how that would even be possible considering we spent at least ten or fifteen minutes hanging at the bagel shop waiting for somebody, anybody to show up, but sure enough, no one rolled in while we were waiting.
And that was it. Anne and I easily averaged 20 MPH in an effort to catch a group that never materialized yet if I don’t admit that Anne did a hell of a lot more pulling than I did, I’d feel as if I were lying, so let me say this: Anne did most of the pulling. To be exact, I’d say she did at least sixty to seventy percent of the work all the way to the bagel shop. And on that last hill before the break? Halfway to the top I tried to keep up with Anne but she didn’t seem to have much intention of slowing in the least, so I figured, Screw that, and simply backed off. If I could only use two words to describe the way Anne rides, I’d use the same two words that I would apply to the way, Ed, Rob, Brent, Tommy, and the Polish brothers ride: f*ckin’ badass.
Now if you don’t mind, today’s my birthday (properly pronounced birfday), so I have to get back on the couch and kill a few hours in front of the TV.
Saturday, May 26
I Got Your Confession Right Here
A couple of things. Yesterday, a publisher partner took us--us being the fantastic team of professionals I work with day after day after day--to lunch at Del Frisco’s, a posh, midtown steakhouse, and that’s always a pleasant way to kick off a holiday weekend. After sitting down at 12:30, we continually gorged ourselves with fresh crab cakes, jumbo shrimps (I realize it’s supposed to be just “shrimp,” but the “shrimps” with the extra S just sounds kind of cool, doesn’t it?), cajun corn, potatoes au gratin, and tremendously thick and juicy slabs of beef. Then, around 2:30, the waitress came over to inquire regarding dessert and the fastest way to ascertain whether or not you’ve eaten too much is when a single girl at the table fails to express interest in free chocolate.
“The onion rings never came out,” our host mentioned to the server and as a result of those six simple words, not only did the manager stop by to apologize, but they sent out several of the thickest slices of cake I have ever seen in my life: chocolate, lemon, cheesecake, and something that looked like a fried bag of pure chocolate. Maybe it was souffle?
Twenty minutes later, I found myself practically trotting toward Grand Central in the hopes of (a) making a 3:17 train, and (b) that my stomach might hold out until I reached home, lest I near the verge of exploding, meaning I’d have to make use of one of the MetroNorth bathrooms, and who the hell ever wants to do that?
Sitting on the crowded train, a few concerns kept swirling around in my head. First, I was desperately holding on to the hope that no one would sit next to me. I realize my monthly pass only allows me a single seat, but give me a break. I don’t know about everybody else, but I don’t think a day’s ever gone by when I found myself on either a train or bus thinking, Maybe I’ll get lucky and that sweaty 350 pound slob walking down the aisle with the oversized briefcase will sit next to me. Second, I was also hoping the conductor would arrive ASAP to check tickets. The reason I say that is, the minute the train pulls from the station is prime time to fall asleep and if the conductors take their sweet time reaching the car in which you’re seated, they’re going to wake you up in the middle of a restful, 30-minute nap, yet I got lucky yesterday and the conductor showed up just after the Harlem-125th Street stop a few minutes outside Grand Central.
Finally, I realized that if I went home and did the napping thing the right way, I may have very well succumbed to a massive heart attack while I snoozed considering the amount of red meat ingested during lunch. So rather than risk my life because of a ribeye steak, I figured I’d go riding. Then I got to thinking, rather than a road ride, I’d break out the mountain bike--the bike I’ve only ridden once since buying it over a month ago.
Now usually, I wouldn’t be the biggest fan of riding off-road alone. It’s something I would never dream of doing on my dirtbike. When it comes to motocross, I don’t do those illegal off-road places. Why not? Let’s say I’m out riding through one of those spots where I can find myself a mile from my truck and all alone and I make a mistake and go down and f*ck myself up in a big way, meaning I break something (on me, not the bike). That happens and how the hell am I going to get out? I tend to think of mountain biking in the same light. Yes, I realize I’m a lot less likely to break something fragile while mountain biking compared to motocross, but I’d hate to have to lay in the middle of a trail as dusk comes on and hope someone comes along to carry my broken ass out to where the EMT can reach me.
Regardless, I grabbed the bike and drove the two miles to Graham Hills park. Despite the above concerns, I’m glad I went. I took a few spills, of course, and ended up with a few scrapes, but a few scrapes around the elbows, knees, and shins are okay. Such scrapes are a testament to a man’s manly-man-ness. Such scrapes say to the world, Not only am I active and doing something to keep myself in good shape, but I’m also quite daring. Not really, but you know what I mean, yet on the other hand, a hard cast that’s put in place to set a broken bone sort of says, While I’m active and daring, I sometimes suffer from a lack of good judgement. I realize there are exceptions to every rule, but for the most part, the above statement stands.
In hindsight, though, I don’t think I’m ready for a place like Graham Hills. I very much consider myself a beginner on the mountain bike, and Graham Hills trails are more suited to intermediate/advanced riders (at least according to www.wmba.org, the Westchester Mountain Biking Association) considering the long passages of jagged rocks and technical descents featuring, you guessed it, jagged rocks. Going down is one thing, but going down and landing across a crop of rocks is an entirely different story.
Still, it was a pleasure to get out on the trails with and come across other mountain bikers--cyclists who actually act cordially and take the breath to say hello, unlike most of the road riders up here who won’t even bother glancing over at you when passing on the opposite side of the road. At the top of an ascent in Graham Hills, I bumped into a pair of riders and introduced myself while removing a twig from my rear derailleur. They explained the riding at Blue Mountain is not only bigger but a bit easier to handle for beginners and that there’s some sort of one-day mountain biking expo event taking place up there on June 10th. Hear that, Picco? Something we may want to look into.
Finally, Bjarne Riis, the guy who runs the CSC team, the guy who won the 1996 Tour de France, came out of the closet yesterday and admitted to taking drugs during his career, including 1996 when he won the Tour. Here’s a link to the full article:
Bjarne Riis Confesses
While it’s great that so many cyclists are coming clean, it’s also a big load of shit. The only reason these guys are admitting to wrongdoing is the fact that there’s so much pressure on them these past few months via the media. None of these guys seem tormented by guilt when they’re actually taking the drugs and winning races. Nope, they only seem to get a bit teary-eyed when they’re on the verge of litigation and/or two-year bans from racing, meaning they’re about to lose a hell of a lot of money. With that said, Mr. Riis can take his heartfelt, emotional confession and blow it out his ass. He won the Tour de France more than ten years ago and there’s an eight-year statute of limitations on these things, so it’s quite convenient he waited as long as he did, isn’t it?
“The onion rings never came out,” our host mentioned to the server and as a result of those six simple words, not only did the manager stop by to apologize, but they sent out several of the thickest slices of cake I have ever seen in my life: chocolate, lemon, cheesecake, and something that looked like a fried bag of pure chocolate. Maybe it was souffle?
Twenty minutes later, I found myself practically trotting toward Grand Central in the hopes of (a) making a 3:17 train, and (b) that my stomach might hold out until I reached home, lest I near the verge of exploding, meaning I’d have to make use of one of the MetroNorth bathrooms, and who the hell ever wants to do that?
Sitting on the crowded train, a few concerns kept swirling around in my head. First, I was desperately holding on to the hope that no one would sit next to me. I realize my monthly pass only allows me a single seat, but give me a break. I don’t know about everybody else, but I don’t think a day’s ever gone by when I found myself on either a train or bus thinking, Maybe I’ll get lucky and that sweaty 350 pound slob walking down the aisle with the oversized briefcase will sit next to me. Second, I was also hoping the conductor would arrive ASAP to check tickets. The reason I say that is, the minute the train pulls from the station is prime time to fall asleep and if the conductors take their sweet time reaching the car in which you’re seated, they’re going to wake you up in the middle of a restful, 30-minute nap, yet I got lucky yesterday and the conductor showed up just after the Harlem-125th Street stop a few minutes outside Grand Central.
Finally, I realized that if I went home and did the napping thing the right way, I may have very well succumbed to a massive heart attack while I snoozed considering the amount of red meat ingested during lunch. So rather than risk my life because of a ribeye steak, I figured I’d go riding. Then I got to thinking, rather than a road ride, I’d break out the mountain bike--the bike I’ve only ridden once since buying it over a month ago.
Now usually, I wouldn’t be the biggest fan of riding off-road alone. It’s something I would never dream of doing on my dirtbike. When it comes to motocross, I don’t do those illegal off-road places. Why not? Let’s say I’m out riding through one of those spots where I can find myself a mile from my truck and all alone and I make a mistake and go down and f*ck myself up in a big way, meaning I break something (on me, not the bike). That happens and how the hell am I going to get out? I tend to think of mountain biking in the same light. Yes, I realize I’m a lot less likely to break something fragile while mountain biking compared to motocross, but I’d hate to have to lay in the middle of a trail as dusk comes on and hope someone comes along to carry my broken ass out to where the EMT can reach me.
Regardless, I grabbed the bike and drove the two miles to Graham Hills park. Despite the above concerns, I’m glad I went. I took a few spills, of course, and ended up with a few scrapes, but a few scrapes around the elbows, knees, and shins are okay. Such scrapes are a testament to a man’s manly-man-ness. Such scrapes say to the world, Not only am I active and doing something to keep myself in good shape, but I’m also quite daring. Not really, but you know what I mean, yet on the other hand, a hard cast that’s put in place to set a broken bone sort of says, While I’m active and daring, I sometimes suffer from a lack of good judgement. I realize there are exceptions to every rule, but for the most part, the above statement stands.
In hindsight, though, I don’t think I’m ready for a place like Graham Hills. I very much consider myself a beginner on the mountain bike, and Graham Hills trails are more suited to intermediate/advanced riders (at least according to www.wmba.org, the Westchester Mountain Biking Association) considering the long passages of jagged rocks and technical descents featuring, you guessed it, jagged rocks. Going down is one thing, but going down and landing across a crop of rocks is an entirely different story.
Still, it was a pleasure to get out on the trails with and come across other mountain bikers--cyclists who actually act cordially and take the breath to say hello, unlike most of the road riders up here who won’t even bother glancing over at you when passing on the opposite side of the road. At the top of an ascent in Graham Hills, I bumped into a pair of riders and introduced myself while removing a twig from my rear derailleur. They explained the riding at Blue Mountain is not only bigger but a bit easier to handle for beginners and that there’s some sort of one-day mountain biking expo event taking place up there on June 10th. Hear that, Picco? Something we may want to look into.
Finally, Bjarne Riis, the guy who runs the CSC team, the guy who won the 1996 Tour de France, came out of the closet yesterday and admitted to taking drugs during his career, including 1996 when he won the Tour. Here’s a link to the full article:
Bjarne Riis Confesses
While it’s great that so many cyclists are coming clean, it’s also a big load of shit. The only reason these guys are admitting to wrongdoing is the fact that there’s so much pressure on them these past few months via the media. None of these guys seem tormented by guilt when they’re actually taking the drugs and winning races. Nope, they only seem to get a bit teary-eyed when they’re on the verge of litigation and/or two-year bans from racing, meaning they’re about to lose a hell of a lot of money. With that said, Mr. Riis can take his heartfelt, emotional confession and blow it out his ass. He won the Tour de France more than ten years ago and there’s an eight-year statute of limitations on these things, so it’s quite convenient he waited as long as he did, isn’t it?
Friday, May 25
The Turtle, the Hare, & the Deer
Now that the weather has begun to turn, meaning you can ride in the evening with a pair of shorts and a long-sleeve jersey (as opposed to seven layers of lycra), I’ve been hitting the road after I get home from work. And what that means is my ride usually starts before the street lights begin to click on yet it ends once it’s full dark. No big deal, right? Just strap on the Cateye headlight and blinking taillight? Well, I do all that and while the bright flashing lights do keep the cars away from me (mostly), the wildlife here in Westchester just don’t seem to get it.
I used to have the same problem when I lived in Brooklyn and spent most of my time riding in Prospect Park. Between running over squirrels and rats, not to mention dodging the occasional pigeon, I thought the vermin in the park had it in for me, although now that I’m up in the woods, I’ve got bigger issues to handle.
For instance, last night. I’m plowing along down a flat piece of road. I glance down at my watch to check my heart rate. I look back up and what’s in the middle of the road about fifty feet ahead of me? A deer. Not a big antler motherf*cker, but a doe. Still, does may seem cute when you’re flying along the expressway at 70 MPH in your SUV and you spot a few chewing cud on the side of the road, but when you’re on a bicycle and they’re right there in front of you, there really isn’t all that much to find cute, especially when one of them is looking at you as if she’s thinking it necessary to kick you in the head in the name of self-preservation.
Then there was the white rabbit, the hare. There I am, cruising along, when a snow-white rabbit jumps out of the bushes and pauses for a moment, as if its unsure if it wants to run out in front of my bike. No doubt the rabbit is fully aware that if it tries running in front of me, I’ll swerve to avoid mangled rabbit in my spokes, yet swerving means I go in one of two directions: left into oncoming traffic or right into the curb.
Goddam rabbits. I got lucky when the rabbit decided to let me pass unscathed, yet I imagined the rabbit in the bushes huddled with a few friends: “Shh! Here he comes. Ready? One. Two. Three. Go, Mike, go!” And then, when the white rabbit’s friends watch me endo over the curb and land face first in the nearest driveway, they would no doubt have a blast laughing their asses off. “Nice work, Mike, now let’s go mess with some mountain bikers.”
So all I can say is, in the unlikely event you find yourself riding a bicycle in Westchester after the sun goes down, watch your ass. These jackass bunnies are not messing around up here.
I used to have the same problem when I lived in Brooklyn and spent most of my time riding in Prospect Park. Between running over squirrels and rats, not to mention dodging the occasional pigeon, I thought the vermin in the park had it in for me, although now that I’m up in the woods, I’ve got bigger issues to handle.
For instance, last night. I’m plowing along down a flat piece of road. I glance down at my watch to check my heart rate. I look back up and what’s in the middle of the road about fifty feet ahead of me? A deer. Not a big antler motherf*cker, but a doe. Still, does may seem cute when you’re flying along the expressway at 70 MPH in your SUV and you spot a few chewing cud on the side of the road, but when you’re on a bicycle and they’re right there in front of you, there really isn’t all that much to find cute, especially when one of them is looking at you as if she’s thinking it necessary to kick you in the head in the name of self-preservation.
Then there was the white rabbit, the hare. There I am, cruising along, when a snow-white rabbit jumps out of the bushes and pauses for a moment, as if its unsure if it wants to run out in front of my bike. No doubt the rabbit is fully aware that if it tries running in front of me, I’ll swerve to avoid mangled rabbit in my spokes, yet swerving means I go in one of two directions: left into oncoming traffic or right into the curb.
Goddam rabbits. I got lucky when the rabbit decided to let me pass unscathed, yet I imagined the rabbit in the bushes huddled with a few friends: “Shh! Here he comes. Ready? One. Two. Three. Go, Mike, go!” And then, when the white rabbit’s friends watch me endo over the curb and land face first in the nearest driveway, they would no doubt have a blast laughing their asses off. “Nice work, Mike, now let’s go mess with some mountain bikers.”
So all I can say is, in the unlikely event you find yourself riding a bicycle in Westchester after the sun goes down, watch your ass. These jackass bunnies are not messing around up here.
Sunday, May 20
The Turtle
Big news. Exciting news. While out on my ride today, I came across a turtle on the side of the road. Don’t ask me what kind of turtle because I won’t have an answer. Nor do I care about what kind of turtle this turtle was, this green, angry turtle on the side of the road. I’m not an expert on turtles, so we’re just going to have to accept the fact that it was a generic, unclassified turtle.
Now that we have that out of the way, here’s the turtle:
Not a bad-looking turtle, right? When was the last time you saw such a good-looking amphibian? (Are turtles amphibians?) I moved a bit closer for a better shot:
“If you’re thinking of crossing,” I explained to the turtle, checking traffic, “you might as well do it now.”
No answer. Obviously, this turtle had a bit of an attitude problem. I spent a moment deciding if I should take it up with him (it could have been a her, but judging from the look on the turtle’s face, I’d say it was a him) but then dropped the idea. No sense trying to dissuade a turtle from a nasty attitude. Instead, I considered picking up the turtle and walking him across the street to avoid turtle-kill, although this turtle could have been a snapper. I know I just said I don’t know what kind of turtle it was, but I’ve heard about snapper turtles and judging from the spike-like knobs lining its tail, I thought it might be a snapper and snappers are known to snap off fingers considering they usually feed on fish, lizards, women, and small children. Needless to say, attempting to pick up the turtle was out of the question.
Yet rather than continue along my way on Hunterbrook Road and leave the turtle to his own devices, I decided to have a bit of fun. Placing my bike against a nearby telephone pole, I took out my phone again, the phone equipped with the camera, and moved as close to the turtle as I felt comfortable. It was time for a turtle fashion shoot. Holding out the camera, I leaned in.
“Give me sexy, baby!”
“Give me pouty!”
“Give me sultry!”
“Give me angry!”
When it comes to fun, turtles are anti-fun. I couldn’t even get this guy to crack a hint of a smile. “Dude,” I told him. “You suck.”
Then I left him alone and continued along, minding nobody’s business but my own.
Apart from the turtle, I made a few changes to my usual solo ride up here in Westchester. I added a few lefts and a few rights, bringing the mileage up to fifty-five, which I finished in a hair over three hours at an average 16 MPH pace. Major kick in the ass, but fun. I had been considering possibly joining the ride on Staten Island this morning, but now that gas is almost $16 a gallon, I figured my bank account would thank me if I kept my activities local today.
And that’s it. I don’t know if anybody’s seen this video yet, but it’s funny. Terrible, but funny.
Break It Down
Now that we have that out of the way, here’s the turtle:
Not a bad-looking turtle, right? When was the last time you saw such a good-looking amphibian? (Are turtles amphibians?) I moved a bit closer for a better shot:
“If you’re thinking of crossing,” I explained to the turtle, checking traffic, “you might as well do it now.”
No answer. Obviously, this turtle had a bit of an attitude problem. I spent a moment deciding if I should take it up with him (it could have been a her, but judging from the look on the turtle’s face, I’d say it was a him) but then dropped the idea. No sense trying to dissuade a turtle from a nasty attitude. Instead, I considered picking up the turtle and walking him across the street to avoid turtle-kill, although this turtle could have been a snapper. I know I just said I don’t know what kind of turtle it was, but I’ve heard about snapper turtles and judging from the spike-like knobs lining its tail, I thought it might be a snapper and snappers are known to snap off fingers considering they usually feed on fish, lizards, women, and small children. Needless to say, attempting to pick up the turtle was out of the question.
Yet rather than continue along my way on Hunterbrook Road and leave the turtle to his own devices, I decided to have a bit of fun. Placing my bike against a nearby telephone pole, I took out my phone again, the phone equipped with the camera, and moved as close to the turtle as I felt comfortable. It was time for a turtle fashion shoot. Holding out the camera, I leaned in.
“Give me sexy, baby!”
“Give me pouty!”
“Give me sultry!”
“Give me angry!”
When it comes to fun, turtles are anti-fun. I couldn’t even get this guy to crack a hint of a smile. “Dude,” I told him. “You suck.”
Then I left him alone and continued along, minding nobody’s business but my own.
Apart from the turtle, I made a few changes to my usual solo ride up here in Westchester. I added a few lefts and a few rights, bringing the mileage up to fifty-five, which I finished in a hair over three hours at an average 16 MPH pace. Major kick in the ass, but fun. I had been considering possibly joining the ride on Staten Island this morning, but now that gas is almost $16 a gallon, I figured my bank account would thank me if I kept my activities local today.
And that’s it. I don’t know if anybody’s seen this video yet, but it’s funny. Terrible, but funny.
Break It Down
Tuesday, May 15
Sheer Entertainment
It's been a while since my last update and I'm not sure if that's a good thing or if it's a bad thing. Granted, a lot has happened not just in life in general (because when you really think about it, one week--seven days--is a hell of a long time), but in the cycling world as well.
Like what? Good question. For starters, Petacchi won a stage in the Giro yesterday which, to me, is big news. While I don't know Petacchi from a hole in the wall, my understanding is that he broke his kneecap last year and hasn't really been himself since then, meaning his top-end speed just hasn't been what it was. Yet whenever I read an article about Petacchi, I somehow feel bad for the guy. Can you imagine you're on top of your game, you're kicking ass, and then a crash comes close to ruining your career? THAT would suck the big donkey.
So he won yesterday. That happened, and McEwen won the day before. Again, I've never met the guy, never spoke to him, yet I somehow like it when he wins a stage by sprinting his ass off. I also enjoy watching his interviews since I can understand everything he's saying. Plus, the guy genuinely seems to enjoy winning.
Maybe I just want to train myself into a sprinter. I've said it before, but there's something about grabbing the drops, standing up, putting your head down, and completely unloading on the pedals.
Aside from all that, a bunch of us went out for the Cheesequake ride on Sunday morning--the bunch made up of Ed, Dr. Rob, his boy Greg, Trek Tommy, the Polish brothers Lester & Robert, and . . . I think that was it. No! Big Joe was there pounding away as usual. Unfortunately, we didn't take any pictures, so not much to report other than the usual bickering among the boys.
Shifting gears for a minute, I came across some entertaining videos on Youtube.com. Check out the links below:
Adult Swim: Star Wars
The Matrix Clip
Family Guy Contest
And that's all I got right now.
Like what? Good question. For starters, Petacchi won a stage in the Giro yesterday which, to me, is big news. While I don't know Petacchi from a hole in the wall, my understanding is that he broke his kneecap last year and hasn't really been himself since then, meaning his top-end speed just hasn't been what it was. Yet whenever I read an article about Petacchi, I somehow feel bad for the guy. Can you imagine you're on top of your game, you're kicking ass, and then a crash comes close to ruining your career? THAT would suck the big donkey.
So he won yesterday. That happened, and McEwen won the day before. Again, I've never met the guy, never spoke to him, yet I somehow like it when he wins a stage by sprinting his ass off. I also enjoy watching his interviews since I can understand everything he's saying. Plus, the guy genuinely seems to enjoy winning.
Maybe I just want to train myself into a sprinter. I've said it before, but there's something about grabbing the drops, standing up, putting your head down, and completely unloading on the pedals.
Aside from all that, a bunch of us went out for the Cheesequake ride on Sunday morning--the bunch made up of Ed, Dr. Rob, his boy Greg, Trek Tommy, the Polish brothers Lester & Robert, and . . . I think that was it. No! Big Joe was there pounding away as usual. Unfortunately, we didn't take any pictures, so not much to report other than the usual bickering among the boys.
Shifting gears for a minute, I came across some entertaining videos on Youtube.com. Check out the links below:
Adult Swim: Star Wars
The Matrix Clip
Family Guy Contest
And that's all I got right now.
Tuesday, May 8
Basso's BS
Basso admits only to 'attempted' doping
'All my wins have been achieved in a proper and clean manner'By Agence France Presse
This report filed May 8, 2007
Ivan Basso said Tuesday that even though he had planned to blood dope for the 2006 Tour de France, he had actually never taken banned drugs or used blood transfusions.
Basso's comments at a press conference follow his admission on Monday to the Italian Olympic Committee (CONI) that he was involved in the Operación Puerto blood doping scandal that rocked last year's Tour de France.
"I have never taken banned substances and I have never employed blood doping," last year's Giro d'Italia told reporters in an emotional statement he read prior to the start of a press conference he had called.
"I did admit having attempted to use doping for the (2006) Tour de France and I am ready to pay the penalty for that," Basso said. "All my wins have been achieved in a proper and clean manner and I have every intention of returning to action and continuing with the job I love once I have paid the penalty."
The 29-year-old Basso, one of the favorites for this year's Tour de France was among dozens of riders implicated in the Operación Puerto doping affair.
Basso said he is willing to accept the consequences.
The scandal erupted before last year's Tour De France when Spanish police uncovered an alleged blood doping network run by doctor Eufemiano Fuentes.
Police seized nearly 200 bags of blood and a collection of doping products on a raid on Fuentes's laboratory in Madrid. Police also seized Fuentes's diaries full of codenames of cyclists and documents which suggested the doctor had been paid to manipulate and store blood.
The 2006 Tour was deprived of its top names such as Basso and 1997 winner Jan Ullrich who were barred from competing after their implication in the Puerto case.
This year, all three grand tour organizers have been piling the pressure on cycling authorities to act against implicated riders in an effort to avoid a repeat of last year's Tour fiasco in this year's major national tours, the first of which begins on Saturday in Italy.
Basso had consistently denied any wrongdoing, but last week he parted company with the Discovery Channel team after CONI reopened its inquiry into allegations against him.
He was initially acquitted by CONI of any involvement in the scandal after the first hearing due to what Italy governing body for sport had described as insufficient evidence. But CONI reopened its investigation after German officials successfully connected nine bags of blood to Ullrich.
Basso, with lawyer Massimo Martelli at his side, admitted that he had had dealings with Fuentes calling them "moments of weakness which will stay with me for the rest of my life and for which I intend to pay the price."
"Yes, I am ‘Birillo,'" said Basso, referring to a codename that appeared in Fuentes's records.
"I am fully aware that an attempt at doping is tantamount to doping, but I am asking to be excused for this and that should be enough," he said. "All my victories were obtained in an honest manner and nobody can contest what I achieved in the 2006 Giro d'Italia no more than the other results I achieved during my career."
'All my wins have been achieved in a proper and clean manner'By Agence France Presse
This report filed May 8, 2007
Ivan Basso said Tuesday that even though he had planned to blood dope for the 2006 Tour de France, he had actually never taken banned drugs or used blood transfusions.
Basso's comments at a press conference follow his admission on Monday to the Italian Olympic Committee (CONI) that he was involved in the Operación Puerto blood doping scandal that rocked last year's Tour de France.
"I have never taken banned substances and I have never employed blood doping," last year's Giro d'Italia told reporters in an emotional statement he read prior to the start of a press conference he had called.
"I did admit having attempted to use doping for the (2006) Tour de France and I am ready to pay the penalty for that," Basso said. "All my wins have been achieved in a proper and clean manner and I have every intention of returning to action and continuing with the job I love once I have paid the penalty."
The 29-year-old Basso, one of the favorites for this year's Tour de France was among dozens of riders implicated in the Operación Puerto doping affair.
Basso said he is willing to accept the consequences.
The scandal erupted before last year's Tour De France when Spanish police uncovered an alleged blood doping network run by doctor Eufemiano Fuentes.
Police seized nearly 200 bags of blood and a collection of doping products on a raid on Fuentes's laboratory in Madrid. Police also seized Fuentes's diaries full of codenames of cyclists and documents which suggested the doctor had been paid to manipulate and store blood.
The 2006 Tour was deprived of its top names such as Basso and 1997 winner Jan Ullrich who were barred from competing after their implication in the Puerto case.
This year, all three grand tour organizers have been piling the pressure on cycling authorities to act against implicated riders in an effort to avoid a repeat of last year's Tour fiasco in this year's major national tours, the first of which begins on Saturday in Italy.
Basso had consistently denied any wrongdoing, but last week he parted company with the Discovery Channel team after CONI reopened its inquiry into allegations against him.
He was initially acquitted by CONI of any involvement in the scandal after the first hearing due to what Italy governing body for sport had described as insufficient evidence. But CONI reopened its investigation after German officials successfully connected nine bags of blood to Ullrich.
Basso, with lawyer Massimo Martelli at his side, admitted that he had had dealings with Fuentes calling them "moments of weakness which will stay with me for the rest of my life and for which I intend to pay the price."
"Yes, I am ‘Birillo,'" said Basso, referring to a codename that appeared in Fuentes's records.
"I am fully aware that an attempt at doping is tantamount to doping, but I am asking to be excused for this and that should be enough," he said. "All my victories were obtained in an honest manner and nobody can contest what I achieved in the 2006 Giro d'Italia no more than the other results I achieved during my career."
Monday, May 7
Did I Call It or Did I Call It?
Basso admits involvement in Puerto scandal
Lawyer: 'He wanted to lift a weight off his conscience'
By Agence France Presse
This report filed May 7, 2007
Ivan Basso on Monday confessed to the anti-doping prosecutor of the Italian Olympic Committee (CONI) that he was involved in the Operación Puerto blood doping scandal.
CONI said the 2006 Giro winner came to them of his own accord and offered to cooperate with their investigation and clarify his part in the scandal.
The 29-year-old Basso now faces a ban from cycling of up to two years and an additional two-year exclusion from riding on ProTour teams. If his doping is connected to his 2006 Giro win, authorities could also strip him of that title.
"He wasn't feeling good and he wasn't calm, and he wanted to lift a weight off his conscience," said Basso's lawyer Massimo Martelli. "During the interrogation he was shaking, but then he regained his composure to show great character."
Ivano Fanini, owner of Italian cycling team Amore and Vita, was happy to see Basso come clean.
"I knew it would finish this way and it could be a great chance for things to change," he said. "Basso has shown his intelligence and understands that this is the right road to take.
"He mustn't only think about saving himself, and I hope that what he has done proves to be important."
Basso, last year's Giro d'Italia winner and a pre-race favorite for the 2007 Tour de France, is one of dozens of riders implicated in the Puerto investigation.
The scandal erupted before last year's Tour De France when Spanish police uncovered an alleged blood doping network run by doctor Eufemiano Fuentes.
Police discovered bags of blood and doping products on a raid on Fuentes's laboratory in Madrid, along with codenames of cyclists and documents which suggested the doctor had been paid to manipulate and store blood.
Last year, Basso's implication in the scandal cost him his place at the Tour de France.
UCI president Pat McQuaid expressed his dismay at hearing the news.
"Most of all I am very sad that a talented rider like Basso seems to have been involved in some illicit practices," he said. "On the other hand I'm trying to look at this news in a more positive light. Our constant efforts, with our other cycling partners, to put cyclists under pressure are paying off.
"Right now it's not easy to break the rules," he added.
Last week Basso parted company with the Discovery Channel team after CONI had called him to a hearing to answer doping charges.
Up until now Basso had protested his innocence. He was initially acquitted by CONI of any involvement in the scandal due to what Italy's governing body for sport described as insufficient evidence.
But CONI reopened its investigation after German officials matched blood seized in the Puerto raids to 1997 Tour winner Jan Ullrich. Until now, Basso had refused to submit to DNA testing, but in recent weeks the pressure to do so was increasing.
Lawyer: 'He wanted to lift a weight off his conscience'
By Agence France Presse
This report filed May 7, 2007
Ivan Basso on Monday confessed to the anti-doping prosecutor of the Italian Olympic Committee (CONI) that he was involved in the Operación Puerto blood doping scandal.
CONI said the 2006 Giro winner came to them of his own accord and offered to cooperate with their investigation and clarify his part in the scandal.
The 29-year-old Basso now faces a ban from cycling of up to two years and an additional two-year exclusion from riding on ProTour teams. If his doping is connected to his 2006 Giro win, authorities could also strip him of that title.
"He wasn't feeling good and he wasn't calm, and he wanted to lift a weight off his conscience," said Basso's lawyer Massimo Martelli. "During the interrogation he was shaking, but then he regained his composure to show great character."
Ivano Fanini, owner of Italian cycling team Amore and Vita, was happy to see Basso come clean.
"I knew it would finish this way and it could be a great chance for things to change," he said. "Basso has shown his intelligence and understands that this is the right road to take.
"He mustn't only think about saving himself, and I hope that what he has done proves to be important."
Basso, last year's Giro d'Italia winner and a pre-race favorite for the 2007 Tour de France, is one of dozens of riders implicated in the Puerto investigation.
The scandal erupted before last year's Tour De France when Spanish police uncovered an alleged blood doping network run by doctor Eufemiano Fuentes.
Police discovered bags of blood and doping products on a raid on Fuentes's laboratory in Madrid, along with codenames of cyclists and documents which suggested the doctor had been paid to manipulate and store blood.
Last year, Basso's implication in the scandal cost him his place at the Tour de France.
UCI president Pat McQuaid expressed his dismay at hearing the news.
"Most of all I am very sad that a talented rider like Basso seems to have been involved in some illicit practices," he said. "On the other hand I'm trying to look at this news in a more positive light. Our constant efforts, with our other cycling partners, to put cyclists under pressure are paying off.
"Right now it's not easy to break the rules," he added.
Last week Basso parted company with the Discovery Channel team after CONI had called him to a hearing to answer doping charges.
Up until now Basso had protested his innocence. He was initially acquitted by CONI of any involvement in the scandal due to what Italy's governing body for sport described as insufficient evidence.
But CONI reopened its investigation after German officials matched blood seized in the Puerto raids to 1997 Tour winner Jan Ullrich. Until now, Basso had refused to submit to DNA testing, but in recent weeks the pressure to do so was increasing.
Sunday, May 6
Bear Mountain . . . Again
You know what the problem is with driving up to Bear Mountain to do hill repeats? After spending half an hour pedaling to the top, you freeze your ass off on the descent. Even with the leg warmers, athletic t-shirt, and long-sleeve jersey, those first few minutes heading back down are damn cold.
It’s also a problem when you’re heart rate’s pumped up to 170 and a pair of attractive young ladies pass you as if you were standing still. I first spotted them on the side of the road just past the traffic circle. They look dangerous, I thought. One had a green bike, one had a red bike, and they both had ponytails, but the one with the red bike, she was wearing what appeared to be either an extremely short denim skirt over her tights or a pair of extremely short denim jeans. When was the last time you saw someone wearing denim on a road bike climbing Bear Mountain? And rather than a saddle bag, she had something strapped around her waist and hanging just over her butt that resembled a miniature messenger bag. By far, they were two of the most fashion conscious cyclists upon which I have ever laid eyes. I heard them approaching as they rode up behind me and when I glanced over my shoulder (admittedly, I was wearing my outrageously loud day-glo yellow jersey today . . . of all the goddam days to wear that thing), the first one said hello. “Hi,” I said, attempting to get a handle on the second girl, the one riding the red bike (don’t ask me what bikes they were riding--obviously my attention was elsewhere), and whether or not she was wearing shorts or a skirt.
Unfortunately, that’s going to have to remain a mystery as she simply went by too fast for me to tell. I guess we’ll never know.
After three and a half climbs, I decided I had had enough. On my way out, just over the Bear Mountain Bridge, I stopped at the scenic overview to have a hot dog and snap off a few pics. I’m big on the pictures lately.
Two other things. This Saturday morning there’s a race in Prospect Park which I’m planning on trying, Category 5. If anyone’s interested, you can find info and register online at www.racelistings.com. Also, I’m planning on killing off some brain cells tonight when I watch Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift. Just thought you might want to know about that.
It’s also a problem when you’re heart rate’s pumped up to 170 and a pair of attractive young ladies pass you as if you were standing still. I first spotted them on the side of the road just past the traffic circle. They look dangerous, I thought. One had a green bike, one had a red bike, and they both had ponytails, but the one with the red bike, she was wearing what appeared to be either an extremely short denim skirt over her tights or a pair of extremely short denim jeans. When was the last time you saw someone wearing denim on a road bike climbing Bear Mountain? And rather than a saddle bag, she had something strapped around her waist and hanging just over her butt that resembled a miniature messenger bag. By far, they were two of the most fashion conscious cyclists upon which I have ever laid eyes. I heard them approaching as they rode up behind me and when I glanced over my shoulder (admittedly, I was wearing my outrageously loud day-glo yellow jersey today . . . of all the goddam days to wear that thing), the first one said hello. “Hi,” I said, attempting to get a handle on the second girl, the one riding the red bike (don’t ask me what bikes they were riding--obviously my attention was elsewhere), and whether or not she was wearing shorts or a skirt.
Unfortunately, that’s going to have to remain a mystery as she simply went by too fast for me to tell. I guess we’ll never know.
After three and a half climbs, I decided I had had enough. On my way out, just over the Bear Mountain Bridge, I stopped at the scenic overview to have a hot dog and snap off a few pics. I’m big on the pictures lately.
Two other things. This Saturday morning there’s a race in Prospect Park which I’m planning on trying, Category 5. If anyone’s interested, you can find info and register online at www.racelistings.com. Also, I’m planning on killing off some brain cells tonight when I watch Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift. Just thought you might want to know about that.
Saturday, May 5
Ivan Basso & the NY Yankees
So, there’s a lot going on everywhere and it seems like it’s going on all the time. It seems that way to me, at least. For instance, last night a few of us took the 4 train up to Yankee Stadium for the 7:05 game (why 7:05 and not 7:00?) against Seattle. Things were looking good considering (a) we were three rows from the field behind the visitor’s dugout, (b) the Yankees scored six runs in the first inning, and (c) we had a few hot dogs as soon as we sat down. I raise that last point as hot dogs are simply delicious. Yet despite the smiles . . .
. . . Seattle somehow managed to score eight goddam runs in the fifth inning. I say somehow managed although I know exactly how they did it: Joe Torre put a fat bastard by the name of Colten Bean on the mound and Fat Boy Bean started his evening by walking two consecutive batters. When he finally threw a strike, the entire stadium went nuts, which is just plain embarrassing when you’re pitching in the major leagues. Fifteen minutes later, as Bean failed to produce a single out and the stadium became eerily quiet, a guy a few rows back yelled, “Would somebody please get somebody out?!”
Once the Yanks relinquished their lead and fell behind 14-8, it was time to leave, so we left.
So that happened. This morning, I decided to sleep in until 9:30, which is always a nice way to start the weekend. After a bowl of Frosted Flakes, I geared up and hit the road for my usual 45-mile training ride. More than once I pulled to the side of the road to snap off a few pics so my wonderful readers (all two of you) might get some idea as to what the scenery is like up here in the sticks.
After the ride, I stopped in the local barber shop for a trim. Since the guys who run the shop are old school, the trim included the hot lather on the back of my neck with the straight-edge razor treatment, not to mention a few words from the old guy cutting my hair.
“You gotta beautiful hair, you know that?”
“. . . thanks.”
I don’t have a pic of the haircut, so go ahead and call me an unprofessional journalist. I’m okay with that.
In other exciting developments, Ivan Basso has left the Discovery team. Why? Do you even have to ask? Come on. Let’s get real here. Basso knows that once he provides the authorities with a DNA sample (meaning they’re going to stick a Q-Tip in his mouth)--which it’s looking like he’s definitely going to have to do--that sample is going to prove a link between him, the evil Dr. Fuentes, and Operacion Puerto. With that said, Basso’s departure from the Discovery team seems like a preemptive strike on the team’s behalf, most likely coordinated by Johan Bruyneel. I can only imagine the talk Bruyneel must have given Basso: “If you’re going down, there isn’t a chance in hell we’re going down with you. And gain some weight, you skinny f#ck.”
What else? Oh, right. I did a fair amount of drinking this week, but it wasn’t my fault. On Tuesday, a few of us from the office had dinner with Univision.com (properly pronounced you-knee-viz-ee-ohne). Why we were having dinner with Univision is a whole other story, but we had to have something to wash down all those empanadas and quesadillas, so why not wash them down with pomegranate margaritas, right? After three or four of those, the night and my life in general felt a hell of a lot better. And what is it about drinking, or to be more accurate, tying on a buzz, that makes everything seem so important? It’s almost as if the evening becomes something of a film negative in that catching an early train and getting home to get a good night’s sleep for the next day’s presentation takes a backseat in favor of spending time thinking about and discussing all the bigger pictures in your life. Of course, the outcomes of those drunken discussions never tend to lead any place good, do they? You wake up the next morning and think, What the hell was I thinking?
Anyway, after the pomegranate margaritas, I stumbled my way to Grand Central Terminal and took this because I’m good like that:
The next night, I had a date. Yes, another goddam date. I’m in my mid-thirties and I’m dating. Wow. Fantastic. Great. Hurray for me.
Once again on my way to Grand Central Station after a few drinks, I took another pic:
Absolutely thrilling, isn’t it?
You know what I really want to know? I know I’m shifting gears here, but the bunch sprinters like Boonen, Freire, and McEwen--are they doping too? My understanding is that they take a dose of caffeine the size of a horse pill about ten kilometers from the finish line, but do those guys have the needles in their asses like the favorites? Can we get McEwen on the phone and ask him? I’d really like to know.
That’s it for now. Tomorrow I think I’m going to drive up to Bear Mountain and just do climbing repeats all morning: 4.5 miles up, 4.5 miles down, repeat. Sounds boring but I hear it’s effective. And if I take any more pics, trust me, you guys will be the first to know.
. . . Seattle somehow managed to score eight goddam runs in the fifth inning. I say somehow managed although I know exactly how they did it: Joe Torre put a fat bastard by the name of Colten Bean on the mound and Fat Boy Bean started his evening by walking two consecutive batters. When he finally threw a strike, the entire stadium went nuts, which is just plain embarrassing when you’re pitching in the major leagues. Fifteen minutes later, as Bean failed to produce a single out and the stadium became eerily quiet, a guy a few rows back yelled, “Would somebody please get somebody out?!”
Once the Yanks relinquished their lead and fell behind 14-8, it was time to leave, so we left.
So that happened. This morning, I decided to sleep in until 9:30, which is always a nice way to start the weekend. After a bowl of Frosted Flakes, I geared up and hit the road for my usual 45-mile training ride. More than once I pulled to the side of the road to snap off a few pics so my wonderful readers (all two of you) might get some idea as to what the scenery is like up here in the sticks.
After the ride, I stopped in the local barber shop for a trim. Since the guys who run the shop are old school, the trim included the hot lather on the back of my neck with the straight-edge razor treatment, not to mention a few words from the old guy cutting my hair.
“You gotta beautiful hair, you know that?”
“. . . thanks.”
I don’t have a pic of the haircut, so go ahead and call me an unprofessional journalist. I’m okay with that.
In other exciting developments, Ivan Basso has left the Discovery team. Why? Do you even have to ask? Come on. Let’s get real here. Basso knows that once he provides the authorities with a DNA sample (meaning they’re going to stick a Q-Tip in his mouth)--which it’s looking like he’s definitely going to have to do--that sample is going to prove a link between him, the evil Dr. Fuentes, and Operacion Puerto. With that said, Basso’s departure from the Discovery team seems like a preemptive strike on the team’s behalf, most likely coordinated by Johan Bruyneel. I can only imagine the talk Bruyneel must have given Basso: “If you’re going down, there isn’t a chance in hell we’re going down with you. And gain some weight, you skinny f#ck.”
What else? Oh, right. I did a fair amount of drinking this week, but it wasn’t my fault. On Tuesday, a few of us from the office had dinner with Univision.com (properly pronounced you-knee-viz-ee-ohne). Why we were having dinner with Univision is a whole other story, but we had to have something to wash down all those empanadas and quesadillas, so why not wash them down with pomegranate margaritas, right? After three or four of those, the night and my life in general felt a hell of a lot better. And what is it about drinking, or to be more accurate, tying on a buzz, that makes everything seem so important? It’s almost as if the evening becomes something of a film negative in that catching an early train and getting home to get a good night’s sleep for the next day’s presentation takes a backseat in favor of spending time thinking about and discussing all the bigger pictures in your life. Of course, the outcomes of those drunken discussions never tend to lead any place good, do they? You wake up the next morning and think, What the hell was I thinking?
Anyway, after the pomegranate margaritas, I stumbled my way to Grand Central Terminal and took this because I’m good like that:
The next night, I had a date. Yes, another goddam date. I’m in my mid-thirties and I’m dating. Wow. Fantastic. Great. Hurray for me.
Once again on my way to Grand Central Station after a few drinks, I took another pic:
Absolutely thrilling, isn’t it?
You know what I really want to know? I know I’m shifting gears here, but the bunch sprinters like Boonen, Freire, and McEwen--are they doping too? My understanding is that they take a dose of caffeine the size of a horse pill about ten kilometers from the finish line, but do those guys have the needles in their asses like the favorites? Can we get McEwen on the phone and ask him? I’d really like to know.
That’s it for now. Tomorrow I think I’m going to drive up to Bear Mountain and just do climbing repeats all morning: 4.5 miles up, 4.5 miles down, repeat. Sounds boring but I hear it’s effective. And if I take any more pics, trust me, you guys will be the first to know.
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