10.16.2007 | 5:57 am
MADRID (Fat Cyclist Fake News Service) – In a gala ceremony held within a hotel conference room yesterday, Oscar Pereiro was officially crowned the champion of the 2006 Tour de France.
“I am truly pleased to award — at long last,” said Christian Prudhomme, director of the Tour de France, “the award for this race to Mr. Pereiro, an unimpeachably clean racer. You are a man I have long admired as a true champion, and are now recognized by all as the winner of the 2006 Tour de France.”
“This,” said Prudhomme, “is the satisfying conclusion to the 2006 Tour de France we’ve all been waiting for for such a long time.”
Pointing in the general direction Caisse d’Epargne team, he continued, “Oscar Pereiro was so strong in that race that nobody can legitimately doubt he is truly one of the brightest stars in the pro peloton today.”
“Who can forget,” said Prudhomme, “the way Pereiro valiantly accepted the gift of approximately thirty minutes in one of the stages of the tour? I am told it was quite moving, although I did not personally watch it, due to lack of interest.”
“But that is certainly not all,” said Prudhomme. “I was personally astounded at the way Pereiro . . . um . . . at the way Pereiro . . . uh . . . .”
Prudhomme then leaned over and asked an assistant, off-mike, “Did this guy do anything besides win the yellow jersey lottery?” The assistant shrugged and resumed his nap.
Concluded Prudhomme, “I want to make it clear to one and all that Pereiro’s win is nothing at all like winning a raffle. In particular, it’s nothing at all like someone winning a raffle because everyone else who had a ticket was kicked out of the party.”
Mr. Prudhomme then strode over to the Caisse d’Epargne team, hesitated for a moment, and handed the jersey and ceremonial stuffed lion to Alejandro Valverde.
Face reddening, Pereiro quickly grabbed the jersey from his teammate and put it on himself, while casting his eyes about, looking for someone to zip the jersey up in the back.
Not seeing anyone, Pereiro finally asked, “Where are the podium girls?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Prudhomme, looking at his watch. “Look, can we wrap this up? I have a 12:30 lunch meeting.”
Not Jumping the Gun
“This is an emotional moment, a day that I will never forget,” said Pereiro. “I am glad that it has been settled, once and for all, at long last, that I am the true and honest champion of the Tour de France.”
At this point, an attorney briefly whispered into Pereiro’s ear.
“Unless, of course,” continued Pereiro, “Floyd Landis wins his appeal.”
Pereiro continued talking, but could not be heard because a hotel tech person had turned off the microphone and began coiling up the cable, explaining that the sound system was needed in the next room.
In a short press conference following the ceremony, Pereiro was asked if he was perhaps jumping the gun by having this ceremony before Floyd Landis’ appeals options had run out.
“Shut up,” said Pereiro. “This is mine now. Mine.”
“Actually,” said an assistant to Christian Prudhomme, after explaining that Prudhomme himself would have loved to have been there himself but had other pressing engagements, “we do have a contingency plan worked out for this possibility.”
“If that were to happen,” continued the assistant, “we will have a special race between Landis and Pereiro. They will be given three options they can choose from to decide who is the real winner of the 2006 Tour de France: They can have a race, a leg wrestling competition, or a game of “Slap,” where Landis and Pereiro take turns slapping each other. The first one to cry loses.”
“We’ll take the game of Slap,” said José Luis Jaimerena, Caisse d’Epargne sport director.
What’s Next?
After the press conference, Pereiro sat at a couch in the hotel lounge with a stack of yellow jerseys beside him and a black Sharpie marker in hand, evidently making himself available in case someone would like an autographed jersey.
Asked what’s next, now that he’s the champion of the Tour de France, Pereiro said this afternoon he would go home and wait by his phone in anticipation of the product endorsement offers that would certainly be pouring in, any moment now. “I also expect to get a number of offers from other pro teams,” said Pereiro. “I mean, who wouldn’t want to have a Tour de France winner leading their team next year?”
“And now I have to leave,” said Pereiro. Asked why, he explained that hte team was getting together to celebrate his amazing 2006 Tour de France victory by eating at the Madrid Pizza Hut.
Comments (31)
10.12.2007 | 5:50 am
Loooong ago I needed a job for the summer, so I went to work at WordPerfect (a few of you will fondly remember WordPerfect) as a customer support operator.
There, one person at a time, I learned to dislike the human race. It was inevitable, really. When all you do all day is talk to people who are in crisis and need someone as a target for their frustration and anger (and, frequently, as a mask for their embarrassment at their ineptitude), your view of humanity starts to get a little skewed.
Well, it’s taken a long time, but I’m starting to revise that worldview. I’ve got three reasons why from just this week.
Reason 1. I Recognize that Jersey
Earlier this week, when I described my first ride on my new Fillmore, I left out a few parts.
First of all, I left out that I was wearing shorts and a short-sleeved jersey (the original — and highly collectible — black and orange Fat Cyclist Jersey).
Second, I left out that any time I was not in direct sunlight, it was pretty darned cold. Cold enough, in fact, that there was snow still on the ground left over from Saturday’s snow.
And not just in one or two little isolated patches, either:
My question is, how did this happen? I swear, it was too hot to ride outside just a couple of days ago. And now there’s snow?
I’d like to file a complaint. I need a much, much longer period in between the too-hot-to-ride season and the snowshoeing season, please.
Let’s start a petition. Those are usually effective.
OK, back to the story.
Anyway, as I got to the summit — totally winded from the climb — I saw someone wearing a Pink Fat Cyclist jersey.
“Hey!” I yelled out.
He looked up, recognizing my jersey.
Everyone, meet Justin, a guy I have never met before, but who was wearing the Pink Lemonade Fat Cyclist jersey. He was out there in patchy snow, getting in a MTB ride before winter takes over completely.
I know there are more than 500 people like Justin out there, wearing the Pink Lemonade jersey to support Susan and fight cancer. People I’ve never met, but are doing something nice for Susan and me just because that’s the kind of people they are.
Reason 2. I Need a Lift
After I talked with Justin for a few minutes, I turned around and headed downhill toward home.
And that’s when I started getting cold. Really, really cold. The long shadows cast by the mountain in the afternoon, compounded with wind, compounded with a sweaty jersey, compounded with a nice little breeze, had me shaking with cold.
And then I got a flat.
I should now back up for a moment and reveal that before the beginning of this ride, I put together a new seat pack for my new bike, so I’d always have everything I need to change a tire, should I get a flat. However, as I did this, I realized I didn’t have a spare tube or a spare CO2 cartridge in my garage to put in this new pack.
I could have easily just moved the seat pack I keep on my other road bike over to the bike I was riding, but I made a decision: “Nah. It’s a brand new tire. It won’t get a flat.” And I also decided to not bother bringing my phone, since I don’t get a signal when I’m in American Fork Canyon.
It’s like I’m jinxing myself on purpose.
So there I was: halfway down the narrow mountain road, with a flat. No way to fix it.
Six miles to home. Time to start walking.
A truck with a trailer zoomed by, honking at me. I assume they were angry at me for choosing to take my bike on a walk on this narrow road, and miffed that they would now have to move their hand two inches and tap their brake slightly in order to avoid me.
This did not improve my mood.
Ten seconds later, though, a car slowed as it went by me. The guy in the passenger seat shouted out, “You OK?”
I shook my head, no. And in fact, I wasn’t OK. I was shivering cold.
They pulled over, popped the trunk, and directed traffic around them while I took the wheels off my bike (luckily, I did have my Jethro Tool with me). They were both coming back from doing some rock climbing, and said they’d be happy to give me a ride home.
To be clear, they made that offer before they knew that I lived relatively close and was pretty much on their way.
All the way home, we talked about how incredible Utah in general — and American Fork Canyon in particular — is if you love the outdoors, whether you’re a rock climber, a cyclist, a kayaker, or whatever.
In short: I waited for less than two minutes after getting a flat before getting a friendly, genuine offer of assistance. I know that kind of help wouldn’t always come that fast, but I say that it’s pretty darned cool that it comes at all.
Reason 3. Family, Friends, and Fat Cyclist Readers
Wednesday night, after a particularly bad day for Susan and me, I posted a scared, stressed-out message on my blog.
Yesterday, I heard from everyone in my family — my Mom dropped everything and came over, Kellene’s coming over to help for the weekend, Lori texted me from wherever she’s camping, Christy called, and Jodi commented on the blog and wore her Fat Cyclist jersey when she went running (where she was evidently seen by Bike Snob NYC on his way to work — small world).
Friends have called, emailed, and instant messaged me.
And more than 110 of you have left incredibly thoughtful messages of support. I have read every one of them, and Susan has, too.
Of course, this blog has always been — and will always be — primarily a goofy place for me to say whatever wrongheaded cycling-tangented idea that’s popped into my skull. But it’s incredibly reassuring to know that when I need to be serious, Fat Cyclist readers are more than happy to help me out.
Thanks.
Comments (59)
10.10.2007 | 9:36 pm
I’m not funny today, or clever, or insightful. I’m worried and sad and stressed and angry and, frankly, more than a little freaked out.
It’s been getting harder and harder for Susan to walk lately. We figured this trend would reverse itself, since her tumors are shrinking and her bones look to be healing.
But last night Susan pretty much cried through the night she hurt so badly. The one Lortab she usually takes when she goes to bed to help cope with the pain didn’t do any good. So — for the first time ever — she took a second.
No help.
By 5:00am, Susan gave up trying to sleep and worked her way downstairs, thinking maybe I’d be able to sleep better if she weren’t in the room. Her left leg’s totally useless to her now, so she had to sit down and scoot her way down, pushing the crutches ahead of her.
Of course I couldn’t sleep. And I didn’t know how to help. Me: helpless, angry, scared, useless. Her: hurting like hell, still thinking about me.
So today we spent the day at the neurologist. His guess is somewhere on her spine, there’s a tumor that’s been pressing on a nerve. They’ll do more tests in a week.
Have I mentioned before Susan’s got tumors up and down her spine? Probably not. I’ve been so preoccupied with her lungs and liver that I sometimes forget how important the spine is, too.
So, until the tests reveal our next steps — almost certainly yet more tests — Susan’s got yet more prescriptions for “pain management.” That’s what they really call it.
I’m going to see if — for once — these neurologist tests result in a cure instead of just a bunch more drug prescriptions. If not, I’m going to use some money from those pink jerseys and buy Susan a lift so she can get up and down the stairs. That’s more mundane than Italy, but right now it’s more important. I figure most of you will understand and approve. And I’ll put the Italy trip on the credit card when the time comes if I need to.
Tonight, Susan took two Lortabs and a muscle relaxant (and I put two more within arm’s reach). Knocked her out; she’s sleeping right now. That’s the best thing that’s happened all day.
I’m sorry, this post probably feels like an ambush. I’m not about gloom and despair. I’m the guy who stays positive. And I will be again soon. Probably by tomorrow. I just need some sleep.
PS: I spent some time reading the 80+ comments that folks have left for us today, and I know Susan’s read them, too. Thanks from both of us. You have all long stopped just being readers to me and have become an extraordinary group of friends. Again, thank you.
Comments (127)
10.10.2007 | 5:28 am
A couple weeks ago, I talked about how I sort of stumbled into a climb up the Alpine Loop — 10 miles, 3200 feet of climbing — on my track bike.
What I have not talked about, though, is how that ride got me to thinking.
I’ve been thinking about how hard it was to do that climb in a 48 x 16 gear (81 gear inches)…but that it would be kind of cool to do it in just a slightly lower gear.
I’ve been thinking about how I didn’t enjoy the downhill much at all…but that I might have enjoyed it if I were on a bike with road geometry, instead of track geometry.
I’ve been thinking about how for the multi-mile descents I have every day, it would be nice to have a freewheel.
I’ve been thinking that water bottles might be a nice addition to the single speed road bike.
I’ve been thinking that a rear brake would be really nice to have.
In other words, I’ve been thinking I’d like the Bianchi Pista more if it were a different bike. A single-speedin’ road bike.
Testing the Theory
So I talked to Dug about my new idea. I expected him to pooh-pooh it. “Pooh,” I expected him to begin, in response to my idea. And then he would conclude: “Pooh.”
Instead, Dug attached himself to the idea. “Let’s figure out what the gearing would be and try a ride with our regular road bikes just in that gear,” he said.
Warning: This paragraph is geeky. You can skip it without consequence. It turns out that the Lemond Fillmore / Fisher Triton both are geared at 44 x 18: 66 gear inches. The Specialized Langster is geared at 42 x 16: 70.9 gear inches. For our test, Dug and I settled on the middle ground: big ring, third gear: 53 x 21: 68.1 gear inches.
We rode Emigration Canyon the next day, staying in that gear. I think we both agreed a little easier — the Fillmore / Triton gearing — would have been nicer for all the climbing we do.
And here is where Dug and I are different. Dug continued — and continues, as far as I know — to ruminate on whether he’d like a single speed road bike.
I, on the other hand, placed a call to Racer of Racer’s Cycle Service and asked him, “Which should I get? The Triton or the Fillmore?”
“They’re exactly the same bike,” Racer responded. “But there aren’t any Tritons in your size anywhere in the U.S. There is one Fillmore, though.”
“Order it,” I said, my discomfort with Greg Lemond notwithstanding.
You see, I’m perfectly comfortable with my impulsive nature. Besides, it’s been more than a year since I’ve bought a new bike (if you don’t count the tandem, I mean), and I need new blog material.
Yes, that’s right. I’m claiming I bought a bike to give you something to read about.
First Ride
So I got my Fillmore last Friday afternoon. Apart from swapping the saddle out to the Flite SLR I love and adding bullhorn bars instead of traditional road drop bars — I had this notion that bullhorns would be great for holding onto while I rowed the bike up the climbs, plus I never use the drops anyway — the bike is stock.
(Click for a larger version)
As always, I was so excited to ride my new bike I thought I would burst.
And so of course it rained all through the weekend.
Monday, though, I finally got in a ride, once again up to the top of the Alpine Loop and back.
How’d I like it? I loved it. I was right: the single speed on the road has an equivalent, non-explainable quality to a single speed on dirt. It feels simple, quiet, and on a hard climb, pretty darned painful.
I love how the bullhorns go exactly to where my hands want them on the climb, and the position of the brakes on the descent.
I love being able to coast on the downhill. I love having front and rear brakes. I love the stable feel of road geometry.
I love how this entire bike — including the different saddle, handlebar, Jethro Tool, and brake levers — cost less than I have come to expect a wheelset to cost.
So yesterday after work, I climbed the North side of Suncrest — 1500 feet in under four miles. That hurt. And it was exquisite.
Can’t Explain
People ask me, though: why a single speed? And I don’t have an answer. I really don’t.
There might be a vanity aspect to it — I keep hoping that someone will catch me summiting a difficult climb on this bike, though it hasn’t happened yet.
And the whole elegance-in-simplicity has something to do with it, too.
And maybe the do-or-die aspect of climbing with a single speed is part of it. You can’t shift to a lower gear, so if you’re going to get to the top of the hill, you’ve got to find the power in your legs to do it. That adds an intensity to the rides I really enjoy right now.
And — let’s face it — I’m kind of a goober and like to do things a little differently, just because it’s fun to be different.
And there’s always the “it’s a new bike, therefore it must be wonderful” factor.
But I don’t think any of these reasons really capture why I’m digging the single speed road bike. In the same way I really like climbing on my single speed mountain bike, I really like climbing on the single speed road bike.
I don’t know why it’s fun, but it is.
Really, really fun.
Comments (49)
10.8.2007 | 6:29 pm
A Note from Fatty: BikeRadar has posted my weekly humor (erm, humour) piece. I’ve posted a preview of the story below, or you can just go straight to the whole article by clicking here.
Here’s a little non-relevant piece of trivia about this article. I wrote it while sitting in the family car while waiting in a parking lot at a local lasertag / video arcade as my son and his friends had his birthday party.
Another Note from Fatty: The Pink Special Edition Fat Cyclist jerseys are now totally sold out. Thank you to everyone who bought one!
How to Talk With Non-Cyclists
The fact that you are reading this tells me all I really need to know about you. You’re a cyclist. I’m a cyclist. We therefore both know what’s really important in life (riding). We see the world as it truly is (a place to ride our bikes). If we were each to answer the question, “What would you do with a million dollars?” our answers would vary perhaps in what equipment we’d buy and where we’d go to ride, but in little else.
If we were to have a conversation, we’d have an understanding of how each other thinks. Maybe you’re a Cat 2 roadie and maybe I’m a cross-country endurance geek, but we both know that turning the cranks in a perfect circle is the ultimate form of self-expression.
Sadly, not everyone is like you and I. I am sad to say that there are people out there who rarely — if ever! – ride bikes at all. It’s possible you even know someone like this. A coworker. A family member. You’d be surprised at how common non-cyclists are, actually. You probably encounter them several times per day and simply don’t notice them, because they aren’t interesting.
Mostly, you can safely ignore these people, simply by riding away from them. Sometimes, though — at a company party, say — it is impossible to avoid non-cyclists. Surrounded, you have no choice but to communicate with them.
Don’t worry. I’m here to help. Just follow these five simple rules.
Click here to read the rest of this article over at BikeRadar.com.
Comments (36)
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