There are so many tools in a bike shop. There are the sales people, the people the sales people are talking to, the bike cops, the mechanic who somehow got hired even though he worked for Performance for 5 years, and the actual tools that the other mechanics use to make bikes work. Ask anyone in the shop what their favorite tool is and you will get a rainbow of responses. The mechanic who went to Bicycle College University will insist that the … [Read more...]
Weeping off the tête.
2008 Tour de Pologne: Stage 3 Air: Humide, Pavé: Nouveau Yesterday, just after team massage, I receive word from home that my prize Mokave feline died from a complicated bat bite infection. It was a long fight for Remi, but yesterday he crossed the river. My brave hero. We made fast to the no-man's land of a break. No chase on Stage 3. I was supported nicely and we had worked well together; Däv and I always do. When he run out of cash … [Read more...]
Selle Your Soul
All manner of cycloquipe seem to get turned over en frequente, like a compost bin of technology. That is why it kicks me in the men to see something like le Selle san Marco company losing mass share le Franc by rehashing this dead horse. I play, I play. Look! This seat is one of the best. Yes, I know - it could anchor a gianni boat, but the style! Verte? Oui, per favor. I'll take two. The Concor, a design prized for it's sporte-car rear, … [Read more...]
Food for the Bourgeoisie
Take a Livestrong bracelet back to the siège d'Acre, sell it to Antoine DePhelipoux for a song, then come back to now and trade the song in for some Confederate currency. That's what you need to make a good dinner. You don't need spices dried in the soleil du Ventoux. You need a neighbor with an overgrown rosemary bush. Maybe also some long grains, the tuber of your choice, a Steve Roche heirloom onion, and a couple packs of tempeh, aka … [Read more...]
Bravo.
I'm prima loco about the scratches Cipo left in the flesh of cycling. It's not a blind dedication like the throngs of numb who feel they must lie at the feet of fallen jesters. It's an informed, balanced, and litigated loyalty. I've considered it all, I assure you. If you think he's a train wreck, then I am in the dining car enjoying a grappa. He's LE Coq Sportif. His gigantic flag of ego, his uniforms, his form en velo, his velocity, his … [Read more...]
On Waving…
We've long experienced this situation, and when I say "we," you know I mean the ones that matter. Not the CATs. Not the championes le Sabato. Not the middle management. You. The Superissimo. We wave. If you don't wave, go to a different place now. This squadra Internationale and friend of Superissimo said it best in their summer ride etiquette manual. My own personal esperienza and the recent osservazioni di JVA have fanned the fiammes of an … [Read more...]
Bugno? Bugnyes.
Aside from 2 World Championschriefen, a Giro of the Italians GC Numeri Un 1990, and San Vito lo Capo Maglia Bagnato Chest Hair King 1988-1994, Gianni Bugno was always riding in shadows. He had his time. He reigned. He still has an incredibly dense hairline, which is much more a chrono-longo palmare than a colour maillot. But as a cyclist after le Francs, he was always up against the meat grinder. Indurain. Like the smaller of Jupiter’s two … [Read more...]
The Attack
With night still holding on to the fog, the parking lot seemed quietly alive. Dome lights put glow to the air in each man's car, marking his territory and hinting at each's preparedness. My layers were in tact and the helmet perched. I had left but to shake my sporte mixe. He approached me, trying to suave himself as he clopped slowly. He should have been in sock feet. Nobody can suave in shoes like these, not off the bike. This fool's pomp … [Read more...]
The Stem
I used to bear down into the wind with resentment. I was 15. The only climbs that could be had from the northern reaches of Indianapolis were headwinds. So I'd climb them. I'd buckle down, staring at my stem as if it were a friend. It said Cinelli. Milano. You've stared at it, too. In those days, the early 90s, the stem that had become my friend said to me: Alyssa. Milano. One will go to imaginative lengths to stay on board during a Hors Cat … [Read more...]
The Americans Jump Like Fleas
Brian 2, John 1, Mike 4, and Brian 3 were all on my back wheel ignoring the effort, playing child, pretending the dirty dishes would wash themselves. It's fine. There was a hill coming, and I could hear over radio exactly how quickly we were being reeled in. I wasn't tired. My legs were better. They took to my jump like a boy to parfum, and for no reason. It's as if they had never played this game. So I sat up. We let the rest consume us. I … [Read more...]
- « Previous Page
- 1
- …
- 3
- 4
- 5