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.

Stuff Reviewed: Continental GP4000S

Great tyre, shame about the fit.
by Nigel Dalton

It's hard to love a tyre after a frustrating 60 minutes spent vandalising a precious Campy neutron rim to wrestle one on. But 3 months after this purchase, and one further puncture (split valve seat - aaahhh!) I'm getting there.

Make no mistake - for tyre wear, stickiness, speed, ride quality, all the usual tyre characteristics, this is my top tyre choice. Getting it on and off my Campy rims? Give me a sandpaper chammy to ride any day.

Now first things first - yes, I finish with the valve. A habit of a lifetime, for which I've copped plenty of good-natured 'advice' from experts and I will still argue my point that it enables you to push the tube up and away from the rim should you be reduced to using a lever for the last few inches. Try that on the other side.

Picture 1 shows the result of the first 30 minutes of effort - hands only, having stretched the carcase like an old-school tubular as much as I could. It is nowhere near done. The next picture in the series represents a further 15 minutes effort, but it shows so little progress I've left it out. The next picture here is actually Picture 3 in the series!

Nothing to do but call NZ and the R+R helpline. 15 years ago I can recall actually abandoning in disgust a marriage of a Campy rim and a Conti tyre, and receiving the wisdom of ages that the Germans and Italians really just don't get along.

This time having parted with 22 quid each to Ribble and having drooled over how damn fine-looking these tyres are, I am not giving up!

All the time I am wrestling these things onto the rim, I am thinking one thing - what do I do on the road, knackered from the ride and needing the strength of Atlas to get it off, let alone back on again?

Robbo comes to the rescue with key tip number 1 - which to be fair I should have remembered from the motorcycling world where tyre changing involves huge levers and rack-like devices. Put some detergent on the bead!!

This one trick gets me to photo #3 featured above. It might not look like much, but it's a moon-shot away from the first result.

Thanks to some painful thumb dislocations while mountain-bike racing on filthy North Island mud-baths in the 1990s (temporary clicked in and out I'm pleased to report, but turning me into a grip-shift devotee instantly), I am very wary of using these digits to put tyres on these days. After 55 minutes of thumbs on these tyres I have used every trick I know - it now has to be the thing every cyclist dreads, the tyre lever to finish.

The yellow Topeak lightweight jobs fail instantly. It's down to the trusted Park Tools, and with a grimace the bead pops over the rim with a crack that sounds like a rifle. A neighbourly head pokes over the fence immediately - "you ok?" she asks. "Dunno yet" I respond - "if she doesn't pump up first time, I'll probably be quite ill indeed..."

Review Score:

Function: 6+ (10 on the road, 1 point for ease of assembly)
Form: 10 (big white type, minimalist black tread, little wear holes like a race motorcycle tyre, phwoarr...)
Price: 10 but only if you buy on the net. Expect to pay 3+ times the 22GBP I bought them for if you shop in a Melbourne bike shop.

Postscript: a blown valve seat forced the reluctant tester to have to remove the front tyre again 3 months after the initial fitting, and it was easier the 2nd time. The author is still puzzling over the right container to carry dishwashing liquid on the road however...

Crema, Italy

Woke up at 7.00am to a huge thunderstorm, cooler than the 35c+ heat of last night, so promptly rolled over and went back to sleep in what would have to be the smallest hotel bed I have ever slept in. I felt kinda like a Goldie Locks and the 3 bears, but it was comfortable enough.

9.45am and the room cleaner wakes me up by letting herself into the room, I guess seeing a sleeping near naked pale white man sent her away pretty quickly. Down to a late breakfast which the hotel rustled up for me, I had forgotten that an Italian breakfast consists of coffee and cakes, which sounds like the most perfect breakfast - as long as you are not a diabetic like I am. I did find some of the strange euro packaged hard toast bread slices, they weren’t too sweet but taste like cardboard.

It’s weird that of all meals breakfast is so different from one culture to the next, the Dutch eat cheese and meat, the Brits do bacon and eggs, New Zealander’s do Weetbix, the Italians cake, why the difference? I did notice the ubiquitous Corn Flakes on the menu – even in Italy.

I set about unpacking the bike. After doing the bike mechanic thing I walked through the old part of Crema, to meet Andrew’s wife Nicki at a café. I found a money machine nestled amongst 16th century architecture. Here I am using the same cash card that I use in New Zealand and instantly getting Euros from the money machine – small stuff like that is amazing, no traveller’s cheques nothing, card in - money out, anywhere or almost in the world. In theory it means you could travel the world with just a cash card – think about it, that’s cool!

Coffee and Panini with Nicki, it’s too hot to sit outside and do the Italian outdoor eating thing so inside with the air con whirring away. Nicki offers to take me on a ride into the country on their terribly cool ‘town bikes’ complete with Brooks saddle and cane baskets.

I spot a Martini Rossi livered Lancia Integrale, a car that I have always lusted after, I have to stop and take a photo of it – my sad 80’s car buff is alive and well. 

I have the digital camera with me and am determined to take tonnes of photos, I have been a crap tourist in the past, the places I have been to and have no record of is tragic, maybe it is an age thing I regret not having any visible record of those experiences.

The countryside around Crema is flat as a pancake with lush green cornfields and tiny villages dotted about the place. We get back in time to relax and prepare for the Crema evening ‘training’ ride, it is also 30c+!

New Zealand is a long way from anywhere

Any trip from New Zealand to anywhere else in the world is a big one, when you are situated on the edge of the globe it takes forever to get anywhere.

Departure day arrives I wake up to a severely stormy Sunday, it was so bad it was a little alarming. Flights were being cancelled, the wind was gusting to 120kmph and it was only 3 degrees!

It was with some relief I got on my local flight to Auckland and gritted my teeth for the international flight experience. The whole customs pre-flight checking process is now a right pain-in-the-arse, everyone is so terrified that they will be falsely accused as a bomber, so the experience is a tense one. As a result getting on the plane and flying is now such a relief that the flight is relatively pleasant.

Unfortunately we had to stop in LA. US airports have a unique smell, a combination of toilet disinfectant and stuffiness. The US customs process has always been unfriendly but they have now upped the ante to down right hostile, here we were as transit passengers and yet we had to endure retinal scans, finger printing and intense scrutiny from non-English speaking angry as hell passport control guys. We are transit passengers, it is not like we want to visit the States at all, oh well may be it’s just LA.

London.
The new terminal5 at Heathrow is fantastic; when the Brits do something well they do it brilliantly. Whenever I am in Britain I feel connected to the centre of the world, it’s vibrant, energetic and a totally cool place.

The Brits truly value design, god is in the details in Britain, the signage is designed beautifully, the packaging of products is beautiful, the newspapers are a joy to look at and read. Everything has an inspired quality – except for the food and coffee – I guess you can’t have everything. And hey and I am only in the airport!

Milan.
Italy, I hadn’t been to the place for 25 years, but it is exactly as I remember it, a combination of style, chintz, chaos and organization.

Linate airport and 38c! A little different from the 3c day that I had left back home.
When you travel half way round the world to ride a bike race what do you need most? Your bike, I waited and waited.

I was looking forward to seeing Andrew again and finally beginning the holiday.

But supposedly the bike was coming on the next flight, yeah right! It did, I couldn’t believe it!

Finally we had Andrews Mini loaded to the gunnels with a huge bikebox and were driving to Andrew’s new hometown of Crema on a beautiful 30C Italian summer evening.

I’m loving this holiday already!

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.

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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