Getting A Flat In The Tour

So Carlos Sastre won the Tour, huh? Didn’t he ride on the ONCE team? Didn’t Johan Bruyneel also ride for the ONCE team?

Now I’m not saying that just because two professional Spanish cyclists rode for the same team that was known for its aggressive doping means they were and/or are both dopers. Again, I’m not saying that. I’m simply insinuating that they’re both rabid dopers.

And Cadel Evans lost, but with that girly voice and the weird way in which his head tilts to the right when he rides, he deserved to lose. God, can you imagine if he won? Can you imagine the uncountable number of interviews we’d be subjected to with that high-pitch whine he calls a voice? Makes you wonder if all those years of riding destroyed the precious equipment below the belt.

While we’re talking about the Tour, let’s talk about the third-place finisher, Bernard Kohl, the same guy who won the polka dot jersey (which, deep down, you all realize is probably the ugliest goddam jersey you’ve ever seen in your life). For starters, where in the world did Kohl come from? Not that I’m the epitome of blogging on the latest and greatest when it comes to professional cycling, but really, where did he come from? No doubt he’s been a professional for some time, but I don’t think I heard his name mentioned once during all the hours I spent watching the 2006 TdF 12-hour DVD set and while I’m only halfway through the 2007 set, I don’t think I heard his name once during that race either.

So who is he? Where did he come from? Where’s he scoring his performance-enhancing drugs? Most importantly, what the hell is that thing in his mouth where his front teeth are supposed to be? It looks like he forgot to spit out that thing the dentist shoves in your mouth before he takes an X-ray and now it’s stuck between his upper lip and teeth. I have to wonder how the guy eats as it seems that thing in his mouth is pointing straight toward the camera rather than pointing down.

Apart from the Tour, I had a big, bad race yesterday. Actually, it wasn’t all that big or bad, but the coordination and planning when it comes to racing when you’re on a team is . . . delightful.

Sunday morning, CRCA held the club’s Master championship race which means little to me, but it also meant that the B field was split into A/B and B/C, so the B riders had the option of riding up or riding down. The evening before the race, one of the team captains/lieutenants had listed online not only who would be racing the following morning (based on team field limits), but who would be playing what role in terms of working toward the front of the pack, who would take it easy and save energy for the sprint, etc.

Now that is what I was looking for in terms of joining and racing with a team. Strategy and tactics.

When the race started, everything was going relatively well—better than the last two races, at least—when I heard the blast of a tube puncturing: pssssssssssssttt! Glancing at the wheels around me, I thought, “Well, that certainly sucks,” and then I realized it was my tube that had punctured.

Over the past two years, I’ve only been in a handful of races and of those handful, I’ve been dropped three times. The first time it happened, it was my first race ever and I deserved to get dropped. The second time it happened was during a criterium in Poughkeepsie last spring and, while I don’t think I deserved to get dropped, I think the Category 4 riders who had dropped down into Category 5 should’ve kept their shaved legs in Category 4 where they belong. The third time it happened was only a few weeks ago and if you’d like to read my excuse as to why I got dropped, you can read all about that right here.

The reason I bring all this up is that every time I’ve been dropped, I’ve always prayed for a flat tire just before getting dropped. If I had luckily suffered a flat tire before getting dropped, I wouldn’t have been dropped. Instead, I would have had to have stopped. I wouldn’t have had a choice in the matter. See what I mean?

So there I am Sunday morning, feeling okay, staying near the front of the pack where I was supposed to stay, when I get a flat with half a lap to go. Half a freaking lap to go. For the love of god, why does everything have to go wrong now that I’m wearing a team kit?