|Remember akrashio vs Cipo... my turn vs Simoni (long read)||funknuggets|
Apr 21, 2003 11:16 AM
|(All day conference... bored outa my mind)
It was a nice day, one of those days you can't even see straight and focus on the work at hand because your mind is already clad in lycra and flying down the country roads. I finally came to the realization that despite my consistent gaze out the window I was getting absolutely nowhere, and my time would be better spent on my bike. I was two seconds from shutting my laptop when the phone rang. I considered not even answering. Caller ID told me it was my boss. Big Brother must have some way of monitoring my brainwaves...
Caller at the other end laughs briefly and pauses, I knew something bad was about to happen. "I need you to hop on a conference call, I have to be at an off-site meeting in a half hour and need someone to cover, I have emailed you the requisite info."
"Um, sure. No problem." The overly manicured lawn waved mockingly at me, teasing. My laptop beeped as the email arrived. "I got it."
"Ok, shoot me an email regarding what transpires. I will see you on Monday."
His line clicked off, and I tossed my headset onto the desk knowing his off-site meeting was likely at the first tee at St. Andrews. I turned away from the window and re-affixed my headset in the most aerodynamic position and dialed in. After pressing an inordinate number of codes, I finally arrived on the call. Music was playing. Great...
I waited, scanning the proposed agenda knowing it was going to last at least until six. I turn again to look outside and see my manager's Lexus roll out of the parking lot. After a brief moment of unspoken expletives, I turned back to the agenda. A remake of "Bridge over Troubled Waters" on the saxaphone blared on the headset. After about a minute, the laptop beeped again. The meeting organizer had sent an email called "Agenda Update". I decided to hop onto RBR until the meeting started, a nice respite. Another ride report from MB1. Man, that SOB must not have to work for a living, and who has time to stop and take so many pictures? The song ended and started into a piano version of "Every Breath you Take"... holy crap, what is the holdup? Clicking back to email, I looked at the agenda just knowing it was going to be extended until at least seven. In bold red letters, "MOVED TO MONDAY AT 9:30 AM".
The next few minutes were a blur, but included a quite impressive exit and was out the door before my laptop had even completely shut down. The bike was off the rack and I completed a Superman-esque change of clothes in the Jeep and was on the bike within three and a half minutes.
The yellow Fondriest soon buzzed happily down the road, I felt quite peppy. Perhaps it was the newfound riding time, or the slight tailwind, regardless I felt good and decided to take one of the tougher routes that I hadn't ridden in some time. The most notable features being some relentless rollers, with two relatively long 12% climbs, and a stint along the lake that has one of those multidirectional headwinds that always seems to blow against you. Then a sharp right, which eventually takes you through downtown which at rush hour should be pretty exciting. The stoplight sprints should wax me. I guess we will see. I hope Friel will forgive me for this ride... today is supposed to be a S1. Yeah right...
Three miles into a two hour ride, I realize that in my haste I forgot to fill my water bottle. I brake quickly into a convenience store, fill up on water and click gingerly acorss the newly mopped floors. I nod at the attendant who smiles, but barely looks up from her magazine. I was preparing to click back in when I see a pink Fondriest buzz by at eyeblink speed. I specifically remember saying, "what the?" I snap in and spin up to catch the rider ahead, stopped at the light. Full Saeco gear... one of those posers they talk about incessantly on the board, should be a fun guy to whack. It was strange, usually we
Apr 21, 2003 11:23 AM
|He smiled, said something like. "Yah, Italian's are the best bicicletas, same to yours."
He pedaled ahead, I tucked in behind him, asking myself what the hell he meant. Either I misunderstood, or he was not from around here. I tried to place the accent. I had ridden with an exchange student in high school from Spain named Fernando, he said 'bicicleta'. This guy must be Spanish. I knew the guy was humoring me. I had parted my bike together off Ebay and spare parts for around a grand (at least that is what I tell my wife), and his was easily worth two grand more than mine. The guy was humoring me.
The draft was good for my spirits, and my hr had dropped back a bit, so I felt a bit 'caddy' as Ligget would say and he again flicked his right arm and I pulled through. However, instead of dropping back he evened up alongside. He looked down at my bike. "Maurizio is a good man."
"Oh, yeah." I stated, knowing little about my bike's namesake, other than he was world champ in the late 80's. "He was a pretty good."
I knew this dude wasn't Spanish. The way he said,"Maurizio", was distinct... was this guy Italian? He still rode alongside, barely breathing and my HR was slowly drifting upwards. He seemed to be searching for conversation seemingly disappointed with my lack of knowledge about Fondriest.
"Armstrong", he stated... almost with a sneer. "Is a strong rider."
I agreed with him. He still rode alongside, beween breaths, I said, "So, why did Lampre drop Fondriest?"
"Money . . .Philosophy", he said. Several seconds passed.
"So," I started, "What the hell was up with Simoni?"
"What?", he asked.
"Simoni, you know, that guy that kept testing positive for coke and got kicked out of the 2002 Giro for some kind of cocaine laced sucker or something about his grandma and a dentist..."
He said nothing but, "Ciao" and dropped the hammer.
I chuckled at this little punk's move. I geared down and worked to catch his wheel. 28....29.... 30... mph. I was making no headway. I stood up and tried to sprint to pick up some speed. 33...34.... I finally started making up some ground, I sat down and looked leeringly at my HR monitor that was hitting now in the 190's. "He'll come back", I muttered to myself.
He didn't... at least right away. The rollers came and went, and the first big climb came and went. I couldn't even read the Saeco on the back of his jersey and shorts now. It was all just some red rider on a pink bike. Who ride's a pink bike? The descent had a big sweeping turn at the end, I managed to make a little ground, but still was way off. The next big climb came, and I lost ground and considered just pulling off as up the climb, my HR hit 193... way higher than I wanted, 195, and I wasnt making any ground. He was gone. Humiliated I pressed on. I couldn't even see the guy anymore. The road ran alongside the lake for about six miles and then it turned back into town. I still had the tailwind and made decent speeds while getting my hr back down into manageable levels. The road turned ahead. I heard a train. I knew there were tracks about a mile ahead and if he wasn't THAT far ahead, I may be able to make up some time. This day was on my side. The train was long. A couple minutes later, I was alongside my newfound nemesis. He was sweating, he was human. Thank God for the brief respite, my lungs were about to pop out of my chest. I took a swig of my water. He sucked a GU. We said nothing.
The road turned into the wind and climbed a short steep hill and then rode along the crest of a hill. The last spray-painted coal car clunked past and we stood to cross the rails. Something clacked, he missed his pedal. For whatever reason, I jumped. I made the top of the hill before he was halfway, but he pretty much made up the gap in the next 100 meters. He came on my w
Apr 21, 2003 5:17 PM
|you forgot that you packed the gu that was given to you by the strange man outside the gas station and were able to cruise at 33-34 the rest of the way?|
|Where can I get the hardbound?||koala|
Apr 22, 2003 3:36 AM
|By the way, where do you live? What you describe sounds like a place in upstate N.Y....|
Apr 22, 2003 9:59 AM
|Back in Doug Sloan's old stomping grounds around Kansas City, MO. It is alongside the river which makes for interesting rides, but nothing long like mountains... which I long for, but will make do with what I can. There are several area lakes and downtown KC is just a traffic nightmare... I will be posting my commute ride report here in the next week or so, so you can see first hand. All in all not too bad.
|Part 3... Sorry All.... not sure what happened||funknuggets|
Apr 22, 2003 8:06 AM
|He came on my wheel, for the first time, I could hear him breathing hard. Then, I heard him shift and jump past me. I swear he called me a "beatch" as he rode by. No translation needed. Testosterone again filled my legs and I hopped onto his wheel. However, it soon left and left a hollow feeling in my stomach in its place, I gasped hard. Sweat dripped from my forehead into my eyes.
The guy pulled the whole freaking way back into town. I'd try and pass and the guy would block me. So, I just tucked in and he seemed completely happy to pull. Fine, I was straining to stay on his wheel. The guy pulled into the wind for 17.5 miles.
We got into traffic as we entered downtown. Traffic thickened and the roads worsened. We slowed up and merged with traffic. We hit three consecutive red lights and were forced to snap in and out several times. My HR recovered somewhat. He grasped for a drink, he was out of water too. The light turned green and we coasted with traffic to the next stoplight, still not saying anything.
A rusted red Ford Explorer with a do-nut spare tire on the rear wheel winged by, nearly clipping his back tire. A scraggly guy leaned out of the window, "get out of the road you stupid a$$holes." He gave us the middle finger. For whatever reason a chase ensued. Without pause, we steped into the gears and weaved through the road, our bikes jerking violently from side to side. We made it through the next light, my thighs were on fire and my calves were lead.
We rode up onto a car that had slowed down to turn and I nearly fell into a hole the size of a Volkswagon. I braked hard and missed the hole by millimeters. The dude was now several car lengths up. I stepped on it again and made up the ground as he got stopped at a light.
The light greened, and I thought I had my chance and shot past him, but he had executed a perfect extended track stand and was on me in a flash. I could hear him shifting. I bunny-hopped a grate. There were three stoplights ahead. We could still see the red Explorer. My heart was beating out of my chest, but I kept the pressure on. I didn't dare look down at my HR, for fear of running into another hole.
He swung wide around me and caught the draft off of a white work van in the inner lane. Nice move. I jumped in. A car honked, but I wasn't going to lose this guy now. The car slowed up and honked again, giving me a wide berth and an open lane up to the back of the work van, he was mine.
I shifted again and mashed, I, for whatever reason, couldn't even feel the little toes on my feet, they tingled like they were falling asleep. I sucked air, but it didnt seem to matter. I made his back wheel and changed lanes. An opening appeared in traffic to our right. For whatever reason, I gave a handsignal to signal right.
We pressed on through a yellow light, buzzing right in front of a car that was turning right into our lane. The Explorer was just ahead. We stopped at a red light and pulled up alongside the truck and I raised my middle finger. The guy pretended not to see us. The light turned green and we bolted, for whatever reason he driver of the red Explorer gunned it and ran smack into the backend of a car turning left.
We turned, waved, and rode on over the overpass to the other side of downtown, laughing.
I had to turn on the outer road to get back to my work. The turn was just ahead. I waved to him and said, "Later" and started to turn. He was obviously going straight, but braked and turned with me. We said nothing, but somehow the chase of the a$$holes in the Explorer had turned us into some kind of allies. I outstretched my hand. "Nice ride, you kicked my butt."
He grasped it momentarily and said, "Gilberto". Taken slightly aback, I tried to stifle my suprise, not quite knowing what to say.
"Remember, I'm the beatch... Ciao".
He laughed hard, slowed
Apr 22, 2003 8:09 AM
|He laughed hard, slowed and turned to continue his ride.
I coasted into my parking lot, and got off the bike gingerly and nearly coughed up a lung. The max HR on my computer said 213, I couldn't freaking believe it. I've never been above 203.
Sad to think it takes some guy on a pink bike and a truckload of buttholes to bring it out of me. I guess the moral of the story is to beware the supposed poseur... it may just be you.
|That was very entertaining. Thank you.||Kristin|
Apr 22, 2003 11:36 AM
|Never worry about job security!|
|I gotta know the rest!!! (nm)||brider|
Apr 21, 2003 12:32 PM
|abso phreakin' lutely!!!||Akirasho|
Apr 21, 2003 3:57 PM
|... you can't just leave us hanging like this!!??!!@#$%%$#$%*&^%!!!!!
Be the bike.
|abso phreakin' lutely!!!||The Human G-Nome|
Apr 21, 2003 9:21 PM
|ya, no kiddding a$$hole! (just kidding, please tell me more. i'm slowly dying.)|
|Quit your day job and write a book....NM||DINOSAUR|
Apr 21, 2003 8:04 PM