"The people of Italy still talk about it. It reminds them of the old glory years when it wasn't just one rider against another, but racing out on the open roads, when anything can happen and where a guy who perseveres can come out on top. There was a lot of hard luck going around that day, and it reminded people of the great things in bike racing."
Andy Hampsten, on his epic 1988 ride over Passo Gavia through snow and ice to win the Giro d'Italia.
Today is all administrative, as it is Day 1 Stage 1, and houseguests are coming over to watch and tuck in to stroopwafels and frites, washing them down with homebrewed French and Belgian farmhouse beers. Naturally the beers are named Passo Gavia and Foglie Morte, respectively, but today they're getting name changes to Roleur and Puncheur.
Today's Rapha Rising challenge update:
6,529 feet of climbing done, 62,871 to go (or 3,140 a day). Easy.
Tomorrow's ride is the Golden stage of the Tour of Colorado, so we'll ratchet those up a bit. Expect updates and a little history of the ever-present Badger.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Christmas Eve
"Cycling is like church: many attend, but few understand." Jim Burlant
I'm writing this post the evening before the start of the 98th running of the Tour de France, cycling's premier event. Its difficult to convey to the non-cyclist the importance of this event to those who don't ride. It isn't simply one of the most difficult athletic events on the planet, or seeing the best square off against the best day after day for three weeks. Cycling is a sport that is equal parts cerebral and physical, traditional and modern, scientific and mystical. I've heard riders describe it as 'a Super Bowl a day for three weeks', but I think that gives it short shrift. The Tour, and really all of cycling's grand tours and great races, run deeper than that.
For the next three weeks, this blog is my attempt to bring light to the importance of the race by discussing the race and its history and heroes. Today's post, on the night before the race begins, is designed to explain the mechanics of the Tour - how it works, whats at stake, and what race followers can expect. Hopefully, this will lay the groundwork for later posts.
The Tour itself can be thought of in threes. It is the biggest and most prestigious of the three Grand Tours (the others being the Giro d'Italia and the Vuelta de Espana), all of which are three week long multi-stage races.
Racers compete not necessarily for the overall title, but for one of several titles, of which three are key: the General Classification (the overall race leader, which allows the holder to wear the yellow jersey or 'maillot jaune'), the points jersey (often called the sprinter's jersey, which is green), and the 'king of the mountains' jersey for the rider who has the best overall time on mountain stages (arguably one of the more badass achievements in sports, rewarded by the completely un-badass red polka dot jersey. I kid you not.) There are other titles/jerseys that riders can aspire to, but these three are the biggies.
To understand how these titles work and what riders are working for, its key to understand the three types of stages in the Tour:
The first are the 'flat' stages. As the name implies, these stages are generally over relatively flat ground, with the pack (called the peleton)remaining together as a group. These stages are often low impact in terms of overall standing, and because of this, they are often written off by the casual fan. I would argue that flat stages can be among the best, however, because they give riders the chance to break from the pack and shoot for a stage win. Early in these stages, one or several riders will break from the pack and ride off in hopes of coming in before the peloton. These breaks may gain 5, 10 or even 20 minutes over the pack, wins constitutes a huge margin. However, near the end of the stage, the peleton will begin to work against the riders in the break. Some teams will be concerned about the overall standing, whereas other riders will be concerned about winning the stage and their standing for the green jersey. The result: riders out in the break riding for their lives against a strong pack of riders working to reel them in. The last 30 minutes of a good flat stage can be some of the most dramatic in sport.
Time trials. These are referred to as the 'Race of Truth', because each rider races alone against the clock. Riders start on a staggered basis and ride on a closed course. Because each rider starts and rides alone, he cannot rely on the support of teammates and thus his result is the result of individual effort alone. It is this nature of time trials that make them critical for defining the overall Tour winner: a strong time trialler can gain minutes on his competition, whereas a poor effort in a time trial can cost a rider their Tour. One frequently included variation of the time trial in the Tour is the team time trial (TTT). In these stages, the riders start as a team rather than individually. The TTT is one of the most impressive races to watch, with teams working together to put time into their competition.
Mountain stages. The mountain stages are often the most dramatic of the Tour, and frequently define the overall winner. As the name implies, the mountain stages climb through the Alps, Pyrenees, or Massif Central, going over one or more mountain passes to the ultimate finish. These stages too tend to come in several varieties: those that have a mountain top finish, and those that finish at the base of a mountain in a nearby town. Both are exciting, but it is the mountain top finishes that are the most dramatic. In mountain stages that do not have a mountain finish a rider can gain time on other riders, but this time can be lost on the descent and lead in to the finish town. When a stage finishes on a mountain, a strong climber can bury his competition.
These are the most basic concepts of the Tour, and hopefully provide some explanation of what riders are working for. In later posts, we'll discuss teams and team dynamics, Tour history, and great riders past and present.
Also, this blog is going to be my tracking point for my progress on the Rapha Rising challenge. Rapha, a maker of pretty sweet cycling gear, is challenging riders to ride the same amount of climbing in 22 days that Tour riders this year will do in 9. The numbers break down like this: over the course of 22 days, I need to climb a total of just under 70,000 feet (or 3,150 feet per day). By way of comparison, my typical week this summer has averaged about 1,500 feet per day. This is gonna hurt...
I'm writing this post the evening before the start of the 98th running of the Tour de France, cycling's premier event. Its difficult to convey to the non-cyclist the importance of this event to those who don't ride. It isn't simply one of the most difficult athletic events on the planet, or seeing the best square off against the best day after day for three weeks. Cycling is a sport that is equal parts cerebral and physical, traditional and modern, scientific and mystical. I've heard riders describe it as 'a Super Bowl a day for three weeks', but I think that gives it short shrift. The Tour, and really all of cycling's grand tours and great races, run deeper than that.
For the next three weeks, this blog is my attempt to bring light to the importance of the race by discussing the race and its history and heroes. Today's post, on the night before the race begins, is designed to explain the mechanics of the Tour - how it works, whats at stake, and what race followers can expect. Hopefully, this will lay the groundwork for later posts.
The Tour itself can be thought of in threes. It is the biggest and most prestigious of the three Grand Tours (the others being the Giro d'Italia and the Vuelta de Espana), all of which are three week long multi-stage races.
Racers compete not necessarily for the overall title, but for one of several titles, of which three are key: the General Classification (the overall race leader, which allows the holder to wear the yellow jersey or 'maillot jaune'), the points jersey (often called the sprinter's jersey, which is green), and the 'king of the mountains' jersey for the rider who has the best overall time on mountain stages (arguably one of the more badass achievements in sports, rewarded by the completely un-badass red polka dot jersey. I kid you not.) There are other titles/jerseys that riders can aspire to, but these three are the biggies.
To understand how these titles work and what riders are working for, its key to understand the three types of stages in the Tour:
The first are the 'flat' stages. As the name implies, these stages are generally over relatively flat ground, with the pack (called the peleton)remaining together as a group. These stages are often low impact in terms of overall standing, and because of this, they are often written off by the casual fan. I would argue that flat stages can be among the best, however, because they give riders the chance to break from the pack and shoot for a stage win. Early in these stages, one or several riders will break from the pack and ride off in hopes of coming in before the peloton. These breaks may gain 5, 10 or even 20 minutes over the pack, wins constitutes a huge margin. However, near the end of the stage, the peleton will begin to work against the riders in the break. Some teams will be concerned about the overall standing, whereas other riders will be concerned about winning the stage and their standing for the green jersey. The result: riders out in the break riding for their lives against a strong pack of riders working to reel them in. The last 30 minutes of a good flat stage can be some of the most dramatic in sport.
Time trials. These are referred to as the 'Race of Truth', because each rider races alone against the clock. Riders start on a staggered basis and ride on a closed course. Because each rider starts and rides alone, he cannot rely on the support of teammates and thus his result is the result of individual effort alone. It is this nature of time trials that make them critical for defining the overall Tour winner: a strong time trialler can gain minutes on his competition, whereas a poor effort in a time trial can cost a rider their Tour. One frequently included variation of the time trial in the Tour is the team time trial (TTT). In these stages, the riders start as a team rather than individually. The TTT is one of the most impressive races to watch, with teams working together to put time into their competition.
Mountain stages. The mountain stages are often the most dramatic of the Tour, and frequently define the overall winner. As the name implies, the mountain stages climb through the Alps, Pyrenees, or Massif Central, going over one or more mountain passes to the ultimate finish. These stages too tend to come in several varieties: those that have a mountain top finish, and those that finish at the base of a mountain in a nearby town. Both are exciting, but it is the mountain top finishes that are the most dramatic. In mountain stages that do not have a mountain finish a rider can gain time on other riders, but this time can be lost on the descent and lead in to the finish town. When a stage finishes on a mountain, a strong climber can bury his competition.
These are the most basic concepts of the Tour, and hopefully provide some explanation of what riders are working for. In later posts, we'll discuss teams and team dynamics, Tour history, and great riders past and present.
Also, this blog is going to be my tracking point for my progress on the Rapha Rising challenge. Rapha, a maker of pretty sweet cycling gear, is challenging riders to ride the same amount of climbing in 22 days that Tour riders this year will do in 9. The numbers break down like this: over the course of 22 days, I need to climb a total of just under 70,000 feet (or 3,150 feet per day). By way of comparison, my typical week this summer has averaged about 1,500 feet per day. This is gonna hurt...
Monday, June 28, 2010
Why
'Velo is an anagram of love' Louis Nucera
My first experience with the sport of cycling occurred in 1983 in Snowmass, Colorado (just outside Aspen). I was eight years old on a family vacation, and I was forever marked.
The Coors Classic at the time was essentially the 'Tour of Colorado', a weeklong professional level race that eventually drew some of cycling's elite and launched (directly or indirectly) the careers of every modern American cyclist. None of this mattered to me at the time.
What did matter was the race. Not knowing cycling, really understanding bikes, I saw hundreds if not thousands of fans watching riders race up a grade difficult to walk up. A year later, my family returned to watch the race move from Snowmass to a criterium in downtown Aspen, but I was no less enthralled.
To this day, I don't know how these races sparked an interest in cycling, nor do I know why. I do know that since that race, with a few years hiatus, cycling has played a role in my life. Be it riding to swim practice pretending I was racing the likes of Phinney and Grewal, to following sporadic newspaper reports as bike mechanic, to taping and watching the classics and each days stages in the Giro, Vuelta, and Tour, cycling played a role.
Because of (or perhaps, in spite of) this, I spend much of April and July trying my best to explain the sport and its eternal appeal to the initiated. This blog represents my humble attempt to explain cycling, bikes, and the tour to those friends and loved ones who have consistently asked for an explanation.
One question I anticipate is, 'where does the title come from?". My hope is that by explaining the title, I can to some extent explain why I ride. The easy answer is this: in 1967, Tom Simpson, a World Champion, son of a coal miner and the first of the great english speaking cyclists, died during the Tour de France on the epic climb of Mt. Ventoux. Simpson, in a state of full exhaustion (driven by a lethal cocktail of drugs, alcohol, dehydration, and probably worst of all, career pressure) collapsed on his bike. Despite Ventoux's brutal and unforgiving nature, Simpson got back on his bike following his first collapse. In reality, his last words were likely "I want to go on, on, get me up, get me straight" (W. Fotheringham, 2002), often his last works are remembered as "put me back on my bike". Its my hope that by the end of the 2010 Tour, I can help the readers of this blog understand why so many cyclists would have said either, or both.
My first experience with the sport of cycling occurred in 1983 in Snowmass, Colorado (just outside Aspen). I was eight years old on a family vacation, and I was forever marked.
The Coors Classic at the time was essentially the 'Tour of Colorado', a weeklong professional level race that eventually drew some of cycling's elite and launched (directly or indirectly) the careers of every modern American cyclist. None of this mattered to me at the time.
What did matter was the race. Not knowing cycling, really understanding bikes, I saw hundreds if not thousands of fans watching riders race up a grade difficult to walk up. A year later, my family returned to watch the race move from Snowmass to a criterium in downtown Aspen, but I was no less enthralled.
To this day, I don't know how these races sparked an interest in cycling, nor do I know why. I do know that since that race, with a few years hiatus, cycling has played a role in my life. Be it riding to swim practice pretending I was racing the likes of Phinney and Grewal, to following sporadic newspaper reports as bike mechanic, to taping and watching the classics and each days stages in the Giro, Vuelta, and Tour, cycling played a role.
Because of (or perhaps, in spite of) this, I spend much of April and July trying my best to explain the sport and its eternal appeal to the initiated. This blog represents my humble attempt to explain cycling, bikes, and the tour to those friends and loved ones who have consistently asked for an explanation.
One question I anticipate is, 'where does the title come from?". My hope is that by explaining the title, I can to some extent explain why I ride. The easy answer is this: in 1967, Tom Simpson, a World Champion, son of a coal miner and the first of the great english speaking cyclists, died during the Tour de France on the epic climb of Mt. Ventoux. Simpson, in a state of full exhaustion (driven by a lethal cocktail of drugs, alcohol, dehydration, and probably worst of all, career pressure) collapsed on his bike. Despite Ventoux's brutal and unforgiving nature, Simpson got back on his bike following his first collapse. In reality, his last words were likely "I want to go on, on, get me up, get me straight" (W. Fotheringham, 2002), often his last works are remembered as "put me back on my bike". Its my hope that by the end of the 2010 Tour, I can help the readers of this blog understand why so many cyclists would have said either, or both.
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