It’s really a shame that I’m not a cycling journalist. Or a journalist at all, really. Because if I were a (cycling) journalist, maybe it would have occurred to me — at some point during the past five months or so — to prepare a list of questions or things to talk about during my ride with Johan Bruyneel and Viatcheslav “Eki” Ekimov, the director and assistant director of Team RadioShack.
And then I would have been more ready to take advantage of the kind of opportunity most cycling journalists dream of, but never get.
But I’m not a sports journalist. I’m I dork with a blog. So I just assumed that we’d talk about biking stuff, and I’d watch them at work, and then I’d write about what happened.
Which is what I’m about to do. The “write about what happened” part, I mean. The other part is done with now.
The Morning Before
The original plan for my trip to the Tour of California was to bring the whole family. There was just one problem with this, however. The Tour of California had the gumption to happen right during finals week for the kids. And without going into details, I’m simply going to say that missing finals right now would not be a fantastic idea for some of the kids.
Plus, none of them wanted to go. I think this has to do with an ongoing generational curse passed along from paternal Nelsons to their kids. Just as my father could not get me to be interested in hunting and fishing, my kids simply do not dig the bicycle.
So The Runner and I went.
The morning of the time trial, The Runner and I woke up and went on a run, going from our hotel to the race venue, where they were just starting to set up.
Now, I know that as a cyclist, I ought to despise running, but The Runner is making a convert out of me. While the logistics of riding while traveling can be pretty daunting, running gear requires no additional luggage. Plus, I have to say that running was actually a great way to get a sense of the part of LA. By the time we had run five or six miles, we had picked out all the restaurants we wanted to eat at for the trip, and knew exactly how to walk to all the places we needed to go.
And — I’m dropping a hint here — I need to stay in running shape because I’m working on a Team Fatty LiveStrong fundraiser that I think runners will like. A lot. More on that soon.
I Am A Very Important Person and Have the Lanyard to Prove It
After cleaning up, The Runner and I headed down to the race venue to pick up the VIP passes that Amgen had kindly provided us with. Since this was the first time I have ever had a VIP pass at any event, I had no idea exactly how much wonderfulness one of these passes gets you. Specifically, it gave us access to bathrooms with plumbing. And to a never-ending buffet.
Most importantly, though, it meant that whenever we saw event staff blocking an entrance, all we needed to do was wave our passes and waltz on through. It was like having the keys to the city.
Before long, I started keeping my nose in the air and referring to everyone without a magical lanyard as “OSIPs” (Only Somewhat Important People).
But really, the head-expanding part of the day hadn’t even begun.
Hanging Out With The Shack
I was told I’d be riding with the first Team RadioShack racer to do his TT: Dmitriy Muravyev. His start time was 1:40, but I should be at the team bus by 1:00.
I showed up at the bus, which had a fence around it, and a two- or three-deep crowd all around it. Trust me, it felt strange — in the most ego-expanding way possible — to be escorted past the fence and allowed the run of the place.
So of course I immediately started asking if I could have my picture taken with pretty much everyone and everything.
Here’s me and Eki:
And me and Johan:
Note that in the photo with Johan, I have cleverly changed into a t-shirt from his new line of apparel, not to mention a Team RadioShack cap.
Hey, I know where my bread is buttered.
The Runner and I got a photo of us with Glenn, who took care of us both in Tucson and in LA.
I’m going to interview Glenn someday soon. He’s got some stories to tell.
And I’m always happy to see LiveStrong’s Chris Brewer:
Then we went into the inner sanctum — the tour bus. Which was nice, but I didn’t feel very comfortable inside — kinda like I was told I could hang out in someone’s house, even though the home owner was inside getting ready for a very important business meeting in just a few minutes.
The weird thing though, was that the ghost of Keith Partridge was sitting inside. “He’s been haunting the bus for years,” said Johan. “We can’t seem to get him to leave.”
OK, I might have made that part up.
Go Time
Upon advice from Glenn, I didn’t bother any of the riders as they started warming up for their races. “If they have a bad day,” Glenn explained, “You don’t want them using you as the reason for it.”
So as Levi — usually the friendliest guy in the world — stepped out of the bus and started warming up, I avoided even making eye contact.
But I did get a picture of Dmitriy as he warmed up:
Dmitriy makes me feel much better about my own cyclist’s tan.
Then, as Dmitriy finished suiting up, I took a peek in the mechanics’ trailer:
That’s a lot of carbon.
Looking at my watch, I saw it was 1:30. Shouldn’t we be getting in position? Oh well, if they weren’t worried about it, I wasn’t either. So I posed for a glamour shot in front of the team car we’d be riding in:
I am so vogue.
Seriously, It’s Go Time
At about 1:35, Eki and Johan step out of the bus. “Let’s go,” they say. I climb into the back seat. “You’re the mechanic for this racer,” Johan tells me. Which is of course just fine, as long as the Dmitriy doesn’t mind ten-minute tire changes.
I ask Johan and Eki to look back so I can get a picture. They oblige:
Seriously, that’s really them.
“It’s 1:38 right now,” says Eki.
“I think we’re going to miss his start,” says Johan. “How do we get out of this parking lot anyway?”
All of this said very, very calmly, by the way.
Meanwhile, I am considering the fact that if I were driving behind one of my racers and I were in danger of missing his start, I would be completely freaked out.
“1:39,” says Eki, as Johan pulls past a line of seven or eight other team cars, each of them waving him past. He’s next.
“1:40 now” says Eki. Johan calm as can be.
We pull into the right spot for Dmitriy to go by. Bruyneel watches. Calm. Matter-of-fact.
And then, approximately nine seconds later, Dmitriy goes by.
Johan floors it. My head snaps back. And now Dmitriy is just ahead of us:
And this presages what the next forty-five minutes or so will be like.
Which is what I will talk about in tomorrow’s post.
PPS: Team RadioShack put together the following video recap. I recommend watching it wholeheartedly. Which is to say my recommendation is wholehearted, not that I recommend that you get into a state of wholeheartedness before watching it. Although that wouldn’t be bad, either. Anyways:
I’m just here hanging out at the Team RadioShack bus with my old pal
Johan. He’s hoping I will provide his racers with the valuable advice
for which i am so well known.
I’ll be following Dmitriy Muravyev, the first Team RadioShack rider to
go. 1:40 is his start time.
For some reason, confessions are on my mind today. And as a result, I have a confession to make.
Okay, several confessions.
This isn’t easy for me, so I appreciate your patience as I try to clear my conscience.
Confession 1: I have commented using a pseudonym. One of the things I’ve always been proud of with this blog is the open commenting system I have. I of course understand that since my comment system is totally open, it’s a snap to impersonate somebody. And I have done that myself on at least two different occasions that I can remember. Both times were to call attention to what I considered a clever inside joke that nobody had noticed, saying that my reference was very funny.
I should note, however, that most every single blogger in the world does this. And in fact, it’s my understanding that all of Jill Homer’s comments are written by Jill Homer herself. So in comparison, I’m squeaky clean, bogus-comment-wise.
Confession 2: I have plagiarized Dave Barry. I used to love Dave Barry’s column. One of his signature phrases is “…and I am not making this up….” I have written that exact phrase in my blog probably a dozen times, and each time I do I am consciously plagiarizing Dave Barry.
But my problem is hardly even worth mentioning if you compare me to practically every person who has ever lived, each of whom plagiarizes Seinfeld twenty or thirty times per day. In fact, I’m practically a saint in comparison, when you think about that “and I am not making this up” is a fairly generic, non-comedic preface to the actual comedic phrase that will follow. Saying, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that” or “No soup for you,” however, steals the entire comic parcel.
And anyone who knows Dug knows that he has never actually constructed an original sentence in his life; every single thing he ever writes is a reference to something else.
Shame on all of you!
Confession 3: Even though I’ve said I’ll never do another Ironman, I can’t help but thinking about doing another Ironman. It’s true; I’ve thought several times about what would happen if I actually trained for the run. I think I could finish an hour faster. And if I started the race at 150 pounds instead of 163, I would have finished both the run and bike courses faster.
But if you think I’m bad, you should hear The Runner. She — and I would like to remind you that she was the one who originally said that we would never do the Ironman ever again — has already started thinking about the next triathlon she wants to do, and has even hinted that maybe sometime this autumn we ought to go try swimming again.
Confession 5: I drink chocolate milk straight from the jug. I tell my kids that it is absolutely forbidden for them to drink straight from the jug, but when nobody is around, I do it all the time. And not just because I’m lazy, either. I do it because I like it. I like lifting the big ol’ gallon container of chocolate milk to my lips and chugging, knowing that I can drink and drink and drink, and there’s still very little chance that I’ll finish off the container I’m drinking from.
And it feels manly to drink from the jug, too.
But if you think I’m disgusting, you should have seen this dog — named Fred — a friend of mine had when I was a kid. He totally licked his balls.
I mean the dog did, not the kid.
Confession 6: I deleted confession 4 because it was too personal and embarrassing. But you know what? I hear — and I am not making this up — that Bike Snob NYC deletes personal details from his blog all the time.
PS: Feel free to use the comments section today to confess something, but only on the condition that you then go on to blame others for doing the same and / or worse.
PPS: Is there anyone else who thinks that the “Trust But Verify” blog ought to have a few new updates, in light of recent events?
PPPS: The contest to support the Breakaway from Cancer initiative and win a jersey or an Amgen Tour of California merchandise pack is still going on. We’ve raised just about $2000 so far. Read here for details, and go here to donate.
I’ve been watching the Amgen Tour of California, and just realized something: my favorite part is listening to Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen narrate it. I swear, every time a stage begins and they start talking, I get the “Christmas is here” feeling.
So I’ve been trying to figure out why. Is it that I’ve got a lot of good memories tied up with watching the Tour de France, and they’ve always (as far as I’m concerned) been the soundtrack to that race? Or is it that they actually make the race into something more than a race? That they take what is otherwise just a large group of anonymized people turning small circles with their legs, and turn it into a dramatic story with interesting characters?
Probably both, really. Plus I really like their voices. And I’m amazed at how they can continue to talk for hours and hours, day after day, and stay interesting — even when the race is not (and let’s face it, long flat stages that make you incredibly glad you have a DVR aren’t all that interesting, even to hardcore fans).
There’s more, too. No matter what happens, they handle it. Need to announce that the next show is about competitive fish cleaning? They do it. Need to talk about a race that they can’t see and have no information on, due to rain keeping the cameras off? No problem.
Need to announce that, due to the very important necessity of Versus wanting to show a lengthy NHL promo, followed by a hockey game, they won’t be showing the final three minutes of a breakaway comprised of three podium favorites? They do it with grace, reflecting none of the rage I was experiencing as I, dumbstruck, watched the screen go black with under three Km to go.
In fact, if Phil and Paul had commentated the hockey game, I might’ve even stuck around to watch.
Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind if Phil and Paul commentated a lot of things. For example, it would have been really helpful if they had been around to commentate The Phantom of the Opera when I saw that last December:
Phil: Yes, the heroine is still singing. She’s got quite a set of lungs, that one. She’s quite sad, you can see that, and I can’t blame her. After all, she’s got to contend with a crazy, scarred man who until recently was her singing coach but is now pursuing her and is killing her co-workers left and right.
Paul: And that’s not all, Phil. You can see she’s in a cemetery now — a very sad place indeed — and thanks to some important visual cues we saw earlier, I think it’s very likely we’ll see a violent encounter involving swordplay any second now.
Phil: Right you are, Paul, it looks like that fight has begun now. The phantom seems to be the superior swordsman, and the duke looks like he’s been caught off-guard. Oh, but he’s recovered nicely and is counterattacking! This could be a fight for the ages.
Paul: And I don’t think we should discount the fact that the Phantom is seriously unstable. It’s hard to engage in a strategic and tactical swordfight at the top level when you’re a raving lunatic…
Phil: But a handsome lunatic to be sure.
Paul: No question, the ladies seem to like the mask, though a professional fencer I’ve talked to made the excellent point that this mask is going to seriously affect the Phantom’s peripheral vision.
Phil: A handicap that’s just became evident now as the Phantom is down! That’s right, the Phantom has made a serious miscalculation and is now at the Duke of Wellington’s — I’m not sure that’s the right name, we’ll get back to that in a moment — mercy!
Paul: And with that, we’ll take a break. Don’t go away.
See, I understand the opera better already, and that’s just by imagining what Phil and Paul would say.
Honestly, there’s no pro I’ll be sadder to see leave racing than when Phil and Paul — hopefully not for a long while yet — retire.
I’m just a few short days from flying to Los Angeles, where I will get to ride in the Team RadioShack car, following some very lucky pro as he tries to ride 21 miles very, very fast.
I could just sit in the car during the ride, taking it all in, doing my best to remember it all so I can write a lucid, interesting, and perhaps even clever blog post about what it’s like to ride in a team car during a time trial.
I could, but I won’t. Because if I did that, I would completely miss the opportunity to do the following:
At a key moment during the race, I’ll ask the driver to stop swerving so much. “I think I’m going to hurl,” I’ll say.
Bring a pillow, “Just in case I get bored.”
Point out interesting landmarks along the way, and maybe ask if we can stop so I can take pictures.
Ask, several times, “Are we there yet? I really need to pee.”
Ask the team mechanic if he’d mind adjusting the trim on my rear derailleur.
Bring Funyuns, eat them noisily, ask if anyone would like some.
Ask if I can have a turn driving.
Tell the driver I know a shortcut that can get us there faster.
Furthermore, I plan to wrest (what other blogs use the word “wrest,” by the way? None, that’s what. This blog is freaking educational) control of the radio from the driver and do the following:
Holler the lyrics to the Macarena song, very loudly.
Tell the cyclist that it’s OK to slow down. “Not everyone can win every day. Maybe it’s time you give someone else a turn. Feel free to just phone in your ride today,” I’ll say.
Say, “Big Ben, this here is Rubber Duck. What’s your 20?” And then I’ll make the squelching noise CB radios made when you released the “Talk” button.
Yell upcoming turn instructions to the rider, but constantly confuse left and right. “Slight left — I mean right — bend up ahead in twenty — I mean thirty five — yards, I mean 3.5 kilometers. No, right! RIGHT! TURN AROUND!”
I suspect that right this minute, everyone on the team is fighting for the privilege of being the one to have me be behind them.
Fight Cancer, Win a Jersey Autographed by Lance Armstrong, Levi Leipheimer, or George Hincapie, and a Whole Bunch More Cool Stuff
One of the things I like about the Amgen Tour of California is the close association with the Breakaway from Cancer initiative. Breakaway from Cancer, in case you aren’t familiar with it, is a terrific source of information and tools for people who are battling cancer.
So, during the Amgen Tour of California, I’m working with Amgen to help raise some money for this initiative. By donating, you have a chance of winning one of the following:
One of 2 jerseys autographed by Lance Armstrong
A jersey autographed by George Hincapie
A jersey autographed by Levi Leipheimer
One of 3 Amgen Tour of California merchandise packs, each of which includes an ATOC leader jersey, a pair of Oakley sunglasses, an ATOC t-shirt, an ATOC bag, and a pair of ATOC socks.
How do you win? Simple. Go to the Amgen Breakaway from Cancer donation page and make a donation. For every $5 you donate, you’ll automatically get a chance when we do a drawing for the prizes listed above.
This contest goes until the end of the Tour, Sunday, May 23. Winners will be notified by email on Monday, May 24, and announced on this blog once they have confirmed.
It’s a great cause with some very cool prizes. Go donate now.
PS: Thanks to Dug for pretty much all the funny parts today.
It’s really a shame that I’m not a cycling journalist. Or a journalist at all, really. Because if I were a (cycling) journalist, maybe it would have occurred to me — at some point during the past five months or so — to prepare a list of questions or things to talk about during my ride with Johan Bruyneel and Viatcheslav “Eki” Ekimov, the director and assistant director of Team RadioShack.
