Category: Bike stuff

Arrest day

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments

Les flics came for Rémy Di Grégorio on the first rest day of the 2012 Tour de France, dragging him off to the Bastille on suspicion of using products other than baguettes and mineral water to fuel his race around France. Zut alors! Say it is not so!

His team, Cofidis, as you may recall, is all too familiar with this sort of thing. David Millar and Phillipe Gaumont in 2004; Cristian Moreni in 2007; the party never stops. Each time the team trots out the old zero-tolerance twaddle. Same shit, different day.

Come to think of it, Bradley Wiggins — presently wearing the maillot jaune in the Tour de France — was among the Cofidis riders who went home after stage 16 in 2007. I don’t suppose any of the cunts or wankers in the press corps will wish to shake off their bone-idleness, get off their arses and apply themselves to discussing those dark days with him.

Speaking of which, Sean Kelly, a man with his own flair for language — whatever language it is that he’s speaking — thinks that Wiggo’s press-conference tirade is an indicator that while he may be strong in the legs, he’s weak between the ears.

“Bradley has always been fragile,” Kelly told Cyclingnews.com. “A puncture or another upsetting incident can make him lose his head. Last year, (Cadel) Evans experienced some mechanical problems behind (Alberto) Contador, in the stage to L’Alpe d’Huez, and if it had been Wiggins, he would have panicked. But to win the Tour, you have to know how to stay calm, overcome adversity, whatever it may be — and that, I’m not sure he’s able to do.”

Sky high

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 29 Comments

Wow. Bradley Wiggins and Chris Froome crushed it today in the Tour’s first big time trial, opening up a 10-gallon-can of whup-ass on Cadel Evans and everyone else — including El Fabuloso, Fabian Cancellara, who must be pinching himself to see whether he’s still asleep and having a nightmare.

I was over at Red Kite Prayer, helping Charles “Live Update Guy” Pelkey track the race for our friends sentenced to cubicle farms worldwide, and we had a record haul in terms of contributions to the tip jar— in no small part to some silly little hooter logged on as Two700c, who complained about “politics” being injected into the play-by-play (oddly enough, it was one of our least political live updates ever).

Two700c slagged me in a snippy note to Charles, which goes to show you that not even the anonymity of the Internet is comfort enough for at least one timid Tea Bagger. Still, I feel obliged to thank him for helping us rake in a pile of coin. I’ll be donating a portion of the proceeds to the Democratic Socialists of America.

If you’re not already joining us for the daily live updates, swing on by. Always room for another pinko in the Party photo.

But it’s not all politics, all the time. Today, for example, I reprised one of my favorite National Lampoon covers to urge readers to contribute to the Cause.

If you don’t support this website, we’ll kill this dog.

Tour de Frags

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments

Sean Kelly, one of the hard men of the peloton when I was first becoming interested in the sport way back in the day, implies in a chat with the working press that this modern lot is a shower of eejits — and I’m not inclined to argue with him after watching stage six of Le Show Beeg, in which pretty much everybody save the Eurosport commentators, ASO management and Paddy McQuaid found themselves on the tarmac, in the ditch or inside an ambulance.

Sean Kelly back in the day, as photographed by <a href="http://www.corvospro.com/arimages.aspx">Cor Vos</a>
Sean Kelly back in the day, as photographed by Cor Vos

“These kinds of crashes happen, but you have to ask, how did it happen?” Kelly told my man Andrew Hood over to VeloNews.com. “Nobody wants to brake anymore. Everyone is pushing to be in the top 30 riders. Everybody is taking so many risks, and they will have crashes because of that.”

From your lips to God’s ear, Sean a chara. Today’s appalling clusterfuck on a narrow section of road, which left dozens of riders on the floor and sent several out of the Tour altogether, looked as though someone from the Spandex Liberation Army had set off a roadside bomb as the peloton rode past. Andy tallies up the body count here.

Some crashes can be blamed on course designers. Others can be chalked up to ineptitude (yes, pro cyclists fuck up just like we do, only at higher speed). I don’t know whom to pin this one on, other than upon the collective mindset that everyone — sprinters, wanna-bes, winless guys fretting over next year’s contract, GC men and their minders, and anyone in a Euskaltel-Euskadi jersey — just has to be at the front, all at the same time.

There isn’t enough room. Forget about UCI regulations —  it’s a violation of the laws of physics. You can’t squeeze a thousand pounds of Lycra through a garden hose. There’s gonna be an explosion. And we saw it today.

Editor’s note: Incidentally, in case you’re wondering where I am lately, I’m helping Charles “Live Update Guy” Pelkey with running commentary on the 2012 Tour over at Red Kite Prayer. Well, maybe “helping” isn’t quite the word we’re looking for here. “Hindering” may be more accurate. Whatever. I’m there, and you should be too. See you.

El Fabuloso nearly does the double

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 1 Comment
July 1 rain
We even got a little rain today. Not much, but every little bit helps.

Faboo the Fast just about caught everyone napping in the finale to stage 1. The yellow jersey popped off the front, but Peter Sagan was watching and came along for the ride, followed by Edvald Boasson Hagen.

Sagan did the smart thing, which was to stick to Cancellara like a decal until just before the line, then nip around for the win. Mr. Fab’ got second and kept The Big Shirt. Eddie van Hagen held on for third.

The Slovak strongman’s victory celebration was a tad affected, prompting the following tweet from @cycletard: “Memo to Peter Sagan, the Village People want their dance back.” Ouch.

I almost missed the finale — the power went out in a sizable portion of the neighborhood for reason(s) unknown (perhaps Michelle Malkin’s Massey Ferguson diesel dildo overpowered the grid) and Colorado Springs Utilities was estimating it might take a couple of hours to get everyone back on line.

Happily, we had juice for the final kilometers, and I got to see a rare sight indeed — a yellow jersey on the attack. Good times.

Speaking of which, the smoke eaters are making progress on the Waldo Canyon fire. It’s a long way from out, but containment is at 45 percent and some evacuees are getting into their neighborhoods for a look-see. Those who still have homes standing may have to wait a while to take up residence again — some extensive reconstruction of utility infrastructure will be required.

Pick me! Or not. …

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 12 Comments
Housekeeping! (knock knock knock) Housekeeping!

Ho, ho. USA Cycling would like it known far and wide that four who served the Dark Lord on U.S. Postal/Discovery asked pretty please could they be removed from consideration for sentencing to the U.S. team bound for LimeyLand and the 2012 Watney’s Red Barrel Memorial Olympic Hide and Seek.

And who can blame them? My paternal granda fled the English for Canada and then the Benighted States, and none of his descendants has exactly been in a hurry to retrace his flight in bass-ackward fashion.

I don’t even have a passport, as if that would make any difference in my travel plans. I can’t even manage to get out of this fucking town, much less the country, both of which would probably be happy to see me go, if only for a little while so they could catch their breath.

I don’t suppose this has anything to do with Texus Maximus getting his Band-Aided triathlon titties sucked up into USADA’s wringer. Naw. Y’think? Naw.

Meanwhile, the furnishing of the Robert A. Heinlein Memorial Crooked House® continues apace. After locating a bargain queen-size bed on Craiglist Herself surfed today’s Old North End garage sale and came up with a stylin’ Ethan Allen Mission-style frame, plus some bedding and towels that look better than similar items that we use our own bad selves. I contributed, too, shifting an espresso machine, a bean grinder and some other kitchenware across the way between paying chores.

Sheeeeeee-yit. If we just installed a bimbo with a taste for the bizarre over there we’d have the mortgage covered before you could say, “Hel-lo, sailor.”