Posts Tagged ‘Mark Cavendish’

Dome sweet dome

July 9, 2021

Headed down, down, down to the bosque.

The more I read of the news, the more I want to ride my bicycle.

That said, holy hell, it’s getting hot again. The Heat Dome must be coming back for round two.

Another day, another century.

I was out for about three hours yesterday, down to the bosque and back again, and by noon I was starting to feel like a parched lizard in need of a shady rock.

My insulated Camelbak Podium bottles will keep water cold — OK, so, cool — for about two hours. But three hours in, what remains tastes like warm flu.

Today Herself and I got out early for our weekly leg-stretcher, about 90 minutes of pooting around in the foothills, and that was fine. Afterward we finished off the last of the tasty egg salad I made yesterday, in sandwiches of homemade bread, and I am not ashamed to say that we added some hipster potato chips to the mix.

Strictly to replace lost sodium, you understand.

Elsewhere, doesn’t seem to matter whether it’s hot, cold, up, or down, Mark Cavendish just keeps winning stages at the Tour. Dude is better at finding the hole than Ben Crenshaw.

Wreck on the highway

July 2, 2016
Say hi to Sam Hillborne.

Say hi to Sam Hillborne.

The first day of what appears to be a very long Tour de France is in the bag. Thanks to everyone who joined us at Live Update Guy. And chapeau to Mark Cavendish, who avoided a last-kilometer pileup — one of several on the day — to win the stage and take his first yellow jersey.

Too, a special “ow, wow, yow, zow” goes out to everyone who hit the deck on Stage 1. The body count would seem to include — well, just about everyone except for Cav’, me and Charles Pelkey (office furniture and road furniture rarely become entangled).

Alberto Contador in particular looked like he’d been attacked by a deranged chef with an assault cheese grater. One wonders whether he’ll have to be strapped onto his bike, El Cid-style, in order to start Sunday’s stage.

I wasn’t strapped to a damn thing when I rolled out for my own ride, aboard a brand-spankin’-new Rivendell Sam Hillborne (see pic above). No clipless pedals on that bad boy, not even toeclips and straps — just flats. So I rode in street shoes, baggies, an emblem-free Pearl Izumi jersey and a Rivendell cap unencumbered by helmet, just to make the Safety Nazis crazy. Took ‘er out on the highway, too.

I wish I could change this sad story that I am now telling you. But there is no way I can change it. For somebody’s ride is now through.

Speed bump

July 5, 2014

I was never a sprinter, for a variety of reasons, the foremost of which we saw today in stage 1 of the Tour de France.

Thundering into a gap that didn’t exist, Mark Cavendish lost his chance to win one in front of the home folks and don the yellow jersey to boot. He tangled with Simon Gerrans, both men went down (as did others), and it was just a helluva mess, a really bad way to end what otherwise had been a fine start to the Tour.

To his credit, Cav’ took the rap, saying via press release: “It was my fault. I’ll personally apologize to Simon Gerrans as soon as I get the chance. In reality, I tried to find a gap that wasn’t really there.” Gerrans, for his part, was circumspect, declining to assign blame as he limped off with his kit in tatters. And Marcel Kittel was grinning from ear to ear, because he finished with the rubber side down and took the first stage win and yellow jersey.

Charles Pelkey and I called the race as per usual over at Live Update Guy, and it was big fun until suddenly it wasn’t. It seemed most of the regulars were on hand, and we engaged in the usual digressions — doggerel, cat photos, Monty Python, literature, cartoons, rock ‘n’ roll, beggary, history, pix from the Man On the Scene (MOTS), medium-heavy libel, you name it.

We’ll be doing it again tomorrow. Y’all come.


The last few drops of toilet humor

July 11, 2013

Mark Cavendish got beat by half a wheel today, and you know what that means. Earplugs for everyone within 4km of the Omega Pharma team bus.

Still, as the man said … it’s better to be pissed off than to be pissed on.

Taking the piss

July 10, 2013

Well … at least Mark Cavendish finally has his yellow jersey.

Remember me?

July 27, 2012
Van Nicholas Amazon Rohloff

The Van Nicholas Amazon Rohloff: Titanium everything, a 14-speed Rohloff hub and Gates Carbon Drive.

Me neither. I used to be that shaven-legged, devil-may-care, funny man about town. Now I’m a hairy old fat bastard striving mightily to find a way to make money without working. Imagine my disappointment.

First, the good news: I have actually ridden a bicycle every day this week. The bad news? It wasn’t my bicycle. And I rode it very, very slowly.

But enough about me. The Olympics are coming up this weekend, and word is that Saturday’s road race will be The World Vs. Mark Cavendish. Good luck with United Nations v2.0, guys. It makes my hunt for free money look like a sure thing.

I lost interest in the Games when pros became involved, and I can’t recall an Olympic road race that was half as interesting as an industrial-park crit, so I will be paying attention only when someone is paying me.

Frankly, the only Olympic sports that have ever meant a rat’s ass to me are track and field, swimming and gymnastics. Running and swimming may be the purest forms of sport, and gymnastics … that’s just plain fun to watch.

But right now I’d rather do than watch. See that bike up there? I’m going to go ride it somewhere, then come back and write about it. Beer may be involved. It’s as close to not working for money as I’m ever likely to get.

Punk-tures deflate stage 14

July 15, 2012
The RadioShack-Nissan press wizard snapped this shot of one of the tacks pulled from a rider's tire.

The RadioShack-Nissan press wizard snapped this shot of one of the tacks pulled from a rider’s tire.

Just when you thought stage 14 of the 2012 Tour de France couldn’t get any worse, it did.

The Pyrénéan stage, with its two category-one climbs — which no less an authority than John Wilcockson had expected to provide “the best chance yet” for Cadel Evans, Vincenzo Nibali or Jurgen Van den Broucke to yank Bradley Wiggins out of his golden palanquin — turned into a nothing-burger of a training ride, with a break a quarter-hour up the road and the GC guys back in the bunch trading organic chamois-cream recipes. (Handy household hint: If you see Mark Cavendish at the front of the bunch on a climb, nobody is busting his balls. Except maybe Cavendish.)

That was bad enough for those of us trying to keep a live update, well, lively.

But then some fuckwit or fuckwits unknown decided it would be fun to salt the final climb with tacks.

Yes, tacks.

There were some 30 punctures, though whether that refers to tires or riders remains unclear. Evans had three flats of his own — the first left him standing atop the final summit with a teammate who also lacked a functional rear wheel, awaiting neutral service, AAA or the Better World Club, whichever would accept his Credit Lyonnais credit card.

Evans finally got going again, and maillot jaune Bradley Wiggins asked the bunch to ride piano until the defending champ got back on, though Europcar’s Pierre Rolland, Lotto-Belisol and Liquigas-Cannondale apparently missed the memo. Those rascals soon got sorted out, however, and that was that, although Rolland should consider himself out of the Miss Congeniality competition this year.

Robert Kiserlovski got the worst of it — Jani Brajkovic flatted after that last climb, Kiserlovski apparently swerved over to give him a wheel, Levi Leipheimer T-boned him, and Kiserlovski left the Tour with a busted collarbone.

Oh, yeah — there was some actual racing going on. Luis Leon Sanchez popped out of that break while green jersey Peter Sagan was having a nosh and rode solo to the stage win. Sagan had looked like the man of the hour until Sanchez caught him with his mouth full.

“Yes, I should have kept a better eye on him,” Sagan told Cyclingnews.” In the last few kilometers I needed to eat. I wasn’t expecting him to attack me at that point. He is experienced and I am not bitter about it. Even if I’d managed to stay with him I might not have won.”

Flying Dog, or from fire to flood

July 2, 2012

Took a break from Le Tour today, mostly, though I did lend a hand to Charles “Live Update Guy” Pelkey over at Red Kite Prayer as he followed the stage for fun and profit. You already know what happened: Turns out Cav’ don’ need no steenkeeng choo-choo to win stages.

But first I had to shuttle Herself to the Greater Bibleburg Interdimensional Airport once again. This time she’s trading fire for flood, jetting to Maryland to visit family … kinfolks who only just yesterday got their power back on. So, yeah. Good times, is what. She’ll be sampling some Flying Dog ale straight from the source — who knew the outfit was based in Frederick, Md.? — and will report back to us.

Here’s hoping she won’t need an Igloo and a sack of cubes to keep it cold. I bet they’re running short of that sort of thing in my home state.

Cav’lry charge falls short

May 24, 2012

Hoo-boy. Mark Cavendish was pissed when Andrea Guardini beat him to the line in the last sprinters’ stage of this year’s Giro d’Italia.

It was a clean, straight-up ass-whuppin’, though, with nobody on the deck afterward. Guardini was simply faster than Cav’ this time around.

Tomorrow brings a real leg-breaker, 197km from Treviso to Alpe di Pampeago. Don’t look for Cav’ at the front of that one come the finish line, either.

What’s my line?

May 7, 2012

Man, did you folks see Roberto Ferrari take out Mark Cavendish and Taylor Phinney in today’s Giro d’Italia stage? Judas priest. Cav’ went down like someone shot him from the sidelines.

“I was doing my sprint. I didn’t see him,” Ferrari told Cyclingnews. “I don’t know what happened because it was all behind me, my foot slipped. I had to switch lines because another rider moved abruptly.”

Bullshit. He was trying to hit a gap that wasn’t there. Relegation was too gentle a punishment. Every rider on Team Sky, BMC or any other squad with a man on the deck should be permitted to queue up for a chance to kick Ferrari in the nuts.