Suicidal cyclists, it’s our job to stop them.

Over summer my local bike shop invited me along to their Tuesday evening ‘shop ride’. The shop owners are nice guys, smart, sensible, customer focused and great to deal with – easily the best shop I have ever experienced, anywhere.

This one ride had to be the single most disturbing bike ride I have ever had. Why?
Let me tell you about that night.

The guys who own the shop are famous head-bangers, big gear riding, half wheeling head bangers – but for all of that they never get too out of control.

This Tuesday evening was sunny and warm, 10 or so guys, a mix of experience and newbie’s gathered at the shop. The shop was obviously proud of its ride they even took a photo of the group before we left.

After a flat out start and a general re-grouping at the top of the first hill we start riding through the burbs - this is were it all starts to go horribly wrong.
Suddenly we are at race pace through peak hour suburban traffic. I’m at the back of the group and get a birds-eye view at what is unfolding.
The guys at the front were taking some risks, ducking and diving in and out of the slow moving traffic. The less experienced guys at the back of the bunch begin risking everything to stay in contact. I catch up every time we stop at a red light, we are getting some grief from motorists but then again this bunch are riding like complete idiots. The front guys go faster, the guys at the back take more risks, scary shit!

Up the next hill full gas and down the narrow twisty descent we go. The front guys aren’t waiting. I’m half way back in the bunch, we catch up to a slow moving car, there are no passing opportunities, no problem I think, and we follow the car down and catch the guys on the flat like we normally do.

But no, I now get to see some truly epic suicidal riding.

A couple of guys in front of me just pull into the other lane and pass – 200metres through complete blind bends downhill at 80kmph. This road at this time of night has a lot of traffic on it so I was sure that I would be helping pick up pieces of bodies and bikes. By some complete fluke no cars meet these guys head-on.

It was the scariest most stupid thing I have ever seen on a bike!

The road opens out a little and the rest of the group overtake the shocked driver. All through blind corners all of them risking their lives – for what?

After the finish of the descent and a few kms later I catch the group. I have a complete rant at these guys, there are some sheepish looks but most guys seem to not comprehend what I am talking about.
It is fair to say I am genuinely shocked, only a few minutes ago I was convinced I was going to see some dead cyclists!
I can’t ride with these guys they are too crazy for me, I take another road home, I don’t want to be a part of any further madness. But no, my previous companions catch me at the top of the last hill descent, I give it some gas to stay out of their way. Right at the bottom of the descent one of the same lunatics overtakes me on the outside through a blind right-hand bend, a car meets him head-on, it panic stops, he swerves around it and somehow he survives!!

I can’t believe what I am seeing for the second time that night. We stop at the lights at the bottom of the hill, I lose the plot completely with guy, who promptly threatens to punch me in the mouth for calling him a ‘stupid bastard’. The rest of the bunch are uneasy and don’t want to get involved.

So back to the shop owners, this was their ride. Because it is their ride whose responsibility is it to make the ride as safe as possible? Who thinks about the route, sets the speed, sets the safety tone and manner? –it is the shop owners. By not taking any responsibility for the ride chaos ensued and someone almost got killed.

My point is this, if you are riding in a group it is everyone’s responsibility to set the safety standards and police it, that is not about being heavy it is about being clear – “we don’t ride like that on this ride” tends to work. It is your duty to look after the guys you ride with, having a conversation like this when you need to might just be the most important conversation you can have with a mate – when they are dead it is a little to late. the job for anyone that leads a group ride. If someone is riding like a suicidal idiot tell them not to, for their own sake.

Bike riding is great but I don’t think I would risk my life for it.

That is why I seriously doubted the integrity of the shop owners. We talked about it afterwards. Their view was that they had no responsibility for others, it was not their place to say anything to anyone – in fact it was rude to do so. They take a different view now.

My view is it is entirely our responsibility to take control of a group ride and help shape for everyone’s safety and enjoyment – all of the time.

The best kiwi BBQ in France.

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.

More brilliant BBQ’s by Jay and Manu, thanks guys your hospitality was incredible!

We spend the day wasting time before the etape, a trip into Orthez for a coffee, which was crap – we didn’t manage to find good coffee anywhere in France.

That is one of the upsides and downsides of living in Wellington, the local coffee and cafes are world class so generally anywhere else in the world is very disappointing – except for Italy of course.

We get bored so take another look at the expo, Andrew buys some Assos clothing at very reasonable prices - for Assos!








With some concern Manu tells us that tomorrow’s weather will be bad, apparently the weather in the mountains can be bloody terrible, snow, hail – in the middle of summer – yeh right! It has been 30c for the last few days, how bad can it get? It’s the middle of summer in France and I am from Wellington after all…

Compact chainsets are for wimps.

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.

Only 2 days before the etape, so we decided that a wee ride up one of the Pyrenean mountains would be a good look, practise makes perfect huh?

We settle on a ride up the Col d’Aubisque, we had heard that it was a beautiful climb and quite easy. Why not? it was a beautiful day, no wind and 30c.

We drive to Rebenac, unload bikes and down the valley we go, with a tailwind at our backs, it could be a grovel coming back – we’ll worry about that later. We hit the bottom of the Aubisque, the sign says only 14km to the top! It is a beautiful climb, up through a forest, every kilometre is marked with the %gradient of the kilometre ahead of you, all between 8-10% which is actually quite steep.

Slim rode off into the distance, I figured saving some energy for the etape would be a better option.

I had made the brave decision some months ago to fit a compact chainset. Riding big gears has always been a badge of honour with the guys I ride with so having a compact on your bike is generally considered to be limp wristed behaviour. The expected ridicule from my mates didn’t occur – the upcoming etape climbs made the compact acceptable – just! Having access to lower gears really works for the climbing. Riding up the climb in 34 x 24 made for a bloody nice ride, I had good cadence, good speed and most importantly I wasn’t killing myself. I don’t like Mr Lance Armstrong much but he does have something with that climbing cadence thing.

After 40 or so minutes I ride through a crap looking ski village and onto the last 5km of the climb. The last few kms are decidedly cooler, it is too high for trees to grow, just meadows and cows. The smell of cow poo and the sound of cowbells that is my overwhelmingly memory of the Aubisque.

After the obligatory 1850m summit photo opps, we discuss the idea of descending down to Argeles-Gazost and doing a loop back to Rebenac. For once we take the sensible option and go back the way we have come – good job we did, it would have been a 6 hour ride otherwise!

It was an incredible descent, fast and open and worth every minute of the climb up.

Back up the valley and to the car, 110km and 3.5 hours, not ideal race preparation but a brilliant ride.

We agree the Aubisque was easy, all of this talk of the Tourmalet and Hautacam being monsters is obviously over-done. We now feel pretty confident that the 167km Pau to Hautacam Tour de France stage in 2 days time will be a bit of a doddle…

We stop at the etape expo site on the way back, get registered, collect the goodies bag and get that ‘oh my god’ feeling - we are actually doing the etape! The riders are a complete mix of punters and very recent ex-pros, you can tell the Brits by their pink skin and waistlines.

Predictably there are loads of Yanks standing around talking loudly about what is the best triple chainring combination for the Tourmalet, nothing changes.

The etape expo was full of bike and clothing stands all doing a roaring trade. Of course there was a beer tent, we muscled our way in past all of the Brits and ordered a couple of Heinekens. The day after tomorrow we will be back here starting the event. Oh shit!

Mouscardes - a one bullring town!

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.

We get to the Pyrenees mountains and after some seriously good map reading we find our ‘place to stay’ now this is a uniquely kiwi term, in fact the whole ‘staying’ situation is oddly kiwi, so loose and informal. No other country does the informal hospitality like us. We are staying with Jay, neither Andrew or I know Jay and he doesn’t know us. Jay is a friend of Glen’s, who is a friend of Nigel’s who is a friend of mine! We are hoping that he is a nice bloke, and I guess he is hoping we are nice blokes too!

It sort of always works out, when we kiwis travel the world we tend to look out for one another, besides when there is only 4 million of us it is not too onerous, like I said it is a kiwi thing, as kiwis we don’t do 7 degrees of separation, we’re lucky if we do 2 degrees! 

Jay has lived in France for the last 15 years, he is from Petone, I am from Wainuiomata, we probably drank at the same pub as young men, he came to France to play rugby I came to France to ride bikes.

Mouscardes is Jay’s village it is made up of 6 houses and a bullring! Now you have to admit that is cool, having your own bullring.

The satnav had long since given up but we find Jay’s ‘house’ eventually. Actually it isn’t Jay’s house it’s Manu’s (Emmanuel’s) and it isn’t a house it’s a bloody great mansion. The house is extraordinary, beautifully restored, we meet Jay, he is an ex-Petone rugby player who made his way to the UK, then France to play rugby, he is Manu’s flatmate. Manu is a farmer whose family have owned the farm and house for generations. Manu farms dairy and kiwifruit, he spent some time in New Zealand learning the kiwifruit trade. Manu’s girlfriend and her son as well as a huge pitbull dog complete the household.

So here we are in deepest rural France and we get down to a classic kiwi BBQ – half a 44-gallon drum is the actual BBQ - not 1 hour after arriving.

Andrew owns a company that makes the worlds best domestic coffee machines www.rocket-espresso.it so good coffee is his thing, Jay offers Andrew a ‘special’ coffee which he accepts, only to receive a large mug of the instant stuff, the look on Andrew’s face was priceless!

The Gallic Shrug – the essence of France

A story of a couple of kiwi cyclists racing the etape de tour in France 2008.

It’s been 25 years since I last lived in France, back then I got to know and love the place and after 6 months I had mastered the most important French cultural lesson of all - the ‘Gallic shrug’. This can only be learnt properly if you are living in the country, as a tourist you can have a Gallic shrug experience such as – “…non monsieur, the hotel room you booked from New Zealand is no longer available (Gallic shrug), we have no other rooms (Gallic shrug), non there are no other rooms in the town (Gallic shrug), and I cannot help you further (Gallic shrug), please leave (Gallic shrug)…”

This experience is what France is famous for, but to deploy the shrug you have to live there. A couple of kiwis have explained it quite well in a video on Lonely Planet's travel site.

Once the shrug is learned, the situation changes completely, the shrugger knows that the shruggee will not be put off and so miraculously finds your room reservation. So I dusted off the shrug but the language was lost in my brain somewhere, this was somewhat of a concern for me as we drove into France, Andrew had taken care of the Italian language (after a fashion), it was now my turn to take care of the French language – remembering more than a word or two would help – I was hoping the language would magically pop back into my head but every last vowel and syllable had disappeared.

Driving across the south of France was spectacular for sure, bloody awful cities like Nice stuffed into narrow valleys between huge gnarly mountains.

We needed lunch and rather than stopping in one of the autoroute café’s we went for the real deal, lunch in a small French village. Les Baux was the smallest town we could find on the map, no-one was likely to speak English, Andrew was confident I could manage any language issues - it would be the real deal. We got off the autoroute and quickly found our small and peaceful Provencal village. It was peaceful alright, just the one café open, full of workmen and locals having their 3 hour lunch, perfect!

The café owner was big sweaty and hairy and the husband was much the same, I ordered lunch using my best sign language, my actual French language still non-existent. The food was great in the most basic French working class way, Jambon sandwich (ham roll) for me, steak and chips for Andrew. A glass of local red wine for effect.

An aged English speaking French biker and his 14 year old girlfriend were summoned to assist with our next food/wine ordering efforts, more food and more wine arrived - things could not get any better.

My friend Nigel works for Lonely Planet. We often talk about travel – what is travel really all about? Why travel at all nowadays? You can Google Street-view anywhere, find reviews on any venue in the world, YouTube a video of everything, so why go to the trouble and discomfort of actually traveling yourself?

In my view travel is less about visiting ruins or old castles (although that is still good) but it’s about having the chance to experience how your fellow man lives in a completely different country. That is the ‘real’ travel experience, you get to compare and contrast his life with your own.

That afternoon at the café in the small town of Les Baux, eating the simple food, talking to the local people, all done slowly in ‘local’ time, it was brilliant, it was one of my favourite travel experiences ever.

Why are rental cars always crap?

I pick up the rental car from the airport, a truly terrible Saab estate, how is it possible in today’s world to make such a bad car? At least it is a diesel and cheap to run.

I drive back to Slim's house in Crema with the aid of his sat nav, that is a marvellous invention, almost completely takes away the anxiety of driving in unfamiliar places.

We load the car up and as usual leave 3 hours later than we hoped to. Slim does his best to pick up time, he has assimilated into the Italian culture well judging by the state of his driving, 100% Italian attack mode everywhere. We decide to make for San Remo on the Italian Riviera. 180kmph get us there quite quickly, the last 40km are on the most extraordinary roads I have ever travelled on. Down from the mountains to the coast, it would seem the road engineers were in fact just doing this roading job in between building Grand Prix tracks! Twisty, tunnels, viaducts... it had it all, absolutely stunning, the poor old Saab just couldn’t cope.

San Remo is the finish town of one of cycling’s most famous races – Milan San Remo. San Remo is stunning in a eurotrash type way. We stay at the ‘Imperial Hotel’, Winston Churchill’s favourite. It obviously is exactly the same condition as when Winston stayed there, but it’s fabulous in a grand and shabby way.

We do what every cyclist should do when they are San Remo, which is to ride the last 30km of the Milan San Remo race route. We ride through the town dodging scooters and rush hour traffic and ride along the coast. We get to a small town called Cipressa, we do a u-turn and we are now on the race route of MSR, we turn up the Cipresa climb, its long and surprisingly steep, it doesn’t look that way on TV, I feel awful and climb slowly, over cooked it yesterday. The descent is incredible the road is super fast, like a piece of spaghetti through onto the hillside.

Back onto the coast road we quickly get to the Poggio hill, it is surprising how flat and how short it is. There is loads of cycling star names painted on the road – including Pantani’s. I stop to take a few shots feeling like a bloody cycling tourist but I’ll get over it.

I take the shot of Pantani’s name not because I like or admire the guy – he was a cheat. But it seems right to see his name here.

The climb even goes downhill in areas, but kicks up near the top. Slim has long since disappeared he’s doing his best impression of a MSR race winner. We stop at the cross roads at the top of the hill and take photos. The Poggio decent is even better that the Cipressa’s, it would require real skill and nerve to go down this fast. The descent drops you into the middle of San Remo, for a few seconds I imagine myself soloing into the town to take the victory. It has been a great ride.

The Crema 'training' ride

One day I am training solo in 6 layers with gloves and booties and the next day its 120 guys in the bunch, I am in shorts, jersey and its 35c! That is what you get when you travel exactly half way round the world I guess.

Slim (Andrew) and I ride through a maze of flat roads to meet up with the race – I mean training ride. It is typical Italian affair, everyone is super relaxed, lots of talking, lots of shiny bikes, lots of guys looking a million dollars. The leaders of the ‘training ride’ know Andrew, having the two of us their raises a few eyebrows. We get going, zigzagging through the countryside, I quickly lose all sense of direction, it’s hot, it is fast there is no wind and there are no landmarks like hills to key off so getting lost is very easy. I feel okay considering I have just spent 35hours travelling.

Everyone is on sparkling bikes wearing the coolest kit, blinged to the max. What is unusual is the amount of American bikes being ridden, Cannondale and Specialised are the most common bikes here, I guess they sponsor a couple of Italian pro teams and the punters want to ride what Bettini rides.

Andrew and I have a few goes at getting up the road but nothing was going anywhere and when I did get up the road solo, I had no idea where to go so staying in the bunch was the smartest option. We picked up more and more guys and the last 20km was like a race-sized peleton with 120 or more guys there. Moving up in the bunch constantly bought me back to racing the European way. Most of the skill of racing in Europe is positioning yourself in the peleton, at home a big field is 60! I vividly remember my first race in France with 200 starters.

I attacked near the end of the ride on the only ‘hill’ got caught a few kilometres later, Slim came past and yelled ‘2km’ which seemed to be about right as it was pretty quick and guys where attacking and then blowing up everywhere. That was enough heroics for me I sat in the first 10 until the finish, Sim meanwhile was lining himself up for the sprint, I think he snagged a 3rd. The sprint signalled the end of the ride but not the speed, the warm down was run off at 45kmph! It must be hot because even the locals looked cooked, a few litres of water later I felt fine.

How to train for an etape

I have a whole bunch of people that rely on me, I try to mentor and support each and every one of them. As business people one of the most satisfying things we do is give our senior clients all the support they need. So who supports me? Aside from my wife, that would be no one, I don’t even think about it.

Craig Upton is great friend and a great coach, we know each other so well for the remote communication to work. What I wasn’t expecting was the support that I received from him. Whatever I did was always okay with him. I suddenly had someone who was with me, all of the time, all of the way, at the same time there was always a sense of honesty, if I was crap he said so, but being crap at that time was okay, we’d be better tomorrow.

I didn’t even get it at first, I guess I just didn’t recognise it for what it was! However I gained so much personal confidence, I was someone who was worth supporting. It didn’t occur to me that I needed support too, it is good for the soul. Who would have known training for the etape would enable that to happen.

So making the list was easy now the hard part was the training. I had bought a PowerTap power meter 6 months ago and it was finally going to get the use it was intended for. I can honestly say any powermeter is pretty much useless without a good coach who knows how to make use of it – good for bullshit sessions at the café after a ride though!

I like training but mostly I like to learn how to train better and get faster. There is nothing like learning new things about stuff you thought there was nothing more to learn about.

With my training I now had goals, objectives and structure. It is something I am very familiar with, I run an advertising consultancy that is how we work on a daily basis, it requires discipline and rigour but it pays off, we wouldn’t work in any other way.

Why are we so reluctant to do exactly that when training for a sport?

When you have goals and objectives, you have something that you can be measured against, it ups the ante, requires commitment and that is demanding, there is no hiding from the results. It is even worse when those goals are made public. To many people training without structure is fine, just don’t expect to ever go close to achieving your full potential.

The programme did change my riding dramatically I stopped riding with my normal group of guys, my training programme didn’t match theirs and I enjoyed riding alone and without the clashing of multiple ego’s. I did a lot of high intensity work, which was something I hadn’t done for years – it’s bloody unpleasant that’s why. I also had recovery days where I rode slowly – really slowly.

I trained longer and harder, it was easy to manage and easy to be motivated. I knew what I needed to do and when to do it.

Riding for hours in the rain, getting up at 5.30am in the dark for an early morning training ride was doable and perversely enjoyable. I got fitter and stronger. My programme was focussed on climbing, lots of it, so I even started to climb well!
The last few weeks before departure involved a couple of local races, I was going well, getting into the top 5. I was looking forward to the big day in France, I felt prepared.

Three weeks to go to lift off and the weather really packed up in a big way, driving rain, gale force winds and freezing cold, no problem that wasn’t going to stop me.

As I rode in the freezing rain, I thought about the problems that I may have acclimatising to the heat – little did I know…

Life's little epic, legendary moments

It is August 2007, we are in Melbourne for a brief holiday, we are staying with Nigel Dalton, a friend who also happens to be as nuts about cycling as me – he even has more bikes than I do!

Nigel and I decide a big ride in the mountains is in order, its Sunday morning and raining as we set off for a ride in the Dandenong Mountains behind Melbourne.

I had lived in Sydney for a couple of years so wasn’t expecting too much from an Australian ‘mountain’ ride, generally the typical Aussie cyclists’ idea of a mountain would easily resemble an average motorway flyover anywhere else in the world.

I was wrong, this ride was fantastic, 8km climbs, beautiful roads, we had a great days riding even if the weather was quite un-Australian like – rain and cold – an omen for the future perhaps?

Somehow this ride reignited our passion for cycling, it was challenging and adventurous just like ‘real’ cycling should be. One of those rides that become a milestone event that gets clearly etched into the memory, the details of the ride may get fuzzy but I can still feel the rain and smell the bush like it were yesterday. The experience moves from being an ordinary one into being a legendary one.

After 37 years of cycling I probably only have 5-6 rides catalogued in the memory like this one. Why do we value so called ‘authentic’ experiences so highly, maybe in our civilised, cool, calm collected world we look for adventure in any way we can. After all drinking coffee in chic cafes and shopping for stuff you don’t need eventually gets bloody boring.

Some weeks later we were both still banging on about the Dandenong ride, we both agreed we needed more rides like that, but where could we find ride that was challenging, a real adventure, an epic even?

The day after this conversation, I received a text from Nigel that would set some key events in motion. I would get motivated like I have not done so for 25 years, it would give me an excuse to do some solo world travel once again, it would enable me to ride an epic to end all epics, and it was also something an event that would save Nigel’s life.

The epic event we had ourselves booked in for was the 2008 Etape du Tour…

Etape du Tour: Bicycles, lycra and hypothermia, a uniquely French experience.

It’s the middle of summer in France, I have the beginnings of hypothermia and I have 60km to go in the 2008 Etape du Tour.

I’m 47, I’ve ridden and raced bikes for 36 years, I’ve been fortunate to have been able to ride pretty much everyone of those years, no breaks or years off as children arrived or a career needed focus - just consistent year in year out riding. In fact I love cycling as much now as when at 11 years old I first bought my a shiny white and chrome Carlton Trophy 10 speed racing bike.

I quickly became obsessed with cycling and raced as much as I could, I was lucky enough to ride for my country by the time I was 19. By 20 I headed off to France to race for the notorious ACBB club. Its funny but at the time it wasn’t always pleasant, riding in big races with huge fields full of some of the best amateur riders in the world in crap weather, riding for a team that couldn’t care less about you.

In no way could it be called glamorous!

But now I can look back on it, they are some of the most precious life defining moments I have ever had, at the time I think you most certainly have a vague understanding that this is a great experience but right then and there, it is everything you can do to get through it.

I have gone on to live in a number of countries and raced my bike in each one of them, so what the hell am I doing in July 1,800m up a mountain in the Pyrenees in sub-zero temperatures and seriously questioning why the hell I took up this damn sport.

Back in New Zealand I ride with a bunch of guys, a few of them are the same guys I raced with as a schoolboy, so yes we go back a few years. We generally do the same rides at the same time of the day, at the same time of the week, so it is fair to say that the whole thing was getting a little same old, same old.

Suddenly Andrew, my closest friend on and off the bike announced that he and his family were packing up their life and moving to Italy, they had bought a faltering coffee machine manufacturing business and he was off to turn the business around and make his fortune.

I felt good for him and bloody envious as well, we had done a similar thing in 2000 we had quickly packed up our life in New Zealand and joined a start-up dotcom in San Francisco. This meant we lived in the US for a couple of years, we then moved to the UK for a while and then finally moved back to New Zealand, so moving and living in different countries is a hobby of mine.

Moving back to New Zealand was great, it is a fabulous place to live but I often ask myself if it was the best thing to do, I still miss the excitement and sense of being at the centre of the world that living in London gives you.

But we did it and we now have a fantastic life and business, so no regrets.

Meanwhile the bike riding was getting into a rut for sure, I had no particular goals other than beating the crap out of my training bunch or stopping them beating the crap out of me, and the occasional bit of racing at times. Everyone who rides a bike, runs, walks with a group of people knows how it goes:

Sport + ego = competition.

It is the same the world over, we are hardwired to be top dog whenever we get the chance.

The Good Madonna Sends Help to Slim

By Andrew Meo, Crema, Italy

After my 26 year hiatus from racing in Italia, and my season opener back in May in Robbeco d’ Oligi, I quietly put my tail between my legs and headed home to Crema.

Yep, it was going to be a long season.

Week after week I fronted up amongst the glamour boys of Northern Italian cycling desperately trying to carve out a name for myself. Each week they slapped me around the ears, kicked my ass and sent me home, my head hanging lower than a scolded dog.

Yep, it was going to be a long season, and with each start I was becoming more and more dejected.

Lodi, June 2008. It’s unbelievably hot, my fan club of Nicky and Felix has been boosted by the arrival of my Mother, things are looking up, three supporters this week.

I am in great form; I’m ripping the legs off everybody, that is, until I miss the break again. Man, I’ve never missed so many breaks in my life, week after week, what is it with me. I even thought I was quite good at this bike racing, but now, I think I’ve lost it.

Lodi, June 2008. About 50KM away, in the hills behind Como, the Madonna Ghisalo, the patron saint of cycling, clearly heard my cries of anguish and decided to answer my calls.

The good Madonna sent help, the good Madonna sent Giuseppe from Capergnanica.

Giuseppe, 78 years old, on the bike every day, more wires coming out of his chest than the Terminator, after his recent heart attack, strode into Lodi. Giuseppe from Capergnanica looked doubt in the eye and sent it packing.

Now given my spate of average performances, Giuseppe could see something that I was beginning to doubt, existed any longer.

So, now it’s the that guy from New Zealand that keeps missing the breaks, with his 78 year old Director Sportif. Yeah the circus is coming to town.

Our act is all set for centre stage in the big top after the August vacation, yeah they’re going to laugh us out of town again alright.

Ombriano is my first race back, Giuseppe’s there waiting when I arrive. It was fine disappointing myself, but now I’m about to disappoint an old man as well, yep its getting better and better.

Well bugger me, I’m in the break and we don’t get caught, 6th. Giuseppe’s ecstatic and I’m introduced to every old boy at the finish line, yeah I’m the new guy in town. I even get my post race Coke and espresso chaser paid for in the Bar, this is more like it.

Pianengo: Now I’m the break again, this time with my new idol, Angelo Denti, a power house of Italian racing. Today I’m suffering like a dog. Angelo is putting me under so much pressure I crack like a plate at a Greek wedding. Back into the bunch, yep that scolded dog is back in town, head hung low.

But giving up is for sissies, so two laps later, I’m in another move and bugger me, we aren’t catching the front group and smug old Angelo. 8th, Good old Giuseppe’s as pleased as punch, me, I’m just trashed.

Bertonico; Monday afternoon, I deserve a half day to go racing. Everbody deserves a half day to go racing when they live in Italy, or so it seems, as there are about 80 on the start line. I’m on fire; in the break again and we stay away, I can only manage 4th. I’m estatic, Giuseppe’s estatic. Not the podium, but I’m on a roll and with every race I’m more and more confident.

Saturday, Mullazzano. In the way home in the car, all Giuseppe has to say is Madonna, Madonna, over and over again, clearly my placing did not please him. Today you should have won he tells me. 5th I was quite happy, not my Director Sportif though. In order to placate him, I tell him I’ll race again, tomorrow. We’ll win tomorrow I tell him, Madonna, Madonna..

Forty Six years old, and I’m racing back to back days. After I drop Giuseppe off, the whole idea is starting to sound incredibly stupid. Bike racers can’t just call in sick, it’s a hard mans sport, you crash you get up. A couple of quite hail mary’s to the good Madonna is whats needed here.

Sunday, Barbata. I pull into town and it’s seething bike racers, the circuits 7km in length, 10 laps. Great, just what tired legs need, is a short tight course, it’s going to hurt today.

Two laps into it, I jump across to a small group that’s just off the front. We really drive it, 7 of us, I’m feeling pretty good all in all.

The bunch aren’t letting up, and through the corners I look back to see them strung right out in the gutter…sure sign they’re chasing hard. I’d say we’ve got 15 seconds, you can almost feel their breath on the hairs on the back of your neck. Bastards, we aren’t going down without a fight.

Two to go and we’ve started to crack them - we’re out to 20 odd seconds.

Well bugger me, I’ve won the bastard. It took a 78 year old man before I managed to get it right. Yes the good Madonna’s a powerful woman.

Slim aka Andrew Meo
Rocket Espresso Limited
Milano, Italy
+39 3401 3606 63
andrew@rocket-espresso.com
www.rocket-espresso.com

Why Italy Produces Cycling Champions

By Andrew Meo, Crema, Italy

My fascination with this subject began many years ago.

Aged 11, I would thumb through copies of International Cycle Sport, the glossy English magazine that had more attraction than a Playboy magazine in those days.

The centre fold would inevitably be of the current Italian superstar resplendent in his Rainbow jersey as Champion of the World.

In 1982 after crashing and then pulling out of the amateur road race at the World Championships in Goodwood, England, I watched Beppe Sarroni storm up the final climb that was my demise, to become World Champion and pull on the converted Rainbow jersey that he would wear all year. What's worse, he made it look so easy and for the following season, he rode through the peloton looking like he was wearing Armani.

The Cricket, Paolo Bettini, back to back wins - back to back wins, can you imagine how difficult that must be? Sure Armstrong won 7 tours in a row, but he had a month of racing to get it right before crossing the finish line in Paris, Paulo had just 7 odd hours to perfect his trade and he has managed it twice.

Now I'm 45 and Felix is 11, he's not so keen on Bettini, thinks that Tornado Tom Boonen looked better in the Rainbow jersey, but he now has his chance in the Italian sun.

His new Celeste Bianchi, and white Sidi shoes have place of pride in his bedroom, his racing licence is authentic, issued by the Italian Federation and the Cremasco Squadra have his training schedule mapped out.

Tuesday evening, we rode down to the industrial zone for his debut training session, arriving a little after starting time.

The perfect evening, 34 degrees, and not a breath of wind, the only noise was the buzz of a motor scooter coming down the road towards us, and sitting comfortably in its draft were 15 odd budding Bettini's aged 9 to 13, all lapping it out behind the scooter, round and round the block. Unfortunately the scooter was too fast for the other 15, who were aged from 5 years up, and they sat behind an older rider, round and round the industrial estate each pedal revolution inching them closer to the rainbow jersey and the centre pages of International Cycle Sport.

The commitment to the development of young riders in Italy should be closely watched by many developing cycling nations. New Zealand's national team often get a big slice of the sporting funds come grants time, but what is being done to foster young talent.

Crema population 35,000 has a major youth development programme, and each weekend there is a race on with up to 100 starters in all grades in the greater region. The lyrca is all brand new and ablaze with sponsors names, as the club supplies the total package including helmet and shoes.

Should you want it, the bike is also available free of charge. My sponsor, back in the International Cycle Sport days were poor Antonio and Helen, and every punctured tubular bought tears to their eyes I'm sure, not mention the smashed wheels and frames.

I got Felix settled in behind the scooter and a lap later he had that grin so big that he should have been standing in the top step of the podium, arms held high wearing the Rainbow jersey.

After 15 years of marriage, Nicky thought her days of hearing about, dropping him, attacking him, big ring this, Bora wheels that, were coming to an end, but now Felix rides through the door Tuesday and Thursday nights with a new vocabulary derived from the language of a generation of future World Champions.

It's little wonder Paolo managed the double.

Slim aka Andrew Meo
Rocket Espresso Limited
Milano, Italy
+39 3401 3606 63
andrew@rocket-espresso.com
www.rocket-espresso.com