la classica di Primavera

Today marks the 102nd running of the the Spring classic, the Milan-San Remo.  The event was organized by the Italian sports paper, La Gazzetta dello Sport in 1907, who questioned whether or not finishing was even a possibility.  The first edition started on April 14, 1907, covering 288 kilometers and draconian rules forbade any feed zones or equipment changes.  Out of 33 starters, only 14 finished. 
In 1927 the race was moved from April to March, and the length gradually increased to 300 kilometers by 1946.
The fastest Milan-San Remo was in 1990, won by Gianni Bugno in 6 hrs, 25 min, 6 sec at an average speed of 28.45 mph.
The slowest was held during a snowstorm in 1910, where only four riders finished.  Eugene Christophe was the victor after 12 hrs 24 min.

The venerable Eddy Merckx holds the greatest number of wins at seven.
The Italians have taken 50 victories in their home country and Italian rider Wladimiro Panizza holds the record for participation with an amazing 18 starts.

 The event has become known as the "sprinter's classic," amazing in itself that riders have enough "kick" left after 299 kilometers of racing.

movie review - The Misfortunates

When in the movie rental store, I tend to gravitate toward the strange and quirky.  Independent films are preferred and for some reason I enjoy foreign movies with subtitles.  I usually trend toward the conservative side when watching movies with Lisa, mostly because I have picked more than a few duds in my time.  So since she was out of town, I went out on a limb and rented "The Misfortunates." 

The above photo was on the back cover and even though the dudes were naked, they were on bikes.  I've ridden a bike naked, so therefore I could relate and was intrigued for more back-story.
The film is Belgian.  So as one might expect there is bike riding and drinking.  Lots and lots of drinking.  So much drinking that Uncle Beefcake participates in a Tour de France of drinking, complete with a yellow jersey for the leader.  And as you can imagine, problems arise from all that debauchery.
The story is centered around 13 year old Gunter Strobbe, his dysfunctional family and his desire to leave the chaotic surroundings. 
That's about as much as you need to know without giving the whole movie away.
The film feels raw and confounding as it walks the line between tragedy and comedy.  It carries it's message close to the surface.
One might wonder what the attraction might be in such an emotional train-wreck of a movie.
I guess it's the same as most movies, we just want to see how it turns out in the end.
Plus, there are many scenes with bikes and any flick that incorporates cycling into the script has got my attention.  Naked or not.

saturday spin with lola

 

Sometimes it's tough living with a special needs four-legged zombie.  Saturday started out as one of those days.  I could see it in her eyes as soon as she finished breakfast.  It was a "you're gonna take me out to play today or I'm gonna do something crazy while you're gone" look.

Normally I'm not so concerned when her brother and mother are around.  But the better-half had taken CottonBall with her to SW Utah for some vertical bluff-scaling.  For the next few days, it was just me and  the little nuerotic one.

Friday night at the mixer I had spoken with my friend Angela about doing a Porcupine lap.  It had just opened up recently and she was going with some other bad-ass lady-friends of ours.  I felt honored to be invited on the ride, and bummed to bow out.  I knew Lola needed to run wild, but Porcupine wasn't really dog friendly.

 So we packed up the truck and headed north for the Sovereign trail.  Although it's a short drive out to the trailhead,  both of us couldn't wait to get out of the truck.  Something about our rickety little toyota truck scares the bejeezus out of Lola.  When we turned onto the dirt section, she bolted away from the passenger door and tried to climb on top of my head.  It was rather difficult fighting off a 60 lb dog and navigating a sandy wash.  I managed to get her out of my lap, but she slid beside me and extended her broom-handle legs enough to press all her weight against me.  Ears cocked and body tensioned, there was no moving her until that door opened.  She stomped on me like a doormat as soon as I lifted the handle.

I couldn't wait to wear this crazed beast down.

And ride some sweet singletrack.

We started at the trailhead on Dalton Wells road and went up to the left towards Cedar Mountain.  I had never ridden some of that action and kept wondering to myself how this was possible.

I mean seriously....I couldn't believe I had never ridden this section of the Sovereign before.  There was plenty of climbing to the mesa top top and no shortage of technical moves on the way.  The climb up is mostly through a bentonite shelf, so as long as it's dry the trail is bomber.  The bottom section is a groovy slickrock wash.

It was a good ride for both of us.  I got to explore some "new" digs and Lola got the beat-down she needed to overcome her neuroses or whatever she has.

The weather was rather polite and we didn't see another soul out there.

Mmmm, singletrack.

I'm looking forward to riding this little gem again.

I think Lola is in too, as long as we don't take the Ez-truck.

march radness

March.  It's a month and a word defining movement.  March also tells us that spring is coming and so are the people.  Gone are the sleepy winter days in our little hamlet of Moab where you can cross the street without so much as looking.  The rise in the mercury seems to have a direct correlation with the amount of cars rolling into town.  And a majority of those cars have bikes on the roof as well as frostbitten Cool-oradan's, itching to pedal in the warm desert sun.

Among those making the annual spring pilgrimage from our neighboring state are the folks from Yeti.  Yeti has had a connection with Poison Spider Bicycles and much of the community for 20 years.  So last night to celebrate, Wes and Penelope opened the doors of the Love Muffin for a Yeti mixer.   A chance for the locals to show their face in public again and rub elbows with folks they haven't seen in a while and maybe meet some new friends.

I'll have to say, seeing a pile of bikes outside an event warms the cockles of my heart.  The bike to person ratio hovered pretty close to 1 to 1.  There was cake and adult beverages being consumed, rides being planned and smack being talked.  

With the legendary HB leading the charge.

A big thanks to the Love Muffin, Poison Spider and Yeti for bringing everyone together.  It's good to start out the season with laughter and good friends.  And of course bikes.

Bikes of all shapes and tire sizes.

The Hardcore Porn for Bike Geeks Show

The most vivid memories of my childhood have to do with bicycles.  Like many children of the 60's and 70's, I began with a Schwinn Stingray.  By the time my brother and I got finished with it, it was an unrecognizable smoldering carcass of its former self.  I remember the last time I saw it, it was sitting in the corner of a dilapidated barn, stripped down to frame and fork and rattle-canned matte black.  I felt ashamed.
Alongside it was another bike I had abandoned.  It was a red,white&blue ten-speed Free Spirit.  I had begged for a ten-speed for Christmas that year.  What I had in mind and what my folks could afford were two different things.  I had been in a real bike shop and had "seen the light."   In reality, I was an ungrateful teenager that was about to be taught a lesson.  You want it bad enough, get a job and buy it yourself, my parents had leveled.
So I did.  I was overwhelmed by the desire to own a nice road bike.  To this day, it is still puzzling to me.  I was old enough to drive, yet I didn't want a car.  All of my friends were shredding on bmx bikes, and yet I didn't want one of those.  My mind was reeling from glossy steel tubes and shiny imported parts.  I was whacked out on bikes and blaming the tubular glue.  My life was consumed with everything bike.

And here I am, some 25ish years later and bikes are still like crack for me.  Over the years I have become attached to a bike or two.   There are bikes that are dispensable to me, usually my work bikes, and then there are the ones that will never leave the stable.
 The coveted hand-crafted ones.
Which brings us to the North American Handmade Bicycle Show.
I personally think they should change the name to Hardcore Porn for Bike Geeks.
The show is going on right now as we speak, February 25-27 in Austin, Texas.
From it's humble beginnings of 23 vendors and 700 attendees in 2005,  the show has continued to grow and draw more attention each year.
A majority of the bikes on display are nothing short of stunning.   Part of me wishes I could be there adding my fingerprints and drool to the mix.  The other part knows I could only attend without a wallet.  Nevertheless, there is some nice photo documentation going on and I can live vicariously via the internet.
Check it out for yourself.  John is doing a nice job at  http://www.prollyisnotprobably.com/.
My personal favorite I've seen so far - http://www.flickr.com/photos/johnprolly/5476704189/in/set-72157626011075451/ .
Enjoy!
http://www.2011.handmadebicycleshow.com/

what's wrong with US?

Bob Roll has written, "Any 7-year-old Flemish schoolchild knows 100 times more about cycling than all Americans combined."   Let's face it, Europe in general is crazy about cycling.  Countries, cities, and families have all been divided because of a favored rider.  Italy has Bartali versus Coppi, a debate that is still going on today.  The French have Anquetil and Poulidor.  The Swiss have Kubler and Koblet.  The Belgians have Roger de Vlaeminck and of course, Eddy Merckx.  European fans pack the roadside of every grand tour and spring classic, hoping to get a glimpse of their favorite rider. 
And this may beg the question - who is Bob Roll?  Well, Bob used to be a pro-cyclist who went to Europe in the 80's, lived in a tent and wrote poetry on the sidewalls of his tires.  He eventually got picked up by Seven Eleven, the first American team to win stages in the Giro and the Tour.  Roll was racing beside the likes of Ron Kiefel, Davis Phinney, Eric Heiden, Jeff Bradley, Tom Schuler, Greg Demgen, Bradley Davies, Roger Young and Danny Van Haute all hailing from the U.S..  And you probably don't recognize any of these names either. 
But I'm guessing that Greg Lemond might ring a bell.  Rolling alongside the Seven Eleven squad, Lemond gained notoriety by taking a first American victory in the 1986 Tour de France, after battling it out with his own teammate Bernard Hinault.  Then in 1989 after recovering from a near-fatal hunting accident, he repeated, beating Frenchman Laurent Fignon by a mere 8 seconds in the final time trial.  I remember watching the final stage unfold, glued to the edge of my seat.  And for once, it seemed like at least some of the country was watching as well.  Sports Illustrated featured Lemond as the Sportsman of the Year cover boy and ABC Sports voted him Athlete of the year.  In 1990 he won a third Tour de France, keeping U.S. cycling on the map.  He continued to race until 1994, then quietly retired from the pro ranks.
And then came Lance.
So much has been said about him that I don't even know where to begin.
My first look at Lance was in the 1992 Summer Olympics.  I screamed at him through the television as he watched the break go.  They were too far in, I thought, there's no way he's going to bridge back up.  And like that his fate was sealed.  No medal and a permanent black mark on his record for not listening to me.  My opinion of our "new rising star"  had been wavered.  I am aware that basing my opinion on one race lacks rationality, but the damage was done.
My interest in road racing was waning while Lance was launching his attack.  He was winning Tours, beating cancer and becoming a media darling.  His persona quickly eclipsed that of Lemond and he was becoming a household name.  His Livestrong campaign started a wristband craze.   He was on the road to winning seven Tours.  And sides were being taken.
Whether you are for or against Lance, chances are you have an opinion and that is a beautiful thing.  A cyclist becoming a household name in the United States is a rarity.  Somewhere along the way, we have pushed aside the notion of cycling as a sport.  Maybe Americans lack the grit and the passion to inspire the country.  After all, the guy who has the record for Tour de France wins is from the U.S., but what other races has he won.   Focusing on one race is drive.  Turning yourself inside out in every single race you do is called passion. 
Lance recently announced he was retiring - again.  Clouded by accusations of doping and a federal investigation underway, he continues to stand in the media spotlight.  I just wonder how many teenagers have been inspired to follow in his cleats.

Me and My Bike

This video was posted on bikerumor.com and I had to share it.  The group is called Wafalme and they are a group of teenagers from the slums of Nairobi.  The clip won a video contest called "1 Minute to Save the World."   Just goes to show, no matter where you live or what side of the tracks you are on, bicycles can have a big impact!