update from Bourdeaux
7/08/06
Stage 8
Saint Meen LeGrand-Lorient
181 kilometers, 112 miles
Ten days after I got to France, four days after I finished the dreaded antibiotics, my strength finally arrived. I was able to ride with the big dogs, and it sure felt good to be back.
The scenery of Brittany was stunning: steep hills, rolling fields, hay coiled up as if posing for a postcard. Each small village featured an old Frenchman out for a walk with a stick, as if he were a paid performer from the French Ministry of Tourism.
The sky threatened rain in the morning, and made good on the threat more than once. But the temperatures were cool, the tendons were happy, and all was good.
We rode in a group of eight, two lines of four. Today, my riding partner was Patrick Kildow with the quiet strength and the good karma. A ski instructor in Park City, Utah, Patrick Kildow reminds me of my best friend at St. George’s School, Reid Kittell.
An avid outdoorsman, Reid was a fly fisherman, football player, wrestler, tennis player, and Fireball sailor. He was truly humble in the finest sense of the word. A graduate of the National Outdoor Leadership School, Reid was always happiest outdoors.
When I skied with him, he would go down the slope without poles, holding his ever-present Nikon SLR between his hands. An expert, he would shred the mogul field, come to a perfect stop, then look up the mountain and say, “Okay, you come down and I’ll take your picture.”
It was ridiculous, as I was a mediocre at best skier, and Reid was gifted. Tragically, Reid lost his life to cancer shortly after graduating from Hamilton College, and I think of him often when I ride to raise funds for cancer survivors.
As the scenery of Brittany rolled by, Patrick and I, side by side, handle bars separated by three inches, throttled the train up to 24 miles per hour into a stiff headwind. Putting out 300 watts of power, heart rate in the 160’s, straining against the headwind, we suddenly hear Mark, who’s just six inches behind Patrick’s wheel, sit up and play the blues on the harmonica that was stashed in his jersey pocket. While he doesn’t play long, he plays well and rides well at the same time.
Today is Dr. Rob Kantor’s birthday, and he celebrated in fine fashion by killing the climbs with Jimmy Railey, the super-domestique. Coach Josh brought out his University of Northern Arizona shorts for a second day, and worked hard into the breeze, taking monster pulls for over half an hour each.
In the bad news department, the dreaded scale has arrived. All of the good food and fine wine is beginning to take its toll. Coach Josh is up 4 pounds. Director Joe Tonon is down a pound or two. My weight is down a snick to 70.5 kilos, or 155.5 pounds. Jimmy and Patrick, who have not been lifting an hour and a half a day, are up a pound or two each.
The second-to-last pull of the day was mine, and as we were single-file on an open highway, I got to see if all of Coach Josh’s workouts were a waste of time or not. This is important, as Coach Josh has a Money Back Guarantee. If you don’t get stronger under his tutelage, he doesn’t bitch. He just gives you your money back, no questions asked. Even if you were too damn lazy to do the workouts, he don’t care none. He just hands you the cold, hard cash, in the currency of your choice, Euros or dollars.
Thus, it was the moment of truth. For ten minutes, I just went. I could feel Dr. Rob on my wheel, as we can recognize each other by sound now, and it was all sweetness to have something in the tank after the 100-mile mark. The watts whirred away, and at one point I saw over 430 on a climb. As that is all the good Lord gave me, Josh won’t be handing over any money anytime soon.
One of the great things about sailing with professionals, or riding with professionals, is you learn new and interesting terminology. For instance, some people measure distance in miles. Others prefer to use the Euro version of kilometers. Coach Josh, a professional cyclist, has a different technical term for distance.
A long distance of 180 kilometers is “a shit ton.” An even longer distance of 235 kilometers is an “f-ton.” The usage is variable, but a colloquial statement would be something along the lines of, “Hey, we got a shit-ton of riding to do today. Get your ass ready and get on your bike.”
Thanks once again to Team Hill, Holliday for the special gear. I wore the shorts you gifted me, and it gave me a big boost in morale. Thus far, the undercarriage is as healthy as can be expected, given the circumstances. And a happy undercarriage is a happy rider.
Tomorrow, we have a transfer to Bordeaux. The professionals will fly. We shall travel by van. Yet it will be another day for the legs to recover. Perhaps when we get to Bordeaux I will go for a spin to make up some of the miles I lost to the bum knee.
Best wishes to Catherine Claire Sheehan. Welcome to the world. I suspect you’ll have no troubles twisting your father around your little finger and I suggest you start sooner rather than later.
Tonight, we stay at the Hotel Cleria in Lorient. I befriend the hotel dog, a massive Great Dane. If you scratch him behind the ears, he jumps up into your lap. Considering he weighs 70 kilos, the same as I do, it’s quite a feat.
Team dinner is at 8:00 pm. Team transfer tomorrow.
Sunday, 7/09/06
Team transfer in the vans
After a breakfast of homemade croissants at the Hotel Cleria in Lorient, we move on to our next destination. Patrick Kildow made great friends with Joseph the Great Dane and was sad to see him go.
We drive south in the vans through the rain and fog, happy to be inside the car with the legs and the feet up rather than sitting on the bicycles. Brian the mechanic drives our van, Brian the massage therapist drives the other. To get from one place to another, the Destination Cycling crew has linked up GPS with google earthlink. The PC sits on the front seat and guides us to Bordeaux.
There, we anticipate higher temperatures. The north of France was as hot as 90 degrees. 95 plus is common in the Bordeaux region.
To pass the time, to make the miles vanish, we talk about the future, about what’s important. Tomorrow will be a relatively easy day, just 169.5 kilometers. It’s the shortest stage of this year’s race (not counting the final stage on the Champs Elysees). If we arrive in town early, I may go for a spin to shake out the legs and make up some of the miles I missed.
Occasionally, thoughts of home and the dreaded list of things to do make their way across the Atlantic to pester me. Mrs. Berkeley may or may not visit Paris. You never know. She has her own list of challenges and I can’t get in the way of those.
Europe is a place to appreciate beauty and heritage. It’s also a place one develops a great admiration for things American. Brian the mechanic from Denmark pays a 48% tax on everything. In his country, a decent car, a Volkswagen sedan costs upwards of 53,000 Euros, which is around $65,000. Sure, healthcare and education are free. But everything else is taxed at an exorbitant rate.
And now, a word from our sponsors. We have many, and I have become quite fond of a few. Everything Craft makes is beautiful. I have greatly enjoyed their clothing. Pedro’s tools are real sweet. You just can’t go wrong with Pedro’s. I’ve ridden with the guys who run the company and they’re real cool. They have group rides every day at lunch.
CLIF blocks are easy to eat on the bike, and if you’ve never tried them, I recommend them highly. Whereas GU can taste nasty once it gets hot, eating CLIF blocks is a lot like eating gummi bears.
Smith supplied our team glasses. Although I wear a prescription lens, I used my clear Smith glasses in the rain the other day and found them to shed the water quickly. When my prescription Smiths arrive, I’ll let you know how well they work.
With regard to my personal sponsors from work, you can’t beat a pair of Assos shorts. And if you’re going to ride a long, long distance, for a long, long day, Assos chamois cream is key to keeping the undercarriage happy.
The other day, I wore a cycling cap under my helmet for the first time and found it to be very beneficial. Kept the head cool and the sun off the cranium.
Any kind of sun block you can get your hands on is worth wearing. It would be a terrible thing to get melanoma while raising money for cancer survivors.
We’ve arrived in our hotel, and it has AC. We all rejoice.
Stage 8
Saint Meen LeGrand-Lorient
181 kilometers, 112 miles
Ten days after I got to France, four days after I finished the dreaded antibiotics, my strength finally arrived. I was able to ride with the big dogs, and it sure felt good to be back.
The scenery of Brittany was stunning: steep hills, rolling fields, hay coiled up as if posing for a postcard. Each small village featured an old Frenchman out for a walk with a stick, as if he were a paid performer from the French Ministry of Tourism.
The sky threatened rain in the morning, and made good on the threat more than once. But the temperatures were cool, the tendons were happy, and all was good.
We rode in a group of eight, two lines of four. Today, my riding partner was Patrick Kildow with the quiet strength and the good karma. A ski instructor in Park City, Utah, Patrick Kildow reminds me of my best friend at St. George’s School, Reid Kittell.
An avid outdoorsman, Reid was a fly fisherman, football player, wrestler, tennis player, and Fireball sailor. He was truly humble in the finest sense of the word. A graduate of the National Outdoor Leadership School, Reid was always happiest outdoors.
When I skied with him, he would go down the slope without poles, holding his ever-present Nikon SLR between his hands. An expert, he would shred the mogul field, come to a perfect stop, then look up the mountain and say, “Okay, you come down and I’ll take your picture.”
It was ridiculous, as I was a mediocre at best skier, and Reid was gifted. Tragically, Reid lost his life to cancer shortly after graduating from Hamilton College, and I think of him often when I ride to raise funds for cancer survivors.
As the scenery of Brittany rolled by, Patrick and I, side by side, handle bars separated by three inches, throttled the train up to 24 miles per hour into a stiff headwind. Putting out 300 watts of power, heart rate in the 160’s, straining against the headwind, we suddenly hear Mark, who’s just six inches behind Patrick’s wheel, sit up and play the blues on the harmonica that was stashed in his jersey pocket. While he doesn’t play long, he plays well and rides well at the same time.
Today is Dr. Rob Kantor’s birthday, and he celebrated in fine fashion by killing the climbs with Jimmy Railey, the super-domestique. Coach Josh brought out his University of Northern Arizona shorts for a second day, and worked hard into the breeze, taking monster pulls for over half an hour each.
In the bad news department, the dreaded scale has arrived. All of the good food and fine wine is beginning to take its toll. Coach Josh is up 4 pounds. Director Joe Tonon is down a pound or two. My weight is down a snick to 70.5 kilos, or 155.5 pounds. Jimmy and Patrick, who have not been lifting an hour and a half a day, are up a pound or two each.
The second-to-last pull of the day was mine, and as we were single-file on an open highway, I got to see if all of Coach Josh’s workouts were a waste of time or not. This is important, as Coach Josh has a Money Back Guarantee. If you don’t get stronger under his tutelage, he doesn’t bitch. He just gives you your money back, no questions asked. Even if you were too damn lazy to do the workouts, he don’t care none. He just hands you the cold, hard cash, in the currency of your choice, Euros or dollars.
Thus, it was the moment of truth. For ten minutes, I just went. I could feel Dr. Rob on my wheel, as we can recognize each other by sound now, and it was all sweetness to have something in the tank after the 100-mile mark. The watts whirred away, and at one point I saw over 430 on a climb. As that is all the good Lord gave me, Josh won’t be handing over any money anytime soon.
One of the great things about sailing with professionals, or riding with professionals, is you learn new and interesting terminology. For instance, some people measure distance in miles. Others prefer to use the Euro version of kilometers. Coach Josh, a professional cyclist, has a different technical term for distance.
A long distance of 180 kilometers is “a shit ton.” An even longer distance of 235 kilometers is an “f-ton.” The usage is variable, but a colloquial statement would be something along the lines of, “Hey, we got a shit-ton of riding to do today. Get your ass ready and get on your bike.”
Thanks once again to Team Hill, Holliday for the special gear. I wore the shorts you gifted me, and it gave me a big boost in morale. Thus far, the undercarriage is as healthy as can be expected, given the circumstances. And a happy undercarriage is a happy rider.
Tomorrow, we have a transfer to Bordeaux. The professionals will fly. We shall travel by van. Yet it will be another day for the legs to recover. Perhaps when we get to Bordeaux I will go for a spin to make up some of the miles I lost to the bum knee.
Best wishes to Catherine Claire Sheehan. Welcome to the world. I suspect you’ll have no troubles twisting your father around your little finger and I suggest you start sooner rather than later.
Tonight, we stay at the Hotel Cleria in Lorient. I befriend the hotel dog, a massive Great Dane. If you scratch him behind the ears, he jumps up into your lap. Considering he weighs 70 kilos, the same as I do, it’s quite a feat.
Team dinner is at 8:00 pm. Team transfer tomorrow.
Sunday, 7/09/06
Team transfer in the vans
After a breakfast of homemade croissants at the Hotel Cleria in Lorient, we move on to our next destination. Patrick Kildow made great friends with Joseph the Great Dane and was sad to see him go.
We drive south in the vans through the rain and fog, happy to be inside the car with the legs and the feet up rather than sitting on the bicycles. Brian the mechanic drives our van, Brian the massage therapist drives the other. To get from one place to another, the Destination Cycling crew has linked up GPS with google earthlink. The PC sits on the front seat and guides us to Bordeaux.
There, we anticipate higher temperatures. The north of France was as hot as 90 degrees. 95 plus is common in the Bordeaux region.
To pass the time, to make the miles vanish, we talk about the future, about what’s important. Tomorrow will be a relatively easy day, just 169.5 kilometers. It’s the shortest stage of this year’s race (not counting the final stage on the Champs Elysees). If we arrive in town early, I may go for a spin to shake out the legs and make up some of the miles I missed.
Occasionally, thoughts of home and the dreaded list of things to do make their way across the Atlantic to pester me. Mrs. Berkeley may or may not visit Paris. You never know. She has her own list of challenges and I can’t get in the way of those.
Europe is a place to appreciate beauty and heritage. It’s also a place one develops a great admiration for things American. Brian the mechanic from Denmark pays a 48% tax on everything. In his country, a decent car, a Volkswagen sedan costs upwards of 53,000 Euros, which is around $65,000. Sure, healthcare and education are free. But everything else is taxed at an exorbitant rate.
And now, a word from our sponsors. We have many, and I have become quite fond of a few. Everything Craft makes is beautiful. I have greatly enjoyed their clothing. Pedro’s tools are real sweet. You just can’t go wrong with Pedro’s. I’ve ridden with the guys who run the company and they’re real cool. They have group rides every day at lunch.
CLIF blocks are easy to eat on the bike, and if you’ve never tried them, I recommend them highly. Whereas GU can taste nasty once it gets hot, eating CLIF blocks is a lot like eating gummi bears.
Smith supplied our team glasses. Although I wear a prescription lens, I used my clear Smith glasses in the rain the other day and found them to shed the water quickly. When my prescription Smiths arrive, I’ll let you know how well they work.
With regard to my personal sponsors from work, you can’t beat a pair of Assos shorts. And if you’re going to ride a long, long distance, for a long, long day, Assos chamois cream is key to keeping the undercarriage happy.
The other day, I wore a cycling cap under my helmet for the first time and found it to be very beneficial. Kept the head cool and the sun off the cranium.
Any kind of sun block you can get your hands on is worth wearing. It would be a terrible thing to get melanoma while raising money for cancer survivors.
We’ve arrived in our hotel, and it has AC. We all rejoice.
posted by joe berkeley at 6:08 AM
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