Thomas Voeckler = Stupid Douchebag

Is it me, or is this guy the biggest douchebag in the sport of professional cycling?



It’s not just me. I’ve been watching the Giro almost every day since the race started a few weeks ago and based on the calls I’ve made, the emails I’ve sent, and the people with whom I’ve conferred on a daily basis all agree that Thomas Voeckler is, indeed, the biggest douchebag in all of professional cycling.

For starters, he looks like a pre-pubescent adolescent still trying to determine the direction of his sexuality. I’d be willing to bet Voeckler doesn’t spend all that much time holding a shaving razor to his face although I would be willing to bet that French son-of-a-bitch spends an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror working on his “I’m going on the attack with 3K to go” grimace. And if you’re unsure which grimace I’m referring to, this is the one:



Looks a bit rehearsed, doesn’t it? If you’re going to grimace when you ride, you might as well make sure it’s authentic, like this guy:



That’s what brings me to this post. As stated, I’ve been watching the Giro pretty much every day and guess who jumps from the front of the peloton with a few kilometers left in most of the flat stages?

Douchebag Thomas Voeckler.

Imagine you’re part of Mark Cavendish’s lead-out train. You’re at the front with 5K to go, you’ve got your hands in the drops, your SRM is reading somewhere in the range of 400 - 600 watts, and you’re thinking, “We’ve got this,” when you see a little douchebag of a rider in a bland aqua kit sprinting down the road all on his own. No doubt you’ve seen this before. As a matter of fact, the same little douchebag tried the same thing yesterday and the day before and while he’s been caught EVERY SINGLE TIME he tries this, he’s apparently not the sharpest tool in the shed because, lo and behold, here his is trying it again.

Now I don’t know about you, but if I were pulling along the entire peloton near the end of a race and some little dickhead like Voeckler went off and tried to attack, I’d be pretty pissed off. To me, Voeckler seems like that annoying gnat that just keeps circling your head no matter how many times you try to swat it away. I have to imagine he realizes there’s no way they’re going to let him get away every time he tries one of his inside-10K-dumbass-moves, so perhaps he just does it for the TV exposure back home in France. I can imagine the cycling fan conversation . . .

“Voulez-vous des poo-poo, monseiur. Did you see petit Voeckler ahier--”

“Oui, oui, that petit douchebag. So very stoo-peede, no? Je pense--”

“In-cruh-dee-bla that douchebag still has a job with a team like--”

Lester and An Upgrade to Category 4

So last week, my coach emails me: "You've been on the bike plenty the past few weeks. You should think about upgrading to Category 4."

My immediate response was (in my head), "Are you nuts?" So I wrote back, "I don't know, but if you think it's a good idea, I can request the upgrade from USA Cycling."

My coach responds with, "There isn't much of a fitness difference from Cat 5 to Cat 4," which, to me, is a total bunch of bullsh*t. This guy wants me to upgrade simply so that have a big, heavy-duty guy who can make a hell of a draft to start their lead-out train in the Category 4 races.

Apparently, I'm going to be that guy. How utterly thrilling, but honestly, it is kind of fun to be a part of a strategy to help a team win.

With that said, I applied for the upgrade so I'm now racing the Category 4 field and my first race in Cat 4 was going to happen this morning at the NY Criterium at Floyd Bennett Field. When the alarm went off at 6 AM this morning and I could barely see the building across the street through the window due to all the fog, I immediately got back under the covers. As much as I love riding my bike and as much as I often enjoy racing, I don't get paid to do this stuff. If it's raining and I don't race today, I'll simply race another day. No big deal, so I wasn't about to drag myself out of the apartment and drive all the way to FBF for a potentially wet race.

I bring all this up as, after dinner this evening, I was on Facebook and spotted a friends picture uploads from the foggy race this morning. Take a look at this pic. That's Lester on the left, right? Here--have a look.



That's him, right? Now that I'm in his field (category 4, I'll probably have some fun and see if he wants to try and get into a break with me), I'm looking forward to racing with the guy, or at least sitting in his aftershave-filled draft for as long as possible.

And unfortunately, I don't think Lester won. Here's a picture of the finish, but my friend posted this under the pic:



"Adam Duncan leading the field sprint. I think that Organic rider was lapped and not in it."

Kloden, Coke, Boonen, and the Giro

So how about that Tom Boonen, huh? Busted for using cocaine a second time in a single year? This “hot on the heels” of his third Paris-Roubaix win a few weeks ago.



You know, I’m tempted to say, “Sucker,” although that would be easy, wouldn’t it? It would be easy to just pass judgment on the totally badass dude and say something to he effect of, “God, all that talent and he’s doing coke?”

Like I said, it would be easy to say that, but how many of us actually know the guy? How many of us can say they understand the nuances, pressure, etc., of being a world-class cyclist? The fact of the matter is, the guy gives us what we want. Sure, he’s a cyclist, but he’s also a performer. Did anyone see the 2009 Paris-Roubaix on Versus? Granted, some of Boonen’s main rivals crashed in the last twenty kilometers, but in my opinion (and, as we all know, it’s all about my opinion around here, isn’t it?), that argument doesn’t hold water. Why not? Because Boonen could’ve crashed himself, but he didn’t? The rest of his competitors, who should be just as skilled in bike handling as any professional, hit the deck and not through the fault of any other riders. Thor Hushovd was right there at the end but he slid and crashed, leaving Boonen to solo away to the finish line.

My point? That kid put his head down, went balls-to-the-wall, and gave us the show every single fan wanted to see that day. He obliterated his competition. Every single person reading this page can’t even begin to conceive of riding that hard, for that long, over that kind of terrain, matched up against the best cyclists in the world, and I say all that to say: if the kid wants to blow off a few rails of coke now and again, that’s his freaking business.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem the rest of the world sees it that way. According to the UCI, they don’t give a rat’s ass (as they shouldn’t), but apparently, everybody else does, including Christian Prudhomme (who’s last name I can’t help but hear in my head with this ridiculous French accent, as in PROO-DOHM). The Tour de France director has stated that Boonen will not be invited to the 2009 Tour which, to me, is people just passing judgment.

(I get that there’s the whole “we’ve an image to protect” argument when it comes to something like the Tour and then you get the kids involved, as in, “Well, we need to project the right image to the young cycling fans,” and all that crap, but if you wiped away most of the “image” in this world and everyone and everything showed their true colors, what you’d be left with is something like a 63 / 37 hypocrisy to bullshit ratio.)

Then there’s the Kraut, Andreas Kloden, who has apparently just been named in a doping report, something I found on Velonews last night.



Does this come as a surprise to anyone? This is the guy who’s been a front-runner in the Tour de France almost every year and has ridden for teams that have been doping their riders for freaking years. Like everyone else (except Lance . . . did I say that?), it’s only a matter of time before you get busted if you do shit like that.

Speaking of which, I remember years ago, I put up a post on a recreational cycling message board online, something to the effect of: “Think of it this way. All the guys Lance beat were doping. Is it possible Lance wasn’t doping himself? Sure. Is it likely? NOT REALLY!”

The Lance fans attacked hot and heavy and the one line I remember most clearly was from some yucca out in the middle of nowhere who said, “Obviously, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I love how, when threatened, some people drop the idea of debate all together and simply choose to rabidly discredit the other side with insults which, I believe, is kind of how Democrats go about their business . . . D’OH! Just kidding. Well, I’m not really kidding, but that conversation is neither here nor there.

Anyway, Universal Sports has been covering the Giro d’Italia. Two whole hours of coverage every single day. Has everybody been keeping up with this? Has everyone been watching the two former dopers, Ivan Basso and Danilo DiLuca, tearing things up on the first two mountain stages? I wonder if they’re still doping. Hmm, I wonder just how they go so fast uphill for so long, especially when you see powerhouses like Jens Voigt getting dropped on those same hills. If anything, I guess it should tell us that one can be competitive in professional cycling without having to stick a needle in your ass, just not in the mountains.

Is That Lester? The Crazy Polish Guy?

The other day, I was updating the Jim Boyd points page on CRCA.net when I spotted this name on the bottom of the list for the B Field. Check it out. (If you can't see the name on the bottom of the list clearly, just click on the picture and it'll expand.)



I think it was last summer that I bumped into Lester in Central Park. I even wrote a quick post about it and you can read about that here. So again, when I saw that Polish-looking name on the bottom of the list, I thought, "You know, that might be crazy Lester from Staten Island."

With that tucked away in the back of my head, I was online last night checking results and pics from the recent Jiminy Peak road race and, sure enough, I find this which, to me, looks a lot like Lester, doesn't it?



Am I right or am I wrong? I was sitting here thinking, "That's gotta be him."

A little further down the page, I see another pic, but the guy's not riding Lester's usual yellow Trek. Anyone know if Lester upgraded to this blue machine?



Further, it's hard for me to tell if it actually is Lester from this photo considering (a) I usually only see him from behind (which means I smell him more than I see him with all that aftershave), and (b) this guy's in the small chainring. When was the last time you saw Lester in the small chainring?

Finally, on the bottom of the page, I found a final picture that might be Lester yet considering the paragraph immediately above this one, I just can't tell if it's actually him.



I mean, that's him, right? Can someone let me know?

Brilliant Copywriting

I know I'm not the only one who, upon seeing the advertisement below, has asked him or herself, "This can't be right."



Ridiculously expensive? Am I reading that correctly? An ad for a product that plays on how expensive it is?

From what I understand, Speedplay (the people who make these pedals) are located in San Diego, so they're aware of the current economic climate facing most of the world, especially here in the United States. With that said, why the F#CK would you run an print ad that includes copy that reads, "Ridiculously Expensive?"

I'm thinking someone at Speedplay managed to seriously piss off their copywriter a few days before the magazines went to production.

Hours Upon Hours

One of the advantages to being unemployed is that I can now spend a ridiculous amount of time on the bike.

The disadvantages, of course, are numerous, although as long as I don’t spend too much time on the bike--meaning more than six or seven hours a day--I’m hoping to keep those disadvantages to a minimum by finding another fantastic job as soon as humanly possible.

And while I haven’t been unemployed long (was laid off last week, so it’s only been a few days, to be honest), the shift from an eight or nine-hour work day to a zero-hour work day means I can’t easily double the amount of weekday riding I had been doing. Now, instead of riding between sixty and ninety minutes a day during the week, I can now spend at least two hours a day riding, perhaps even three hours.

What all of this time one the bike is going to amount to, I have no idea. Stronger riding? It better amount to stronger riding although I’m still a bit ambivalent about the NYVelocity training program. I could be wrong, but I just get the feeling I’m not where I was mid-summer last year in terms of power. Riding around with my heart rate in either my endurance zone (134 to 146 BPM) or my tempo zone (147 to 154 BPM) for a few hours doesn’t make me feel as if I’m really making progress. Sure, I throw in a few sub-threshold (155 to 165 BPM) intervals here or there, but man, I just don’t know.

And the good thing about being an unemployed cyclist is that it doesn’t cost me anything to throw a leg over the bike and hit the road. Sure, there’s the cost of the food needed while out for a while--bananas, almonds, Clif Bars, muffins, etc.--but these are minimal costs. If these costs are going to have a serious effect one one’s bank account while unemployed, I think it’d be safe to say that the hours dedicated to riding should probably be spent on a job search.

Fortunately, I’m not in that position. Despite the current economic climate (a term I’ve come to loathe over the past several months), there are still jobs in the advertising industry and I can still afford to bring Clif Bars out on rides. Granted, there are less of them compared to this time a year ago, but they are out there, and finding one will only be a matter of time (hopefully less time than more time).

So how about that Tom Boonen taking his third Paris-Roubaix title? Granted, the guy did get a bit lucky when everyone behind him managed to crash, but god almighty, Boonen is one bad-ass motherf#cker. Hincapie is too, but that poor bastard can’t catch a break in that race. Would have been nice to see an American pull off the win, but to the victor go the spoils, no?

I'm Back!

Three months of no written communication. That’s a long time, no? It’s a long time for one person to be as lazy as they can be when it comes to keeping the online world abreast of what’s new in my life as it relates to cycling. And when I say lazy, god, I mean that in every freaking sense of the world.

Regardless, there’s been a fair amount happening in this so-called life of mine. Nothing terribly exciting, mind you, but then again, when was the last time someone called you with a piece of news so terribly exciting that you found yourself thinking, “For the love of christ, that IS exciting news!”

Not that I’m making excuses, but to be honest, there are times--like the past several months, for example--when writing is a lot like going to the gym. Once you’re finally at the gym and exercising, it doesn’t seem so bad. It’s getting to the gym that causes so much procrastination, and that’s exactly what happens with me when it comes to updating certain blogs. Once I actually sit down to write the damn thing, I feel fine. It’s just a matter of opening Word and making the actual effort the gets me flustered.

But here I am, once again baring my cycling soul to the world. (Not really, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?)

Let’s start where I left off, which was late-November, I believe. The only incident of note that happened between late-November and the end of the year was a trip to the in-laws mini-mansion in a golf country club in south Florida. I mention this as, now that I’m married, I figured, “I’m going to be down here at least once or twice a year for the foreseeable future, so I’ve got choices. I can (a) rent a bike every time I come down, (b) buy an inexpensive bike to keep down here, or (c) I can upgrade from the Jamis, ship the new bike to New York, and then ship the Jamis down to Florida.

Needless to say, I pursued option C and, as a result, I’m not the proud owner of a new Scott. Not a bad looking bike, right?



So that happened and, upon returning to NYC, I boxed up the Jamis and shipped that bitch down to the in-laws. And then, on my first ride out on the Scott, a goddam taxi driver hit me.

Can you believe that shit? The good news is that I’m fine, as was the bike with the exception of the rear wheel. It was a low-speed incident in that this dumb fuck tried making a right from the left lane and hit me dead center (at all of 5 MPH, mind you, hence the fact that no real damage was done).

What happened to the wheel? It had managed to wedge itself beneath the car’s front bumper and, as the driver crept forward (assumably looking over his left shoulder to check for oncoming traffic and not bothering to look where he was going which just happened to be straight into a very important local cyclist . . . me), it was somewhat tweaked. See below:



So that happened.

What else?

Training began in earnest in mid-January after a lactate threshold test at Cadence Cycling Center.

I bought a new trainer as the Blackburn crapped out on me. Picked up a Kurt Kinetic Road Machine fluid trainer and this thing is worlds better than the Blackburn. Even comes with a lifetime warranty.

Signed up for the 6-week bike repair course at Bicycle Habitat downtown. After almost three years of riding, I feel I’m pretty fluid with wrenching on bikes, but I figured I’d take the course anyway as I’ve been tossing around the idea of eventually getting out of advertising and possibly opening up a little bike repair shop. I enjoy working with my hands and I certainly enjoy bikes, so why not marry the two?

Got dropped in my first CRCA race of the season and by my own goddam teammates. I don’t know what these two guys--David Anthony and Mitch Jacaruso--did during the off-season--but considering how fast they’ve been hauling ass uphill, I’d say they’re going to be ready to an upgrade to the B field my mid-season. Like I said, it was the first club race of the season, March 28th, and everything was fine the first lap. We (the NYVelocity guys) were mostly at the front of the field, keeping things under control, and then, once we hit Harlem Hill on the second lap, David and Mitch went by me (and I was either second or third from the front of the peloton) as if we were standing still. Try as I might to keep up, once my heart rate hit 192 and it didn’t look like things were going to relax any time soon, I sat up and called it a morning.

Apparently, I still have a long way to go.

Next race, this Sunday morning, but it’s not a CRCA race. It’s some sort of Spring Racing Series and it’s only two or three laps in Central Park. Teammates who have entered some of the series previous events have warned, “Stay near the front! A lot of those guys can’t ride for shit.”

Why do I do this to myself? Why?

Finally, I don’t know if anyone’s tried climbing that last climb on River Road lately but I can tell you from firsthand experience that the potholes are ten times worse than they were this time last year. Just a head’s up.

What Have I Done

I think I might have made a mistake. Actually, I think I might have made several mistakes all at once--mistakes that are going to cost me some major time in the next eight to twelve months.

For starters, when the team (as in NYVelocity) told all of us to take at least two to four weeks off the bike, I took that literally and, rather than cross-train with another sport, I have done absolutely nothing over the past four weeks other than eat, drink, and sleep.

Why has so much time off the bike been a mistake? Because when I went for a ride yesterday, I approached a small hill that looked like this . . .



. . . and it not only took me half-an-hour to reach the top, but my heart rate shot up to 197 as well. And while I’ve got about thirty days before training for the 2009 season begins, I can’t even conceive of heading out for a ride that lasts longer than an hour-and-a-half or, god forbid, a group ride, especially with the team. (Deep down in my heart, I know that most of the guys on the team have been training their asses off despite the coaches telling us to take it easy. Too many type-A personalities who take this shit waaaayyyyy too seriously.)

Apart from the lack of training, I nominated myself to be voted in as Communications Director of the Century Road Club Association (of which NYVelocity is a sub-team). This means I’ll be the person responsible for daily and weekly updates to the club’s site, CRCA.net.

Am I a web designer? Do I know anything about HTML coding? NOPE, although apparently, the site is hosted on WordPress which is the same program I use for my other useless blog, ExpectTheWorst.com. Still, the CRCA site is a lot more complicated than my rinky-dink blog, so I have no doubt I’ll be logging some serious hours at the computer trying to keep things flowing on the site.



Wow. I can’t wait.

Garmin 705 Product Review

This thing blows. That's as good as a review as you're going to get from me.

Set it up last night and went for a ride over the GWB this morning. Was very much looking forward to riding anywhere but 9W and that's exactly what my compadre and I did. For twenty miles, we took any turn we wanted and sailed along the side rides of central New Jersey.

After an hour-and-a-half of riding, we decided it was time to head back.

"All I have to do is hit GO HOME," I said, "and we should be in good shape."

(FYI, I had entered my home address earlier, so the computer knew where I needed to go.)

Ten minutes later, the Garmin had yet to calculate a way back. Luckily, I knew where we were, so we started toward 9W. After another ten minutes had passed, the goddam piece of crap still hadn't calculated a route home.

"Maybe I did something wrong," I said.

Nope. I did everything right. At home, I tried calculating a few different routes, but none of them worked. As a result, we're returning this piece of shit to J&R this afternoon.

It's disappointing, to say the least. Now I'm back to cue sheets. Last time I ever buy a Garmin.

Garmin

MY CUE SHEET DAYS ARE OVER, AMIGOS!

Check out what the lady friend presented me with as a wedding gift only moments ago.



God almighty, I'm so pissed at myself for not opening the box from UPS as soon as I came in this evening. Like a total dumbass, I paid the package no mind when I spotted Stephanie's name on the label and went out for a quick, off-season ride. When I came in, she said, "That package on the table? I think that's the Garmin I ordered for you."

You mean I could've hooked that baby to my bars and went for a ride tonight? I could've watched my location on the map as I made a circle in Central Park? You mean I now have to wait until tomorrow before giving it a first try? How the hell am I supposed to sleep tonight?

Bernard Kohl Tests Positive

So Bernard Kohl got busted for CERA, huh? If you haven’t heard the news, you can read about it by clicking here and that should take you to the update on Velonews.com.

You know, at the end of the day, if you put a gun to my head, I really don’t give a shit if these guys are doping. Years ago, before taking up cycling, I had a brief conversation with a real estate broker (he was showing me a condo for sale in Jersey City) about athletes and steroids. Lance Armstrong’s name was raised and, at the time, I had no clue as to whether or not Lance was on the sauce, although I specifically remember telling the broker, “If these guys want to use drugs, then let them use drugs. Who gives a shit?”

“Yeah, but they’re role models,” the broker argued. “Kids look up to them.”

In hindsight, the “kids look up to them” comment was redundant as I fully understand what a role model is and how a role model is expected to act, but give me a break. It’s a weak argument all around. If a professional athlete--in other words, a person who makes a living from their athletic ability--has the opportunity to create a better living for him or herself via drug use and if they’re relatively sure they can get away with it, they’re going to do it. Ethics and integrity are words and their meanings can be bent, so let’s not get started on the ethical argument of cheating via performance-enhancing drugs.

FYI, there’s a movie out there called Bigger, Faster, Stronger. I caught it in the theaters while it was out for a single weekend before becoming a DVD and while it doesn’t necessarily focus on cycling at all, it is a decent take on drug use in the athletic arena.

So here’s where I’m going with this. Bernard Kohl finished third in the 2008 Tour de France and won the polka-dot jersey. Carlos Sastre and Cadel Evans (don’t even get me started on that frigging pansy) beat Bernard Kohl and, as we all know, the Tour is won in the mountains and in the time trials. If Sastre and Evans beat Kohl, does that mean they were taking CERA or some other performance-enhancing drug as well?

I’d make that assumption. Yep, I’d have no trouble making that assumption whatsoever.

Schumacher Tests Positive for CERA

You can read all about it here.

Did I or did I not call this in one of my previous posts? Did I not write these very words:

The Tour started last Saturday, there’s apparently no clear leader just yet (unless you consider Kim Kirchen a contender for the overall which would be something of a mistake), and somehow, Stefan Schumacher won the first individual time trial.

Where the hell did that come from? What in the world did Schumacher snort or inject to pull a performance like that out of his ass? What was also interesting is that Phil Liggett made a post-race note that Johan Bruyneel had tipped his hat to Schumacher to win the first time trial and what that tells me is that Bruyneel probably sold Schumacher whatever it was that he either injected or snorted to go as fast as he did.

But hey, maybe I’m just being a cynic. But I don’t think so. Schumacher beat Cancellara? I’d tip my hat to drugs. Lots of drugs.

Based on today's update on Schumacher in Velonews.com and considering Johan Bruyneel had predicted Schumacher would do well, perhaps Bruyneel has a side gig going on selling CERA. Wouldn't that be interesting.

Just The Other Night

So you’re never going to believe who I saw in Central Park on Wednesday night.

Luckily, this has been a recovery week for me according to my training schedule. That means I’m supposed to hop on the bike for no more than an hour a day and, better yet, I’m not supposed to let my heart rate climb above 125. (Dr. Rob, I know you really don’t understand what I’m trying to say when I say “recovery ride,” but it’s when you get on a bike and not go nuts at the bottom of every hill.)

So I’m in the Park Wednesday night doing exactly that. I’m spinning along with my heart rate around 108, enjoying the view for once (rather than blasting along with my eyes dropping out of my head), when some maniac goes flying by me at warp speed. Trying to get a look at the guy before he disappeared around a bend, I thought, “You know, that dude looks familiar.”

And since I hadn’t seen this dude in quite some time, I clicked up a few gears, hit the big chain ring, and went full gas in an attempt to catch him. About a minute later, I pulled up behind the guy, recognized his familiar musk, and thought, “My man.”

Pulling up alongside the maniac, I smiled and yelled, “Lester!”

Yep. It was Lester the crazy Polack. He was wearing a green team kit, riding the same yellow Trek he’s been riding since I met him (which really wasn’t all that long ago), and he had a beer in one hand. All right, I’m lying about the beer, but there he was, tearing up the road in Central Park. And now that I had his attention and as happy as I was to bump into him, I knew I was in for a rough few minutes considering I can barely understand a word the guy says (and I’m sure he feels the same way about me).

“Good to see you, buddy,” I said. “What are you doing up here in the city?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I working here. In the city.”

After a few quick pleasantries, we got onto the subject of racing.

“So I hear you’ve been racing in Brooklyn,” I said.

“Yes. Brooklyn. Prospect Park. Every Saturday. All summer. I race . . . five. You know? Group five?”

“Category five?”

“Yeah. Five. The races. I win. All. So I move. Four.”

(Granted, he doesn’t really talk like this, but what I’m translating here is all I really understand when he speaks.)

“They bumped you up to Category four?”

“Yeah. Half five. Half four.”

I took this as him moving from Category Five to Four halfway through the season.

“This Saturday. Last race this year.”

(This Saturday was also the last CRCA race but, again, after a week of recovery riding, I would have been a dead weight out there in the field, so I skipped it.)

And that was it. We shook hands and went our separate ways, Lester leaving a long trail of aftershave in his wake.

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?

Anything But The Tour

Since I’m about two days behind on Tour coverage, I don’t want to talk about that just now. Even if I was up to speed on the Tour, I don’t think any of you actually listen to anything I have to say regarding the professional scene anyway, so with that, here’s the other update.

Despite any of my previous rhetoric, I stepped up and joined a racing team. Team NYVelocity.

Yes, yes, very exciting news, I know. Actually, it’s not all that exciting at all . . . well, I’m lying. To be brutally honest, I was a bit excited when one of the team owners emailed me to the extend of, “Just got some new team kits in so come on down and grab one before they’re gone.”

So now I wear a team kit 99% of the time whenever I throw a leg over my bike. This is what it looks like.



Not bad, right? I do appreciate the color scheme with the white and blues. Nothing glaringly overt such as the orange of Euskatel-Euskadi (even though I have admitted in the past to admiring those orange jerseys).

And this is the first time I’ve ever worn bib shorts. Picco swears by them and I have to say they’re not all that bad.

Further, now that I’ve joined the team--which is a Category 4 & 5 developmental team, by the way--I have a training program I have to follow. It’s been somewhat counter-intuitive as the time I’m spending on the bike has increased significantly but at a considerably lower pace. Whereas I used to spend between 2-3 hours on the bike during the week (excluding weekends) at an average heart rate around 160 with some intervals tossed in, I’m not spending between 6-7 hours on the bike per week but riding at what they call an endurance pace where I’m supposed to keep my heart rate between 129 and 141. Compared to 160, a heart rate of 135 is all but a walk in the park.

How did they draw together the training program? After joining the team, I was subjected to a lactate threshold test at Cadence Cycling & Multisport Center. Essentially, they set up my bike on a trainer, had me warm-up for 10 minutes, explained I needed to keep my cadence at 100 or higher, and then set the resistance at 150 watts. After two minutes of that, they pricked my finger for a drop of blood, measured my level of lactic acid, asked my Rate of Perceived Exertion (RPE) on a scale of 1 through 10 (with 10 being the hardest), and then increased resistance to 170 watts two minutes later.

So every four minutes, resistance increased by 20 watts and they drew a drop of blood to determine the amount of lactic acid in my blood. I lasted until either 270 watts or 290 watts when my RPE hit 8 or 9 and that was it, the test ended.

That’s how my training zones were developed which I then printed and taped to my stem. Like I said, very exciting.

More of the Tour

I’m almost aggravated Cadel Evans is wearing the yellow jersey in the Tour. Actually, I am aggravated he’s in the lead and I say that as the leader of the longest and hardest bike race in the world should sound a bit more like a man and a bit less like an eleven-year-old girl.

Has anybody caught a sound bite of the Aussie with the face shaped like a poached egg? His girly voice ranks right up there with the likes of Mike Tyson and Mike Richter. I mean, if you’re going to win a race, you could at least try to sound a bit more like Stefan Schumacher. Despite my Kraut-bashing post, that guy has a voice that could make the most frigid, middle-aged feminist cream her jeans.

(Not long ago I caught a quick, post-stage interview with Cadel Evans and when the interviewer asked, “Is this a new Cadel Evans we’re seeing,” Evans responded with that godawful girly voice and said, “No, it’s the old Cadel coming back.”

Who the fuck talks like that?)

Furthermore, has Cadel Evans ever attacked on a slope with a gradient steeper than 2.3%? When was the last time you ever heard Phil Liggett or Paul Sherwen say, “And there goes Cadel Evans, attacking up the slopes of the Hautacam?” That’s right. You’ve never heard either of the two Brits say anything even remotely close to that, so how is that little weasel wheel-sucked his way into a yellow jersey?

Pathetic.

Speaking of pathetic, there’s Saunier Duval. Until yesterday afternoon, I was a few days behind in catching up on the Tour coverage on TV. Of course, I had heard about Ricco. I had also heard that Saunier Duval pulled out of the Tour. And then I watched on TV as two other Saunier Duval riders pulled a 1-2 finish on a mountain stage.

Is anybody else connecting the dots on why Saunier Duval pulled out of the race?

First, Ricco is busted for EPO (a new form of EPO called CERA). Then two of his teammates rip up the field on a mountain stage. And then the team withdraws.

If these guys weren’t doping their riders, I’ll be dipped in shit. I’m sure they at least knew about it and rather than risk the negative publicity in the event two more of their riders were busted, why not just withdraw the entire team instead?

It’s probably for the best, though. Not only does it seem that the Saunier Duval riders are doped to the gills, but they are some of the ugliest motherfuckers. Have you taken a good look at Piepoli? Mother of god, that man looks like Gargamel in a team kit.

Italian Riccardo Ricco positive for EPO at Tour

I knew it!

That was one of the few things I forgot to drop in my last post regarding the Tour update.

Here's this kid, Riccardo Ricco. How old is he? 24? And he's winning hilly stages and mountain stages in the Giro and the Tour? And he's reaching the finishing line looking like he's barely breathing hard?

Are you f#cking kidding me?

What I'm failing to understand is the actual EPO. I get how it works but don't the riders realize there are tests that detect EPO? Or have the tests evolved so that they're getting past whatever the riders use to mask the EPO?

Whatever. Regardless. Glad they busted that punk. I never really liked him anyway.

Le Tour and the Cookie Monster

So there’s a lot going on. The Tour started last Saturday, there’s apparently no clear leader just yet (unless you consider Kim Kirchen a contender for the overall which would be something of a mistake), and somehow, Stefan Schumacher won the first individual time trial.

Where the hell did that come from? What in the world did Schumacher snort or inject to pull a performance like that out of his ass? What was also interesting is that Phil Liggett made a post-race note that Johan Bruyneel had tipped his hat to Schumacher to win the first time trial and what that tells me is that Bruyneel probably sold Schumacher whatever it was that he either injected or snorted to go as fast as he did.

But hey, maybe I’m just being a cynic. But I don’t think so. Schumacher beat Cancellara? I’d tip my hat to drugs. Lots of drugs.

Speaking of drugs, Mr. Manuel My-Doctor-Forgot-To-Tell-Me-There’s-A-New-Test-That-Can-Detect-EPO Beltran just got tagged for EPO use and they’re saying he’s the fourth of Armstrong’s previous teammates who’s been busted for drug use. And one of Armstrong’s frozen B urine samples from 1999 (or 2000) tested positive for EPO once they finally had a test that could detect EPO. And there’s a lot of circumstantial evidence that Lance was doping his entire career, so why in the world can someone believe Lance won clean?

Did I say that?

You know what was nice about watching the media coverage regarding Beltran? All the Versus boys completely tore him apart. Phil Liggett, Paul Sherwen, Bob Roll, and Craig Hummer all did nothing other than rake the jackass over the coals with some rather harsh words for typically boring-ass commentators.

#

Right now it’s Sunday night. Spent the weekend in Connecticut meeting/visiting with the fiancée’s family and when we returned home this evening, I caught up with yesterday’s TdF stage (handily DVR’d for my viewing pleasure) and watched as Mark Cavendish completely destroyed the field for the sprint to the line.

God almighty, that boy is freakishly fast. Can you imagine how much fun it must be to say to strangers, “Hey. Buddy. Give me a flat road and I am the fastest bike rider on the face of the earth?” I mean, the guy gives new meaning to the term, “Ride it like you stole it.” Imagine if that kid was a bike thief?

Still, if the kid ever fails a drug test, I’ll personally break both of his goddam legs. I don’t care if he picks up a Tom Boonen-like coke problem, but if we find out he’d been taking anything illegal to boost those incredible performance’s of his, I’ll kill him.

Speaking of sprinters, it’s starting to look like Robbie McEwen’s age is catching up with him (and I only say that from a spectator’s point of view as the guy would make me look like a little girl if I ever tried to bring it in his presence). Not only has the Aussie not won a sprint, but judging from the replays, it doesn’t seem like he’s been anywhere even near the front when Cavendish has been running all over everybody.

That’s all I’ve got for now. While I do have some interesting personal news related to cycling (thank god) and a new picture to share, it’s late and I’ve gotta get some rest but check back soon for another update.

We Might As Well Dope

I can tell you with 100% accuracy that the best way to get motivated to train on a bicycle is to enter a race and then get dropped. After my embarrassing debacle in the CRCA club race Saturday morning, I went for a laid-back ride on Sunday and then took Monday off, although apparently, Saturday is now stuck in my subconcious considering I did a few laps in Central Park last night and never once let my heart rate drop below 175. And I say the embarrassing debacle is stuck in my subconcious as I really didn’t roll into the park last night thinking I was going to go balls-against-the-wall for an hour. It just happened. After a five-minute warm-up, I just couldn’t bring myself to slow down. The plan was to crank through some intervals but instead I somehow turned the entire ride into one long interval.

Aside from trying to asphyxiate myself, I recently read a copy of Johan Bruyneel’s We Might As Well Win manifesto and I can tell you it’s an entire load of hardboiled shit. While Johan Bruyneel may be referred to as a “master” tactician, I have little doubt the man systematically dopes his riders so the book should have been titled We Might As Well Dope And Win.

Why Bother?

I went into Saturday morning’s race with a plan. If there was one thing I took away from the coaching session I attended earlier in the week with Deirdre Murphy Bader (who you can read about by CLICKING HERE), it was that I had to make sure I had a plan.

“You always need a plan,” she explained, and on Friday afternoon, as my fiancée and I walked through Central Park, I asked her, “Do you want to know about my plan?”

“What plan?”

“The race is five laps,” I said. “The plan is to hang back for the first four laps and stay in the draft. Once we get over the big hill on the final lap, I’ll start moving to the front and I’ll stay as close to the front as I can without knocking myself out. If that big guy is up there, the guy who won the last race, I’ll stick to his wheel and see if I can follow him all the way until we’re near the line and then try to fly around him.”

Doesn’t sound bad, right? Sounds like a decent plan for a guy out there on my own without any teammates and it might’ve actually worked if it wasn’t for the fact that I got dropped halfway through the fourth goddam lap.

As embarrassing as that is to admit, I admit it. I got dropped. Spit out the back like a piece of unwanted trash.

And there I was, thinking I had a plan. There I was thinking, “Hey, I didn’t do so bad the last race. Maybe I can do better this race.”

But no, like a total punk, I got DROPPED. Ugh. How utterly depressing.

How does that happen, though? The last race, I felt good. Felt like I could’ve cracked the top ten if I had paid more attention at the end, so how did I get dropped yesterday?

The field seemed mostly the same, so I was racing against the same guys. Whether or not any Category 4s dropped down to the lower class, who the hell knows, but something odd did happen yesterday morning.

The Women’s class started behind us and apparently a women’s breakaway of four chicks caught and passed us while we were on our third lap. Somehow, this sparked a reaction from the front of the field and from that point on, all the guys on the front of our field seemed intent on keeping up with those four ladies who were hammering the pedals something fierce.

After a lap-and-a-half of having my heart rate pegged at 185 and after watching a few other guys peel off the back, I realized there was no way I could keep up that pace for another twenty minutes, so I sat up and soft pedaled my way to 72nd Street and went home.

That was a seven in the morning. I didn’t have much to say for a few hours afterward considering how pissed I felt at not having finished the race. After a three-hour visit to the beach at Robert Moses State Park with the good-looking Jewish girl with the diamond ring on her finger, we were driving home when I mentioned, “I think I might go for a ride when we get back to the city.”

Which I did. I went out for an hour to dodge the gazillions of ignorant tourists and asshole pedestrians walking in the middle of the street in Central Park. I just cruised. I was the guy who felt like he had been thrown off the horse and then wanted to get back on. Sounds retarded, but it’s true.

Then, while riding over the bridge into Jersey this morning, I had to ask myself, “Why bother racing?” I’ve never been a good endurance athlete, although I do enjoy riding the bike. I enjoy the occasional group ride, but at the end of the day, I’m just not that great going uphill on a bike. I can’t keep my heart rate at 190 for hours at a time and when push comes to shove, my sprint isn’t all that fantastic either.

So why bother with the racing? Why spend the money on the USCF license and more money on joining the CRCA? What’s the point of trying to win a local Category 5 race? I understand the desire to be competitive. That part I get, but why put myself through the disappointment? For the most part, we set up our lives to be disappointment-free, so why go through it?

Despite all my rhetoric, I’m sure I’ll continue to put myself through the disappointment time and time again.

Or maybe I won’t. Who the hell knows.