The only thing missing from the old days is the sound: Doooooooooo. ...
Cyclo-cross weather in Bibleburg today. Well, not quite — so far it’s merely blustery and cool, not soggy and muddy. But the day ain’t over yet.
I rolled over to Monument Valley Park and did a leisurely hour of ’cross, dodging dog-walkers, joggers and spectators at a kiddie soccer match, then rolled home to start my shift in the VeloBarrel. Imagine my surprise when the promised live video coverage from today’s U.S. Gran Prix of Cyclocross race did not eventuate. As we speak I’m staring at the online equivalent of a test pattern and a smattering of snarky comments from pissed-off would-be viewers.
I’m reluctant to be harshly critical of the gang at CyclingDirt.org, having recently watched Herself prep feverishly for a streaming videocast of a meeting and knowing next to nothing about the technology and procedures involved.
Still, damn. I’m glad I’m not selling ads for these folks. This is like telling everyone about this really cool party you’re throwing but giving them the wrong address.
After all these years of covering bike racing, you’d think I’d quit being surprised by how friggin’ fast the Euro pros are — especially when it comes to cyclo-cross.
I watched today’s UCI World Cup kickoff via streaming video and I had to keep picking my jaw up off my belly button. Judas Priest. It was like the top-10 dudes were on rails and jet-propelled. Plus eight of them were bunny-hopping the barriers. Remember when it was unusual to see someone like Sven Nys riding the boards? Not any more, Bubba. If you can’t do it, you ain’t shit.*
Tim Johnson, who is not exactly a back-of-the-packer, finished 26th — more than three minutes down on winner Zdenek Stybar, who is world champ for a number of very good reasons. When he lit it up it was hasta la vista muchachos.
One of the best parts of watching the race online was hearing the squeal of cantilever brakes as the big boys damped a little velocity diving into an off-camber turn or a hairy descent. Fuck a bunch of disc brakes. What a real ’crosser wants going into a dicey bit is a little speed modulation. You want to stop, hit something. Or someone.
* Full disclosure: I can’t do it. Draw your own conclusions.
Lots of chat in comments about The Good Old Days®, when men rode steel and Campy.
I missed those halcyon days of yesteryear, having come to “serious” cycling late in life (I didn’t start racing until I was in my mid-30s). During high school and college I rode a series of Schwinns — five- and 10-speed Varsity and Continental behemoths — but when I took up cycling again in the early 1980s it was astride a Centurion LeMans (either a 10 or 12).
The old Pinarello ’cross bike. It went from me to Dr. Schenkenstein, who eventually cracked the top tube doing something manly.
I had the chance to do the right thing when I went shopping for my next bike. But instead of buying a Bianchi from a local shop that is no longer in existence I went to the Dark Side and bought a Trek 560 from Criterium Bicycles. it was a purple-and-yellow monstrosity that looked like a rolling pustule. An acid flashback must have driven that particular purchase.
A couple more Treks followed. First came a mountain bike (an 830 Antelope, I think), then a 1200 (broke the frame at the right rear aluminum dropout in a city-limits sprint outside Española), and finally a 1500 (a courtesy upgrade from Trek with steel dropouts).
I finally went Italian with a Campy-equipped Pinarello Prologo TT time-trial bike (an old Team Crest machine bought used from Denver Spoke), but this was a mental lapse, on a par with a bald-headed fat bastard who thinks that driving a Maserati will get him laid.
Next came a series of road and mountain Specializeds in steel, aluminum and carbon (we had an amazingly compliant rep in Santa Fe, ol’ Special Dave). My first “real” cyclo-cross bike was a steel Specialized Sirrus road bike that a frame-building acquaintance doctored, adding canti’ posts and subtracting the chainstay bridge.
’Cross is what finally put me back on the road to steel for real. My first really real ’cross bike was a Day-Glo yellow Pinarello, bought cheaply with the assistance of Tim Campen, then at Veltec. Then I met Brent Steelman at Interbike Anaheim and all hell broke loose. First it was a Steelman CC in Excell steel, then a series of Eurocrosses in Dedacciai, Reynolds and True Temper, even a time-trial bike (another mental lapse, but screw it, I’ll start racing multisport again, just you wait and see).
I’ve since ridden a ton of aluminum, titanium and carbon bikes from a variety of manufacturers — Bianchi, Voodoo, LeMond, GT, Look, Cannondale, Jamis, you name it — but I still reach for the steel first. Usually it’s the Nobilette or one of the Eurocrosses, but I even like the inexpensive steel from outfits like Soma and Voodoo, and it’s hard to find a shop rat who doesn’t ride something from Surly.
And there ain’t a Campy-equipped bike in the lot. Not among the rolling stock, anyway.
Summer is hitting the door running with its bike slung over one shoulder. The leaves are turning, we’re back to breakfasts like steel-cut Irish oatmeal with black tea, and dinners involving copious quantities of freshly roasted green chile and free-range pork are in our very near future.
I haven’t made the ultimate concession to cooler weather — pulling on the ratty old gray sweatpants — because I’m still a tad scabby and stiff from stacking it on the trail last week. But I may have to start adding socks to my usual T-shirt-and-shorts ensemble, if only in the early mornings.
Political signs have replaced roses in the yard — Hickenlooper, Bennet, Merrifield and Mowle — and a few more opposing three insane tax-slashing initiatives will be joining them soon. I don’t see that overfed, under-taught windbag Doug Bruce volunteering to underwrite a few streetlights, patch a couple potholes or water a park, and frankly some things are worth paying for.
Between you and me, I’ll be glad when the midterms are behind us if only so we won’t have to listen to the ceaseless drumbeat of an ass-whuppin’ a-comin’ from the mainstream media. I’d rather take three beatings than endlessly anticipate one.
Meanwhile, cyclo-cross season starts this weekend. Already? I can still walk, but I haven’t tried running lately, and I haven’t been on a bike since a week ago Monday. So don’t look for me at the Pikes Peak Velo Supercross on the 18th. On a bike, wearing a number, anyway.
Meet the latest edition to the Mad Dog Media bicycle collection — a custom Reynolds 853 Nobilette cyclo-cross bike.
Like pretty much everything else in the garage, it’s a blend of old and new. The wheelset, taken from my oldest Steelman Eurocross, is a well-used Cirrus pair from Excel Sports — Michelin Jets on Mavic Open Pros laced to Dura-Ace hubs with DT 14/15g and Revolution spokes. Likewise the brakes, a used (and mismatched) set from Paul Components — Neo-Retro up front and Touring in the rear, both with Kool-Stop Thinline pads. Whether that grippy Neo-Retro will overwhelm the fork’s one-inch steerer in a panic stop remains to be seen; back in the day I ran lower-profile Dia-Compe 986 cantis, which were basically speed modulators.
An old Salsa Pro Road handlebar sports new Cane Creek brake levers (the traditional non-aero’ sort plus a top-mounted set). The stem is an Origin8, an outfit I’d never heard of before.
The drivetrain is nearly all new — Race Face Cadence compact cranks (50/36), nine-speed Dura-Ace bar-cons, FSA front derailleur, Ultegra rear, 11-28 cassette. The lone exception is a thousand-year-old pair of Time ATAC pedals.
Check out the nifty integrated cable hanger.
And finally, the seat post is a new Ritchey WCS, but it holds a used Selle Italia Flite saddle that I got for a six-pack of beer. Assembly by Chris and Randin at Old Town Bike Shop. Thanks, guys.
I asked Mark to add eyelets for fenders and a rear rack in case I want to do a little light touring. If this were a road bike, I’d have sprung for a pump peg, too, but ain’t no pump peg in the world gonna secure a frame pump on a ’cross bike. Not the way I ride it, anyway.
Weather permitting, the Nobilette will undergo its maiden voyage this morning. The weatherman’s calling for snow, but hey — that’s cyclo-cross weather, right?
Mad Blog Media 