Well, that was … unimpressive. Pretty Boy waits until 10km to go to “attack,” Super Spaniard rides his wheel to the line and gives him the stage win, all wrapped up with a pretty little bow on it, then it’s time for a hug. Ick. Bernard Hinault and Sean Kelly probably just threw up in their mouths a little bit.
Pretty Boy better find himself some snap if he ever wants to beat this dude. Trying to ride Alberto Contador off your wheel on a mountain stage is like trying to drop a tattoo.
Technology is not our friend. And neither is Super Spaniard, if your whizbang drivetrain happens to bite you in the ass while you’re sharing a mountain with him and he covets your pretty yellow shirt.
I don’t have a problem with Bertie latching onto Denis Menchov and Sammy Sanchez if they’re moving forward despite the yellow jersey’s mechanical. But Bertie was driving that train, and he knew exactly what he was doing when he lit it up from behind the spazzed-out Schleckalecka. He was thinking, “Here’s a cheap way to score myself a half-minute from this hill-climbing fool.”
I do have a problem with the friggin’ heat in these parts lately. We’ve been about 10 degrees hotter than normal lately, in the mid-90s, which sucks, frankly. I was sweating like a ditch-digger before I ever threw a leg over a top tube this morning, and on the climbs I was wearing my shades upside down in my helmet to keep the lenses salt-free, just like the big boys.
Jesus, it’s 84 inside the goddamn house. A refreshing glass of white wine is indicated. And I know just where I can find one.
There ain’t nothing like that first week of the Tour, boys and girls. And this has been a particularly bad first few days, what with various other chores coinciding with my need to work five days a week for three weeks at VeloNews.com.
After 20 years of cracking lame cycling gags I occasionally find myself with a nasty case of writer’s block, and wouldn’t you know it? This was one of those times. And me with deadlines at Bicycle Retailer & Industry News (two columns and a “Shop Talk” cartoon strip) and VeloNews (editorial cartoon).
Never get out of the fuckin' boat!
I pushed the envelope so far it turned inside out, creating a wormhole that took me to an alternate universe containing a Patrick O’Grady who was still about half funny. Happily, when I showed up my dopplegänger was asleep under his drawing board with an empty bottle of tonsil polish in one limp paw (some things transcend time and space), so I appropriated his work and returned to my own universe just in time to beat my deadlines.
But is this my universe? Lance Armstrong is not winning the Tour — far from it, he sits in 18th place, 2:30 behind Fabian Cancellara, and is getting heckled by spectators calling him “dopehead” and “cheat.” And Mark Cavendish is getting his ass handed to him in the sprints. The renowned sprinter Andy Schleckhas more points than Cav’, f’chrissakes.
Shit. I should’ve listened to Chef. “Never get out of the boat.” Not even to beat a deadline.
Today I did something out of the ordinary — I rode my mountain bike. And in an even more startling departure from the norm, I rode it in Cheyenne Mountain State Park.
What can I tell you? I was sick of my usual rides and got all Monty Python on my bad self (“And now for something completely different. …”).
It feels wrong to write about this place again, because this park continues to be largely undiscovered. In two and a half hours of riding I encountered two hikers, four mountain bikers and one extremely hard individual who was running the trails with a large rucksack and ski poles. It ain’t exactly I-25 at rush hour, is what I’m sayin’ here.
My outing took in Zook Loop, Sundance, Talon, North and South Talon and Blackmer Loop, and oh, man, was it ever fun, despite my minimal and rusty skills. I may not be the world’s worst mountain biker, but will do until he (or she) shows up.
I middle-ringed pretty much everything until machismo proved to be stupidissimo — a guy with the right legs and medical plan can ride quite a few of these trails on a cyclo-cross bike — and then I became one with the Tao of the Little Ring. Nobody’s watching, so there was no one to impress.
My park pass ($6 at the gate) is good until noon tomorrow, so I may just dash out there again. After all, I only heard the one rattlesnake, and the bears, bobcats and mountain lions apparently are on vacation.
Mad Blog Media 