Etape de Tour Experience. Part 2: Survival of the Fittest

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

Thought of the moment: should a Type 1 diabetic even be attempting this insane race?

I am a type 1 diabetic, running out of food and blowing up is something I have to avoid. For me it can be pretty dangerous, low blood sugar can mean lapsing into a coma, so I always take twice the food I need – but today I have gone through everything I have and I've only done 100km!

I’m from a rugby-playing nation, which comes in handy as I join the scrum for the food. I stuff gels and sportsbars into my pockets and I am away again - stopping in a ‘race’ I find mentally challenging.

L'Étape du Tour 2008

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It is still really steep, the 34x27 is the gear of choice, it also happens to be the lowest I have! In truth I can’t believe I am using it.

Up here the Tourmalet is the same as the Aubisque, invisible cows, cow poo smells, cowbells and the mist so thick it is surreal.

No doubt this is a brute of a climb, easily one of the hardest I have ridden, 1875m that is way higher than any road in New Zealand.

Finally the top 2115m, there is the famous summit café, there are guys stopped everywhere putting on warm clothing, or putting newspapers up their fronts. I am wearing my warm clothing so I weave my way through and drop down the other side.

It is sub zero degrees C, the roads are soaked but the mist lifts enough to see what the road looks like at 100kmph. I pass so many riders it isn’t funny, but things aren’t good, my neck and shoulders are killing me. It gets so bad I have to stop and stretch. I get back on it but by now I am getting really cold, not normal cold but so cold I begin to shake uncontrollably, which makes the bike weave alarmingly at 80kmph.

Still the descent goes on and on, my hands are sore from braking and my neck has seized up I’m hating it now and wishing for it to end but I know full well that I am still only one third of the way down. My teeth begin to chatter and I can’t stop them, it is almost funny in a cartoon like way, there is nothing to do but to keep going.

The descent levels out for a minute through Bareges, I try my legs they won’t work, and then the road plunges into a gorge.

Finally I am on a flattish bit of road, flat enough that pedaling is required and the hope of getting warm is a reality. I struggle to follow a hairy-legged guy up a small rise! I start to thaw out, I am not the only one in this state, some guys around me look pale and ghostly. Fortunately the road is still going gently downhill this gives me the time to get my legs working.

The Hautacam is at the end of this valley, there are 10 kms before we hit the first ramps of the climb, I strangely feel really good but take it easy and save it for the climb. I am still going through food at an alarming rate. The sun breaks through the cloud for 5 minutes, then the rain returns.

We ride through the Ayros-Arbouix village at the base of the Hautacam, there are spectators lining the road, it almost feels like the Tour and bang and we are straight onto the climb, my bunch just explodes on the 12% gradient!

I’ve done 156km, Hautacam is 13km long and 1520m – 3x the height of the Rimutakas!

Hautacam has the same kilometre/gradient % markings as the Aubisque, the only difference is the Hautacam has a variable gradient. I quickly realise the truth, the gradient marking says 8% for the next kilometre and I’m riding on a flat section – oh, oh that means if I am on the flat then the rest of this kilometre will be 12% or more!

Things go well for the first 2–3km of the climb then I begin to feel the dreaded symptoms, strength ebbing away, light headed, shit I’m hitting the wall! I eat almost all the food I have left, which isn’t much, I work out later I have consumed 7000–8000 calories during the day, the majority of those calories were consumed just to keep warm.

With some degree of alarm I realise I still have 12kms to climb to the finish, I am blown to pieces and there is nothing I can do but get into the 34x27 and just grind it out – slowly, really slowly.

The mist closes in again and it gets much colder.

There are some seriously steep sections on this climb, it is mixed with flat parts and even some slightly downhill sections. EPO must be amazing shit, how Barnie Riis rode up this thing in the big ring to win a stage of the tour is amazing, I fantasize what a big dose of EPO would do for me right now!









10kms of fiercely steep uphill riding blown to hell is like nothing I have ever done before, I want to stop, I want it to stop and the only way I know that will happen is when I cross the finish line. I have only one energy gel left and that is for absolute emergencies. This shapes up to be the hardest 10kms I have ever done on a bike!

Loads of guys pass me I am well past caring and besides there is nothing I can do about it anyway. I ride in a trancelike state, the only thing I take notice of are the kilometre signs.
Finally the top is close, I am well past the tree line, it’s 14% – bloody sleep! There is the famous cattle grid and the familiar cow poo smell and cow bells, I wonder what the cows look like? – strange how your mind can be so lucid about odd things when you are physically buggered.










Finally the flame rouge, the last kilometre goes on forever, it is 7% so it feels flat!! I crawl across the finish line. I feel no happiness or joy just relief that the suffering has finished.

I have a good case of hypothermia and I am more than a little out of it, I get handed a freezing cold coke, shaking like a leaf I drink it, my blood sugar creeps back into the normal range – just. I queue up with a bunch of other guys to get down the mountain, we are sharing the road with the guys coming up, they let us down in small groups escorted by motorcycle gendarmes, I freeze all over again!

Down I go not really with it at all, all I have to do now is find Andrew and our ride back to Pau, which is 60km away. I stop at the bottom and pull out the phone to text him but I am shaking that badly I can’t hit the buttons, a French spectator takes pity on me and helps with the button pushing. It doesn’t occur to me later that I did the entire conversation in French.

Andrew and the car is only 50m away. I flop into the back seat shivering and soaking wet, all I feel like doing is sleeping. Andrew looks good but cold, we don’t talk much I’m too out of it. We get going at once.

Etape de Tour Experience. Part 1: Ride the etape – get hypothermia for free!

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








A huge clap of thunder and torrential rain hammering on the roof wakes me at 2am. The alarm goes off at 4.30am and the thunder and lightning is still going hammer and tongs as we drive to the start.

We arrive at the start in Pau and unpack the car in the dark, its bloody cold and wet. There are hundreds of other riders doing the same, everyone is quiet the mood is very sombre. The big decision of the day is what to wear. My guess is it’s going to return to summer temperatures as the day unfolds so I settle on a gilet and arm warmers and hope for the best. Other guys around me are dressed for summer, others are dressed for mid winter.

This is quite weird, it’s pitch black and thousands of cyclists ride silently through a fully asleep Pau, it is like a secret gathering.

Andrew is in the 1000–2000 starters pen, I am in the 8000–9000 pen, with 5 minutes between each pen's start, I guess I won’t be seeing him again until the finish. I wait for an hour in the gloom and cold rain, dawn breaks and I am now freezing and my start is still some time away, this wasn’t exactly in the script.

There is an American on my left who tells me he has never ever ridden in the rain, he is from San Diego so that is entirely possible, it starts pissing down, he laughs nervously. There are 4 Irish guys on my right, they have bananas gaffer taped to their frames and a slowest times schedule taped to their bars, they want to make it before all the time cut-offs. They are dressed for summer, but they are Irish.

For 30 minutes the early start riders head off on their etape journey, we wait patiently, all I can think of is the huge amount of riders stretched out in front of us flooding the road gutter to gutter.

Finally we go, my legs are like blocks of ice and it takes a while to get going, well at least 800 metres anyway. I hook up with a few fast guys and in no time we are doing a 4-man team time trial down through the middle of Pau city. It is like playing dodgems with all the traffic islands, white lines and slow punters in our path. To be fair most people are pretty good they get out of the way quickly and my bunch really gets moving, the group gets bigger and bigger and faster and faster.

We get out of town, still on a wide road we head up a wooded valley at 55km/p/h. We get to Rebenac and turn sharp left into a narrow country road. Immediately there is a huge crash, I squeeze my way through and gas it up the first climb of the day, the climb is not too hard but the road is solid with riders creeping uphill, the road has traffic islands in the middle as well! I just have to wait for the gaps to appear before I go forward, it is like doing hill intervals.

The next 20kms is all up and down on small roads, I pass most riders on the descents, every now and then I see people pulling themselves out of a ditches from over-cooking it in the wet. I thank Michelin for making my special light blue rain tyres, they certainly have plenty of grip. I’m still with some of the same guys, down a 5km descent onto the flat and we get into the village of Nay. We get going again and crank it up, we pass huge groups of riders. I’m lapping it out with a small group of French guys they are all in good nick, 30+ and know how to ride, I wonder if I raced with any of them 20 years ago? It is like a New Zealand scratch bunch in a handicap race.

It pissing down, we are on wide roads so its relatively relaxed, every now and then we dive into a small village, the road drops down into one lane cobbles, there is a crash every time. We get to Benejacq and the first hill, Labatmale, it’s a 471m 3rd category .

A couple of hairpins kick it off, it’s really tough! Cadel Evan’s later says that he finds it so tough he almost gets dropped. My group blows to pieces, a couple of young skinny French climbers disappear up the road, I hang in there with the same 5–6 guys, I’m still cold, it is 8c and worryingly I am eating a lot. I don’t normally need to eat much – something to do with being older I guess. I wonder if I should back it off and let this bunch go – no that is definitely not an option, slogging away on my own would be harder.

We have now done 80km, we turn down a nasty rain soaked descent into Lourdes and there is the first food stop, there are hundreds of punters everywhere all shoveling food down their throats, it looks like a huge rugby match rather an bike race. I keep going.

My bunch keeps hammering along, we catch and pass groups but they are smaller and more spaced out. The starting numbers on the back of riders are now in the 2000–3000, it gives me the impression that I am getting close to the front of the ‘race’. This turns into a bit of an obsession I remember seeing someone with a number in the hundreds at the bottom of the Hautacam.









On to the scond climb of the day, Loucrap another 3rd category, this one would equate to a 1st category in a New Zealand race, it is long and steep. My bunch is down to just 5 of us, we pick guys up and then spit them out.









The 100km mark approaches and the beginning of the Tourmalet is not far away. Into Bagneres de Bigorre we go, out the other side and then into the Vallee de Campan. The top of the Tourmalet is still 40km away but we immediately start climbing, proper climbing as well, inside ring stuff, it dawns on me why the Tourmalet is considered to be so tough, you are buggered by the time you get to the base of the actual climb!

Profile of the stage courtesy of cyclingnews.com - read their TdF Stage 10 report here

The road just gets steeper and steeper, small steep pinches of gradient in and out of small towns kill your legs, we get to the village of Sainte Marie de Campan the official start of the Tourmalet climb. Out of the 5 guys who I have been with 2 guys stop for a pee, they pass me later at mach1, I pass them several more times as they stop for more pee stops - they should get their prostrate checked. Another couple disappear out of the back, another guy encourages me to ride with him on the climb, I do for a while, but he is riding 39x16 to my 39x21, his pace is slightly too fast for me and I let him go.

The road rears up in a long steep ramp, no corners just a long grind up the side of a mountain. And climb it does, it is bloody steep and there is still a whole 15km to go to the top! It is drizzling, cold and it’s misty all I can see is the 10m in front of me.

There are lots of riders around but every one of them is very quiet, no chatting just breathing. The mist closes in even more and it gets colder the higher I climb. I knock the effort back a bit and start riding conservatively. I ride 34x21 and then change into the 24 when it gets really steep. This is surprising because I am still 10km from the bloody top, from what I have read of the climb it doesn’t get properly steep until 7km to go.

I finally get to the steepest part of the climb, the snow shelter, it is so steep I am out of the seat climbing in the 34x27! The ski station of La Mongie emerges out of the mist, even in the murk La Mongie is hellish ugly, it is also the site of the second food stop. I hate stopping but I have to, I am almost out of food…

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

San Francisco Tales (2001): Copperopolis

Image credit: see this and other great rides on www.2450mhz.com/jfg/bikeroutes

The infamous, the deadly, the truly god damned awful Paris Roubaix of California. I had been hearing about this race for weeks. Every training ride consisted of "are you riding Copperopolis? - well let me tell you how bad it was the year I rode it, stones the size of baseballs, potholes that swallowed whole breakaway bunches, snakes, scorpions blah, blah, blah". Yeh, yeh, yeh. The American bullshit -o-meter was bouncing off the scale. Still I had to go and have a look.

Years spent thrashing myself through the unsealed Makara gorge in pursuit of Andrew and David Meo has to be useful sometime in your life. The Meo's are the only guys I know that were distraught when the council finally sealed the road.

Sea Otter was a few weeks ago, after feeling like crap on race day I came down with a genuine stay home from work for 2 days dose of the flu. I haven't had that pleasure for a few years. Anyway I missed a week or two of racing and while not in that good a shape I couldn't miss it. The advice from Steve the team owner was to ride heavy wheels, training bike and if I didn't have any cyclo-cross tyres use the heaviest things I had. A guy I knew said the same thing, he was a big, heavy boy though.

Only niggle with all of this is that Copperopolis is literally in the middle of nowhere. Never mind - up at 4.00 am and hit the road for the usual 8.00 am start - can't have the 3 locals inconvenienced in any way so starting the race early is the priority. 2 hours later I 'm doing 100mph on the freeway and getting pretty close. Another 40 minutes on backroads and I am right at the bottom of the High Sierra Mountains and its bloody cold but sunny. The race HQ is literally in a one-horse town, it looks over the fence at us with complete disinterest chewing its grass slowly.

I decide that racing in the cat 3's today will be a good look as the fitness is still suspect. I find that most people are using normal race wheels, bikes, tyres, so I go with the Heliums, they have a 23 cog which could get some use.

It's still cold and sunny on the start line - so much for the desert heat. It's a small field 50 guys only. I have never raced with 3's before, there are some big guys here. Yanks are big people, lots of guys at 6'3"+ with those equally big - I can ride the 12 all day legs. I hope its hilly that should sort them out.

Off we go, but we don't really, we are going so slowly, so slowly in fact that I decide that attack is the best form of defense and piss off up the road. I immediately wish I hadn't, but too late now. Unfortunately my plan goes all to shit when unbeknownst to me the valley I'm heading up is the circuits big climb. The road is really rough just like a normal NZ road that has all the last 50 years of potholes sealed over one by one, but nothing like the Belgium cobbles I have been promised. I think oh well it must get really bad round the back of the circuit.

The road just keeps going up and up and up, the 23 gets a workout - in the big ring - then the little ring. I get caught by what's left of the bunch right at that moment and watch the front of the race disappear. I have nothing in the legs at all so I figure I'll see how far I get. The top appears and with a few other guys we spend the next 20km chasing to get back on.

The road is well surfaced so I'm waiting for the pounding to start. As we get on the bunch the other hill appears. I survive that and bounce and crash from pothole to pothole down the long descent that wasn't too bad, kind of like the way the bays road use to be. As we get off the descent there is a small hill which has the finish on top, from there we start the next lap, only 3 to go. So much for the Arenburg Forest a la Paris Roubaix, these yanks need to toughen up - a few laps of the old Makara gorge would fix them.

Its pretty quick up the valley road, a few on the big-legged crew are giving their 12's a good workout. I last almost to the top of the climb, the steep part where the 23 gets engaged is where my legs feel like jelly and cry enough. There are 15 guys left and they get out of sight quickly. I get to the top of the climb and see the bunch way, way up the road. We have just climbed up to a plateau so no descent to get back here.

As I get onto one of the long straights the bunch is in sight, I can't believe it and ride up to them. They are cruising along like a Backhouse Sunday ride. I learn later that that is how the cat 3's race 100mph up the hill and crawl around everywhere else. Still I get to sit on the back for another lap. I give the descent a lash for fun - if the Meo brothers were here they would be complaining bitterly to the race organisers that there was no gravel as promised.

Sure enough the hill sees me go off again so I decide to stop for a call of nature break and cruise the rest of the lap. The car looks inviting and it's sure to be a hell of a long drive home.

I watch my friend Pete win the race in a 3 up sprint. Straight after that I hit the road. What was a 2hr 30min drive out here turns in to an almost 4 hour epic to get home. America does have a fantastic network of freeways 4-8 lanes, only thing is every bastard happens to be using them at the same time. They get packed so a Sunday afternoon resembles the Hutt motorway at 8 in the morning. The yanks also out do Nzers in their love of the fast lane where everyone sees as their god given right to drive at 80kmph. Still everyone is mellow in the best Californian tradition and its best to settle in and just stroll along.

So it was a big day. It was only after I got back and looked at a map that I realized the I had driven the equivalent distance to Taihape and back to go to a bloody race - I must be losing it either that or a bit of the California culture is rubbing off on me - chillin' with the homeboys.

San Francisco Tales (2001): SF Grand Prix

This was the big race weekend in San Francisco, the BMC San Rafael Criterium and the San Francisco Grand Prix back to back. All week leading up to this weekend the media was talking about cycling instead of baseball or American Football and everyone was talking about 'the man' - Lance Armstrong - everyone from the media to Joe or Josephine Punter. It was really funny watching these big burly ex-American football sports commentators get their tongues around 'Toor De Fraance' and 'Elp due Hooeez'.

What was a cool thing was that San Francisco was going to be closed down for the race. SF's traffic is crap at the best of times so it would be a major gridlock - all down to a little ol' bike race.

BMC San Rafael Criterium

Saturday, Sunny 35C. This race was part of the national BMC series so all the top pros were there plus a bunch of eager amateurs.

I decided to ride the San Rafael crit a few days before the event, but I also needed to be at my sons first soccer game of the season so some lateral thinking was required. The pro/am and the soccer game clashed so I had to ride the 2nd category race.

I got there early and did the regulation turbo trainer warm up. I had just had a 1 week holiday at 7000ft so I had been feeling absolutely awesome, I now know what EPO feels like. Unfortunately altitude training wears off, just as mine was doing right now. I line up with the other 100 starters and just by looking at who was on the start line I could tell it was going to be a carnage filled event.

Off we went at Mach 10, typical 2nd cat race, the pro/am races start way slower than this. I immediately was having a really hard time drifting back and back and back until that was it, I was last wheel. The small hill was okay it was jumping out of the corners into the two long straights that was killing me. I guess that is what happens when you take 2 weeks off and suddenly jump into a fast crit.

Eventually the pace slackened off for a few laps, that was all I needed, I got my legs back and felt better. It took me what was left of the race to get within the first 10 of the peloton

As the last lap came up, the usual kamikazis seemed to be absent. Down the back straight (or straight -a- way as the commentator kept blaring) in the 11 cog, as I had been for the last 5 minutes. The only problem was the last 2 corners are down hill with the finish line 50 metres after the last corner!!. It was going to be interesting if nothing else. I guess that is the plan of any self respecting criterium organiser, the more dangerous the better - more crashes - more spectators.

So it was all on to be first into the corner and the 11 was fully cranked up. Through the 2nd last corner in 7th -8th when suddenly a bunch of guys try to go around the outside into the last corner. They were never going to make it and with a huge bang 2 guys right near the front hit the curb hard. One of the guys bikes flies up in the air like a helicopter blade, I duck under it as I go through and it collects the guy behind me big time. By the time I swerve through all the carnage, 10 guys have gone past and I'm just happy to get across the finish line in one piece. All the spectators were well impressed, nothing like a bit of carnage to keep them interested.

I stick around for a bit after the race and talk to Sarah Ulmer and Suzy Pryde. They are very happy with the prospect of jumping on a plane the next day to New Zealand. I watch some of the womens race and move on to the soccer game.

The game is a success, I grab my boy and we head back to the crit to watch what was left of the mens pro race.

The race is half way through with Floyd Landis of Mercury solo out front. It looks quick but smooth. Graham Millar looks very comfortable near the front of a big field. It starts to get fast as Saturn get on the front to gather in Landis. There is a lot of pressure for Mercury to win, mainly because they haven't won anything all year. They are the biggest team by far but have managed to make a dogs ear out of most of their races so far, this would be no exception.

So it all comes down to the last few laps, Mercury get on the front early to lead out Chris Horner. Millar is sitting comfortably in 3rd, 4th, as ever no one takes a wheel off Graham Millar. With a lap to go Mercury have blown up leaving a free for all, Mark McCormack launches it down the back straight and wins with a few seconds to spare. Millar fights it out with Jonas Carney and gets 3rd. Everyone is super impressed that Millar is an old boy but a very fast old boy.

I take my son over to meet Graham Millar I don't think he quite gets it when I tell him that we are the same age and raced as schoolboys together. Kinda like why don't you get top 3 in pro races Dad?

Sunday - San Francisco Grand Prix

This was the big one, a 130 mile (210km) slog around the North Beach area of San Francisco. In attendance all the US national teams some local teams a few Mexican and Belgium teams Saeco and US Postal of course. There was even a fair smattering of New Zealanders, Glen Mitchell, Brendon Vesty and Graham Millar.

It is a cold grey foggy SF day as I leave home to bike in to the race. With a ball game, a gay street party and the bike race all on the same day, I don't want to risk getting stuck in my car for a couple of hours on the way home.

I get across the Golden Gate through the Presidio and immediately hit a bunch of cops drinking coffee and eating donuts behind them the road closed signs are being erected. I jump on the empty race course and ride to the start/finish. There are hundreds of cops and volunteers blocking off every driveway, side street you name it, the man power is very impressive. It is also nice to have all the road to myself, its certainly the safest bit of riding I have ever done in the city - no cab drivers trying to kill me.

It is even colder and foggier in the city with no spectators to speak of - until I get to North Beach, which is the Italian part of town. Here there are plenty of people all set up at the street side cafes lattes in hand waiting for the race to arrive.

I finally get to the Embarcadero start/finish. Thousands of punters wander about most of them crammed up against the barriers where the riders are lining up for the start. It is too crowded to talk to any of the kiwi boys but I do see 'the man' Armstrong ride through to the line up. The crowd go crazy, full hero worship. He is smaller than I imagine and looks suitably cooler than cool.

It is way crowded so I get out of there and head off to meet some friends who have been on the hill since 6.30am. They assure me that it is necessary to get the best 'seats'. The 'hill' is Fillmore Street one of those streets in San Francisco that you see in the movies, the sort of thing that you really can launch your car off at the intersections a la Steve McQueen in Bullet, hey the cabbies do it all the time.

It goes straight up maybe only 300-400 feet high, 1 km long it gets steeper after each intersection the top 500m looks vertical. I turn into Fillmore right at the bottom this is where crowd starts and it justs get thicker and thicker all the way up. All other roads are closed so the only way to get to the top is on the course through the 13,000 people crammed into 2 footpaths 1km long. It is the most people I have ever seen at a bike race outside of the Tour de France.

I start at the bottom in the 21 and get into the the 23 after the first 100 metres, shit still 800m to go. Soon I'm just getting the bloody gear over and the last 2 blocks are hell. I find the guys right at the top and I have to lock my bike half way up a street side tree! I squeeze/push/pull my way into the prime barrier side position with the lads.

The race is 10 big laps using Fillmore then 5 smaller inner city laps. 10 laps of this beast of a hill will have guys on their knees.

I talked to a local pro a few days after the race, he said he had a 27 on the back and said he could have gone to a 29 no problem.

The TV helicopter signals the arrival of the race a small break has gone immediately with 2 Saturn guys in it, one is Trent Klasna who has been riding brilliantly all season. He looks good the other guys struggle and it is only the first lap.

Just to make it that bit different and so you know that this an American bike race the organisers have a DJ wandering about on the road right at the top of the hill. He is fully miked up and has techno house music hammering away in the background. He gets the crowd completely wound up as the bunch arrive and it is a wall of sound as the poor sods crawl their way up the hill. The bunch are not that interested and yet half the sprinters from yesterdays criterium are off the back already.

Millar, Mitchell and Vesty are there. Millar quits early but a lot later than the other team sprinters. Glen Mitchell and Brendon Vesty fight it out and finish 12th - 15th an amazing result considering the field and the course.

And so it goes on, more people arrive, the DJ does his stuff, its like being at a rave crossed with a bike race but it seems to work. After 6 laps another small group head off in pursuit of Klasna's lead group. That signals the hammer to be well and truly dropped by Armstrong and the Postal team. He and Ekimov launch it up the hill and blow the race to pieces. They work hard and in 1 lap get Hincapie up to the front group. Armstrong then pulls the pin, work done for the day. The last time up Fillmore the super impressive Klasna attacks again right in front of us, Hincapie easily gets on with 2 other guys biting the handlebars to get up there also.

So that is it, they head off on the 5 small inner city laps, we retire to my friends apartment all of 500m away. Pretty soon we are in front of the TV beer in hand watching live race action. Usual totally stupid commentary but you can't have everything. Its down to 4 then 3 guys. Hincapie is outnumbered 2 to 1 by the Saturn boys. Klasna has been out there all day and Hincapie looks great. The last lap up the last nasty little Taylor Street hill Hincapie attacks and solos away making it look easy.

He says later that when Armstrong works for you have to deliver, by the way he said it he wasn't joking. Everyone is extremely happy that an American won and a Postal rider at that. The mayor and all his offsiders declare the day a complete success and promise to support the bike race for the next few years.

I ride home firstly down the cliff like Fillmore Street then over the bridge. There are stacks of guys riding back, it is like a bike race everyone is going for it, the wannabe Hincapies and Armstrongs attack through Sausalito and promptly blow up on the next hill. Its cool I get home in half the time without having to face the wind once.

A major sporting weekend in a major US city and strangely enough it was for one of those weird minority sports. Still if it is going to happen, San Francisco is one of the few places in the states where weirdness is a way of life.

San Francisco Tales (2001): Sea Otter Classic

Everything is bigger and better in America so they like to tell you here. When it comes to the Sea Otter they are speaking the truth. Thousands of cyclists are here to race road, mtb, downhill and trials ranging from Euro pro teams to Billie Bob and his downhill rig and pickup truck. All in the same place on the same weekend. The 'main' event is the Sea Otter 4 day stage race for men and women pro and cat 1&2. Smiley couldn't get a ride in a team for the race so he was slumming it with the amateurs. After seeing the Saturday stage I don't think he was all that unhappy at missing it.

The Sea Otter weekend is in Monterey half way between LA and San Francisco. Monterey is a big tourist town and it also has a car race circuit near by - Laguna Seca. So this is another tourist experience from Monterey with full city support. The road racing starts on Thursday with a 4 day pro-am stage race. All the amateur road races are early Saturday and a circuit race using the hilly car race circuit on Sunday. The mountain biking follows a similar format - pro stage race with amateur racing. Saturday the downhill, slalom, short circuit, etc is spread all over the place.

Smiley picks me up on the Thursday afternoon and we battle the 100 miles of traffic through Silicon Valley to Monterey. We descend from the last mountain and there on the coast in front of us is Monterey. Right next to it is a large range of hills, I tell Smiley that is where Laguna is - right at the top and we will be climbing those bloody hills more than a few times tomorrow.

We are racing at 8.00 am the next morning so it reminds me of racing in my 20's, going to bike races the night before along with all the other would be race winners. Our hotel is the same as the Trek mountain bike team. As we go out to dinner we pass the mechanic washing the bikes, they are all 'top secret' prototypes but he doesn't seem bothered that a couple of New Zealanders have a good look. We start talking to him and it turns out he went out to the Wellington world cup a few years ago, all he can remember about Wellington is that the beer was real good.

We get up at some ungodly hour to avoid the traffic up the hill to the race track and the long queues to pick up your number. Laguna is amazing, most of the track and all of the pit area is in a bowl at the top of a huge hill. We miss the traffic but not the long line to get numbers, Smiley and I find some race official with nothing to do and persuade him to give us our race numbers without waiting in the 100+ person line. Smiley is racing the 30+ race. I entered and payed via the race website (this is the tech capital of the world) but it wouldn't let me enter the same race as Smiley. I had to enter my age group race 35+, I figured there would be a host of fast ex-pros anyway so it would be hard enough.

All the punter races like ours start early so the pro race 2nd stage can get under way at midday. The course is apparently brutal with 2500ft of climbing per lap - yikes I can hardly wait. Smiley's race starts with a full 120 up field, this is the big race for the early season in the US so the races are filled with riders from everywhere. His race also has a few pros that aren't riding the stage race. All the races are 3 laps and 120km.

I'm up next with lots of old boys all with very expensive equipment. A serious carbon fest, Colnago C40's are so passe here - sorry Backy. The race starts leisurely, we do a bit of the race track which is cool as the last time I was here was to watch Aaron Slight riding the World Superbikes. The race starts proper on the first climb out of the track what is next is a longish descent where a few guys plaster themselves into the ditches on either side of the road. I just don't think I have ridden anywhere where people crash so often for so little reason. Pretty soon we are on the 'small' hill - its long and I need the 23 from the bottom, it doesn't help that I am feeling terrible, I tell myself that I will soon start to feel better. Why do we bike riders tell lies to ourselves? Because it makes you feel better at the time.

The next 20km is up and down - no flat at all. Finally we turn onto the road back up the hill to the race course, it goes up in a series of steps with the 23 getting another workout. The legs still feel crap.

Start another lap the descent this time is hilarious, it has 3!! ambulances on it. All the cat 3's 4's 5's have been through behind us and tried to out do one another to see who could crash the best. This time I'm in serious trouble on the small steep hill. The bunch splits and 8-10 guys go clear I grovel on the back of the 2nd group. That is the way it stays for the rest of the lap, our group of 10 gets close to the front group but never that close. We start the next lap with and stay together until the last climb and then they all decide that 11th place is worth killing themselves for.

There are plenty of attacks, but everyone is stuffed so nothing goes anywhere. Finally we are at the top and this huge guy who was a pro for Motorola takes a flyer in his 11, its impressive, so impressive that everyone feels compelled to chase him. We do an amazingly dangerous zigzag through concrete blocks and jagged retaining steel to get onto the race track. Mr 11 gets caught just as they ease up. I arrive from the back at the same time and take an almighty flyer myself just for a laugh. I go through the hairpin flat out and wait and hope for the sound of bikes scrapping on the pavement - which I hear alright, 4 guys go down in a heap. I didn't think that a field of yanks could get through that corner without someone falling off. Only problem is what I thought was 200m to go is in fact 800m, oh well just have to wear it. Five or so guys come past near the line but I don't really care. I felt shit all day and they only pay down to 8th anyway such is the attitude of the part time bike rider.

Smiley has a much better race and tears his bunch to pieces. He does a lap out on his own, but gets caught. He leads out the sprint in the same way I did. He gets 8th but on the whole and is pretty pleased with himself. Especially so when Franky Van Haasen-brouke from Navigators comes up to the car afterwards and says that he was the strongest there by far and had 2 teams getting together to chase him down for the whole race.

So that was the racing done with. Now for the most important task of the day - finding a double expresso. The whole of the infield of the track has been transformed into a tent village with every bike manufacturer you can think of represented. Plus all manner of small bikeshop, titanium jewellers, lycra jumpsuit makers represented also. As we wander around looking at the latest carbon this or that it dawns on us just how serious these guys are and how big the market and therefore money is.

We find the espresso place which is great as we were getting bored. We finally stumble on something interesting, a manufacturer of wheels called Lew based in Las Vegas of all places. They are amazingly light, like both wheels weighing the same as one normal front wheel!! They also are amazingly expensive $2500 US!! What was funny was watching a very large wealthy guy buying the lightest set they make. The guy selling them was trying desperately to say delicately that he was too heavy to safely ride these wheels. The big guy was having none of it, he wanted them and that was that, he pulled out about $5000 in cash, counts out the money and got no further argument from the Lew guy.

We get over to the Gary Fisher truck (which is huge) and look for Mary Grigson. Mary is originally from Carterton and I remember her doing a lot of riding on the road and mountain bike before she got into the AIS scheme. She is a big time mountainbike pro now. She was expecting us, but was out riding the road bike. We go back a few times but keep missing one another, we eventually caught up with her at the Napa round of the world cup a few weeks later.

Enough of looking at bikes, the pro mens and womens stage 2 has started so we walk up to the hill and sit down and watch some real suffering. If you have to watch bike racing, a place where most people are in agony is the best place for it. By the 2nd lap the field in both races has blown apart, Trent Klasna attacks in front of us in the big ring while the bunch behind are struggling up this nasty little hill as best they can. Nathan Dalberg is riding well and keeps trucking on, he finishes well up there. Klasna and Saturn kick US Postal and Mercury's butt with a very impressive display of strength. Smiley agrees it looked really hard but he still wished he could have got a ride anyway.

In the truck and off we go, leaving 8000 people to finish their events for the day and get into tomorrow. The Sea Otter - big and mighty impressive.

San Francisco Tales (2001): The Sacramento Criterium

As Smiley (Craig Upton) and I warm up on our trainers we look like any other American criterium rider ready to do battle in the next race. It is Saturday afternoon in sunny downtown Sacramento and it's about 28C, there is a race happening in the park opposite and there is a lot of nervous looking cyclists warming up - all on trainers. Warming up on the road would be like playing chicken with all the truck driving good ol' boys that live here and you know you would lose the game. So we warm up the way Americans do, it's very posy but as US crits seem to start at Mach 1 it's very effective.

We get to the start line of the Pro 1/2, the field is small 'only' 80 riders. The course is a closed road in a park. We finally do a warm up lap on the course, it's oval shaped and smooth, it's like riding a velodrome. As we wait for the gun to go off I talk to Mike McCarthy, he is a very good 'master and ex-world points race champion and he normally rides 40+ races. It turns out that this is his 3rd race today, he has done the 30+, 40+ and now the Pro1/2's. When I suggest he gets himself a wig and ride the womans race also, he stops talking to me - I don't know whether he is contemplating the idea or thinks these god damn Australians are all freaks - he's an intense kind of guy. But racing all the races is not a bad scam, something that we hadn't thought about it. Is also easy to do as both Smiley and I have UCI licenses and not Californian racing licenses so we can race whatever we like.

Off we go and there is 1 hour of racing ahead before I finish my first American criterium. I'm a bit nervous as US crits have a bad, bad, reputation, they are supposed to be extremely fast and extremely dangerous. The fast part I don't mind, the dangerous part I understand as everyone thinks they are Eric Zabel and rides like it's a stage of the Tour de France. It starts reasonably fast. I feel fine and the whole thing is like riding some giant track race. You even have to be a little careful with pedaling around the top curve. If anyone has had the unfortunate experience of riding Blenheim's 'flat' velodrome you will know what I mean.

Both Smiley and I get bored after 20 minutes or so and start attacking. Smiley gets completely carried away and gives the 11 a twirl and shatters the bunch. It gets back together and it's obvious that no-one is going to get away today. There is the odd Saturn and Navigator pro here who try, but they have 20 guys onto them instantly.That is the price of wearing one of those jersey's. The primes are plentiful but it's as dangerous as hell sprinting with the lunatics.

Smiley keeps at it attacking every 5 minutes and only ends up with 30 guys on his wheel every time he moves. I hear a call for 5 minutes to go after what seems like 20 minutes of racing. Smiley and I have been trying to get in any bunch that looked like it was going somewhere, so with a few minutes remaining I counter an attack and take 2 guys with me. We get to the start/finish line and get 3 laps to go, it would have been better if it had been 2, but that is okay. Then I look back and just about fall off my bike, we have a huge gap the biggest of the day.

Smiley said everyone just sat up looking at him zig zagging across the road attempting to discourage any chasing. We get into it and get to the line again, to get - 3 to go again - this race is done on time so the clock is not counting down fast enough. We still have a decent gap but this will be tough. Sure enough we get caught inside the last lap. I tag on to the bunch and watch the sprinting antics from a safe distance, these guys take every risk, but don't have a huge amount of experience, so after seeing some frightening lock ups I look at things from an even greater distance.

Someone wins without any carnage happening and that is that my first US criterium over with. Smiley and I both agree it was fun but not something that you would want to do too often. As we cross the line on the warm down lap the two 'Australians' get a cheer from the crowd. We are tempted to shout some Australian type insults but settle for "yeh on'ya mate" which just gets blank looks, its English Jim but not as we know it.

Next up the world famous in America Sea Otter Classic.

San Francisco Tales (2001): Pinole 2up TT

Yesterday everyone assured me that I would get a ride in this timetrial - no problem they all said. This was going through my mind as I waited and waited. You see this being America you can only have 120 cyclists doing a TT, anymore and the cops are sure that that will constitute a serious road hazard on this deserted back road. So here I wait for people not to turn up so that I can get their slot. I do get a slot but have to do the 2-up TT with another guy who assures me he is a category 2, that usually means he will be pretty good.

We start and I immediately drop him. Slow down and let him get back on only for him to go backwards on the next rise. I get sick of this after 5km and just get on with it. The course is definitely 'sporting'.

While I was warming up I lost count of the Litespeed blades - the very same as a certain L. Armstrong uses. No one could accuse the yanks from scrimping on their TT bikes. My spinaci bars seemed so low tech, as it turns out they are perfect. The course is like riding up the Makara Valley towards J-ville with a real 39-19 climb in the middle.

I pass a couple of guys in full timetrial techno geek mode, carbon overshoes, rear vision mirrors hanging off helmets etc. As I pass I'm treated to a chorus of "way to go, awesome dude - you're so inspirational". You get used to it, but initially my first reaction to hearing this type of stuff out training or in races was to want to do a u-turn and hit them on the helmet and then tell them to stop talking crap.

As for the race I have no idea what time I did or the result. Americans do have a habit of geeking out anything that they do, so just seeing a bunch of well heeled Americans indulging in timetrial techno mode was a real eye opener.

As I rolled back to the car from the finish line I guy asked me how I did and what timetrial bike did I have and did I think warming down on a roadbike with spinaci bars was a good idea, sure was an interesting day...

San Francisco Tales (2001): McLane Pacific, Merced, California

Image credit: find this and more great cycling route maps at http://www.2450mhz.com/jfg/bikeroutes

First big race of the season, all the the usual suspects are here, Saturn, Mercury, US Postal plus the dozen other small US pro teams hunting for glory. I arrived last night after driving for 2 hours in torrential rain. Hey I thought - it never rains in California. Smiley has found a $20 motel special, that means a bed and a tv, bring your own breakfast plate and spoon, which we eat as it pisses down outside.

Lots of riders around with all looking worried and cold, that would be me also. I try to warm up and try not to think 'haven't I had enough of this stuff - I'm too old for this shit etc etc'. Strange thing but here we are in deepest rural California and we have 8 kiwis on the start line.

Yep, 180 starters, rain, flat, crosswinds, blown over trees and lamp-posts, I was feeling homesick for the Tour of Southland. Usual scrap to get in the front 50 at the start line followed by bigger scrap once the gun has gone. All the guys that you see in Velonews - Gord Fraser, Trent Klasna etc look about as happy to be here as I am. Straight into the gutter it is, with a few lock-ups for good measure and then Mercury puts the hammer down and it all splits to pieces. I look up from my 50th back position and see a long line of Mercury jerseys disappearing into the distance.

The bunch splits but strangely doesn't get very far up the road. I'm in the 2nd group with Smiley, Nathan Dalberg and about 40 others. There is about 40 in front. I think this is great just roll around and get my first race out the way. The group in front splits again and again and we start to catch them. This is not good, our bunch is a good size for a gutter to gutter echelon. Getting another 15 guys coming back at us will only be trouble. We pass a few crashes. The continual gale force crosswind is a racing condition your average Pro/1st cat American rider doesn't get to deal with that often. When you think about it Wellington would be the only place to have that dubious pleasure. We absorb the 15 from the front group and it's attack, attack, all that does is blast 20-30 guys off of the back of our group.

My front tyre starts to feel soft just as the support goes screaming by. That leaves our group 2nd on the road and with no support. I to roll along at the back of the group with the rim banging on the road every now and then - still no bloody support vehicle. They are apparently held up dealing with one of the many crashes. I sit up the tyre completely flat, then proceed to ride the next 15km to the finish of the huge lap on the rim and freeze my arse off doing it.

Eventually I get there and I'm greeted by a warm and dry Smiley. Nathan does another lap and quits. Millar punctures, Vesty finishes in the 2nd or 3rd group looking like he has not enjoyed a minute of it.

So that was my US pro/am debut. I was a least pleased that I started well and was relaxed and comfortable when I was there. As for the real race Mercury and Saturn boys fight it out from a small 8 or so group. Who won? I have no idea I was well on my way home, in fact as they were sprinting for the line I was doing 90mph in torrential rain on freeway 5 along with all the other insane American drivers.

Next up Pinole 2up TT, Sacremento criterium and the legendary Sea Otter.