The Mountains in Our Minds

The trail branched off from the main route just outside the town, and after getting through that gauntlet of a town it's at this point in the route (the one I call Crosswind Way), that I settle in for a short recovery before the said crosswinds kick in after the turn onto the road.  I never gave the trail a second thought.  Except where it intersects the Mainweg, you can't see it.  It disappears into a grove of short, thick trees and the shade of the overpass.  It looks like one of those little branches that appear all along the cycle routes for taking local traffic into the outskirts of neighborhoods.

But, I am bored.  It's not that Crosswind Way doesn't have it's rewarding scenery.  It does.  It passes through a deep valley cut by the Main, covered in vineyards.  There are some red stone ruins dotting hill tops, flat river barges, small towns, and sweet smelling woods.  But, after time, even things like that become old hat.  I am itching for a change of scene and a change of wind.  A glimpse at the map indicated this trail would lead me down another valley into the ominous sounding Odenwald.  Ominous sounding forests are just what I need.  So, at the last second as I head down the hill out that town, I lean right and turn under the overpass.  There is no wind, for a bit, but as I come out of the shelter of hedges and farm buildings on the other side of the highway, it hits me full in the face.  The cross winds of Crosswind Way are now a headwind, the constant headwind of the Main Valley.  I shift into a smaller ring and got into the drops.  I don't see many people, just the occasional retiree on an old upright, with a "morgen."  I come out of the rhythm for a nod and a smile.  I'm just out to explore, no need to retreat too far into my head and ignore the world.  I'm finding a new one, after all.  I pass through a nondescript town, with gravel based businesses lining it's outskirts.   Gravel mining is a thing in these parts.  Shortly after exiting the town streets, I hit my first stretch.  I shift into the next smaller ring, but keep my hands on the hoods.  The faster I ride over the gravel, the smoother the ride and the less chance of wiping out on a loose spot.  My eyes search for a clean line around the holes and squishy patches and my tires find it.  I'm not a huge fan of gravel, just because of what it can bring- punctures but, once I'm on it, I can't help but not enjoy the rush of attacking it at full speed.  I'm out of the town, long out, the road ends at a T; no indication of which way the next town is.  That's the way you go exploring on a bike in Germany.  Pick a town name on a sign and follow the rest of the signs there.  I pause for a moment and pull the map up on my phone.  I could take the road on my right, or see where this gravel takes me to my left.  A huge flat bed truck carrying half a dozen tractors rumbles past throwing dust on me from the road.  I turn left.

The gravel ends in a parking lot for a shooting club.  A quick scan of the lot reveals a break in the trees where there should be another road which will take me on to my chosen town.  I hope this isn't one of those shooting clubs with the target course in the woods.  I follow the path, just a dirt single track now, dip below the parking lot, around a patch of fist sized gravel, over a footbridge and onto another gravel road.  The gravel continues for another several kilometers before petering out and depositing me in another town.  I have no idea which one, but the sign says my destination is still quite a ways off.  With the pavement firmly beneath my tires, I breathe a sigh of relief from the gravel rattling, and kick into a more civilized pace.  A turn here, a turn there, a camp ground, a group of bird watchers, a farmer straight off of a postcard sitting in the bed of his truck with a pipe in his mouth and his dog at his side.  The countryside rolls by.  The hills rise around me, no vineyards, just dark trees- the Odenwald.  As I round a bend a large hill looms up in the distance, red walls crown its brow and a tower perches on the crest.  Another castle.  But, this one is new, so I let my eyes linger on it for a bit, before the hill twists out of sight.  After all this time, I still have a thing for castles.  They are huge monuments to this experience.  Reminders I'm not in Ohio anymore, reminders not to take that for granted.

After thirty or so kilometers, I've arrived at my destination, but I don't know it yet.  I'm expecting to roll out into a town center, paved in cobbles, with a church in the middle, and a bench next to the church.  That's the usual choice for a break to take a snack and refill the bottles if I need to.  I don't need to yet and the way to the quaint center is hidden around construction barriers and passing local traffic.  I decide to take the easy way through the congestion and head straight at the intersection.  I'll sort the way to the church bench after I get out of this cluster.  But, I don't.

It's not long before the road takes a severe uphill grade.  I'm basically committed at this point without making a u-turn.  I'm definitely leaving the town, almost as soon as I arrived in it, and I'm going up. A wooden, hand painted sign on the right of the road points up the hill I've unintentionally arrived on.  It says "Berg."  I glance up to the top of this hill; just the hint of red stone peaks through the trees.  The berg I saw from the valley below.

Sometimes the mind does weird things.  Things that are huge, things that terrify us, that intimidate, just stop being a big deal.  The butterfly feeling never hits.  We say, "I'm not afraid of you today."  We don't know why, we just aren't.

I don't make a u-turn.  I stop thinking about locating the town center.  I want to see this castle instead, and do so I have to climb this hill.  So, climb this hill I will.  I focus.  My head in its weird non-panicky state says, "Find the rhythm.  Speed isn't rhythm.  Just go up the hill.  Just go up.  If your speedometer is reading single digits, who cares?  You're going up this hill.  When you get up there, and you will, your life will never be the same."  And I find the rhythm, or it finds me.  I'm in the sun, full on my back.  I breathe through my mouth.  A bead of sweat runs down my left temple and falls on my shoulder.  Switchback.  I'm in the shade.  I took the turn tight on the inside as a red hatchback passes.  I hear the telltale grind of dropped chain.  I roll into a wide spot on the side of the road and sort it out.  I must have bumped the shifter when I stood up in the turn.  I click back in and keep going up.  Sorry, I'm not going to let the dropped chain dissuade me.  I'm going up this hill.  Switchback.  Sun.  The grade steepens.  I downshift and put my hands on the tops.  I hear the sound of laughing children coming fast behind me, and then they're on me.  In two firetrucks.  They barrel past, a small head pokes out a window and looks back, waving.  Sorry, kid, I'd wave back, but I'm kinda in the middle of something.  Switchback.  Shade and a break in the grade.  But, the road is positively pocked with holes.  This will probably hurt on the way down.  I leave it in the low gear and spin my legs out a bit, swig a bit from the bottle before the next increase hits a few meters ahead.  Ok, I should probably fill my bottle at some point.  There are no more switchbacks, just a steady increase in the grade.  Sun.  Shade.  Sun. Shade.  The sound of water somewhere.

Sun.  The trees are below me, just the castle sits above.  I run out of road and find the fire trucks at the same time.  Their passengers are running around the playground at the base of the fortress.  I pass between these random emergency vehicles and smoosh my front tire into a parking lot filled with loose pea gravel.  I'm going so slow at this point, it doesn't matter.  It's like landing on a feather bed.  My bike and I swim out and make our way to the near vertical cobbled road leading up through the castle gate.  The cobbles are set in such a way, basically stepped, so vehicles and shoes have something to grip, but there's no way I'd be getting a bike up that.  A sign nearby say's don't even try.  So, I unclip and walk, pushing the bike along the path next to me.  Another sign advertises a museum and the toiletten, aka. places to refill my bottles.  We climb through the first gate into a courtyard with a cannon.  We stop and turn around.

All that emotion I expected to hit me at the start of the climb, finally arrives.  But, it's not the butterflies of fear, the choke of trepidation.  It's a lump in the throat.  It rises, and my eyes well up.  A big green landscape wraps itself around me and below me.  A big old castle stands behind me.  I got here on my bike, the whole way.  I climbed a hill, pretty darn big one, a category 4 actually, on my own because I wanted to.  Because I said I would.  Because I couldn't let this hill or any other scare me back down the road.  I climbed.  I climbed.  It went pretty good and here I am.

The mountains in my head had been defeated with that climb.  My life isn't the same.  After filling my bottles and having a quick snack, I headed home the way I came.  The descent down that hill was the most fun I can ever remember having on two wheels.  Descents are a reason to climb.  But, the climb itself is the real reason.  With every pedal stroke, we get higher, stronger in the body and in the head.  If this hill can be climbed so can others.  The road is wide is open now.  There is nothing to fear.

Don't believe me?  The next day I climbed two more hills just like it.

An Afternoon Stop at Rapha Cycle Club London

We were in London last weekend visiting some friends.  All that talk about London being cycling mad is true, by the way.  We had a free afternoon after flying in so we decided to head over to the London Rapha Club to see what they were all about.

At first, we weren't sure.  It seemed like a hipster cycling themed coffee shop with some Team Sky paraphernalia on display.  The windows were covered in Marco Pantani themed art (I'm currently reading about Pantani's life and I honestly don't understand the glorification) and there seemed to be way more staff than necessary.  The menu looked quite good though, there were Giro themed specials and the main menu had a nice variety of cycling friendly foods.  We were starved after traveling all morning so decided this was as good as any place for a late lunch.  We both opted for the toasted cheese sandwiches and sat back to enjoy them (really tasty) and watch that day's stage of the Giro.  As the stage progressed, the place started to change.  People began to file in and grab a seat and later on, some standing room.  There were a lot of hipsters, a lot.  But, a good portion of the crowd were legitimate cycling fans.  Then, in the last 10km of the stage, it got real.  Everything in the cafe ground to a halt.  The staff came around from the counter.  Everyone put their eyes on the race.  We all sat there together, hipsters, roadies, fans, old and young and watched the race in almost total silence, waiting with baited breath to see the end result.  It was pretty darn cool.

When it was over, some grabbed their bikes and headed out.  Some stuck around for one more cup.  Others browsed through the racks.  I don't know if the customers were into the race because of the cycling mania that has hit London or what, but listening to a lot of the staff, I could tell these people really care about cycling and the products they carry.  They took the time to talk to customers about everything from their bibs to their socks and what would work best for the individual.  They were friendly and helpful.  They were, despite what the price tags, the artsy Ridley Scott films, the Chris King espresso tampers, the "Gentlemens Races," and the African hair sheep leather suggest, down to earth and easy to talk to even though neither of us has tattoo sleeves nor does my husband sport an ironic beard.

As for the clothes?  We picked up a variety of products.  The verdict is still out on their performance, I'll let you know after they've been saddle tested for a while.  But, I can tell you they are the most comfortable, well fitting cycling clothes I've tried on.  It was as if someone came to my house, took my measurements, and made me a custom kit.  The jersey was snug where it needed to be, but not too snug.  The bibs were supportive, but comfy.  I was impressed right off the bat without even getting on the bike.  Now that we're back from our trip, I'm looking forward to putting this stuff through the paces.

I have to admit, I was pretty hesitant about Rapha.  They do have a bit of a snooty reputation; their marketing is rather pretentious.  Wearing their stuff could be kinda like high school, buying what the cool kids wear hoping to fit in.  But, I'd been in the market for a new kit for a while, tired of picking up another set of $30 shorts and a jersey that isn't comfortable and can't handle heavy miles.  I was tired of compromising to save some money, tired of things riding up, flapping in the breeze, and performing pretty miserably.  I narrowed it down to a couple of brands, with Rapha being one.  From there it came down to being able to get it.  Not everyone ships to Germany.  Even if they do, there's the question of whether or not it will actually get to us.  Fun fact, the German customs department has a thing with stuff shipped from the US.  Anything worth more than about $20 is held at an office somewhere for the recipient to pick up.  Once they get there to pick up their stuff, they have to provide a receipt of purchase and pay fees that sometimes exceed the original price of the item.  Then, of course, there is the likely chance the stuff is just held indefinitely or pocketed by a customs worker.  So, that took any brand from the States off the table (unless I was willing to wait to pick it up on the annual visit home).  That left me with European brands, all of which are only available online here.  You can buy anything online, but I always balk at buying clothes unless I know how they fit.  So, the visit to Rapha to handle the products, try them on, and get a feel for the company made a huge difference.  I decided to go with them for the time being.  I can promise you one thing, if I do become a fan of Rapha it will be based on its performance, not because it has fancy labels in the clothing, they outfit Tour de France winners, or because of their brooding ads.  We'll see how it goes.

As for the Cycle Club London, it was pretty nifty to be in a place where people love cycling just as much as I do.  It would be pretty great if more places like that existed.

Making the Call

Cycling is a tough activity, don't let anyone tell you different.  It's tough for the professionals who compete on bikes and it's tough for people who ride them to work.  The only difference is the speed and the equipment.  The stakes are the same.

In a split second, everything can change.  We're out there on the road with nothing but what we have on our backs to protect us from the multi-ton metal boxes flying past or the spot of pavement that refuses to let a bike stay upright for no explicable reason.  Even when the situation is primed for cycling, things can still go wrong, terribly wrong.  There's the road, there's our bikes, there are the cars, there are other people, there animals, there's the weather, and there are other cyclists.  There are too many variables, even on a closed course, that will never permit cycling to be as safe and predictable as football.

All of us who tuned in to watch the US Pro Championships were heartbroken when Lucas Euser and Taylor Phinney went down hard while trying to avoid a race motorcycle during a tricky descent in the road race.  Euser was able to walk away from the accident.  Phinney, who won a stage of the Tour of California thanks to his descending skills and the US Pro Time Trial last Saturday, didn't get up.  He suffered a severe compound fracture to his left fibula and tibia.  That is a horrible injury, more than likely a season ending injury.  Thankfully, he's young so it is likely that he will come back from this, but it'll be a long road.  All it took was a second for disaster to strike.  It can strike someone who knows better than most how to handle a bike.  It can definitely strike the rest of us.  No matter how many hours we spend in the saddle and no matter how much practice we get, there's always the chance that something could happen.

But, we don't think about it too much.  We can't.  If we played out all the possible tragedies that could happen while riding, we wouldn't ride.  We'd go to a gym and ride a stationary instead.  We'd get in our cars and drive to work instead of loading our stuff in panniers and pedaling to the office. We wouldn't be cyclists.  But, we have to be smart about riding.  We need to push our limits, but we also need to know when to make the call.  Sometimes, it's wiser to sit a ride out than push on.  We need to know our bodies, what level we can take them to before we end up doing damage.  We need to know when the road situation isn't safe to ride.  There is a limit.  We have to make the call when it comes to our safety. The line is different for everyone, and no one else can make the decision for us.  It's a part of cycling.  Sometimes those lines change, like the more we descend the more comfortable we get with it.  Others stay firmly in place.  But, we know when we're pushing the envelope and when we can handle it.  No  Rapha ad, no editorial, no Twitter comment should determine how we approach our personal safety.  Lately, pro riders have been taking some flak for protesting the conditions in races.  It's easy to say, "You're a professional, suck it up."  But, we're not on the roads with them.  We really don't have the right to make the call.  No one has the right to make the call for the rest of us either.  We ride the roads, we know our bodies, we know our bikes.  We make the call.

Over the last month, my husband was out of town on business, a lot.  So, I dialed it back on the bike.  I popped it into the trainer and missed quite a bit of nice weather.  Being completely and utterly alone here adds a variable into the equation I don't really want to mess around with if something were to go wrong.  I played the conservative hand to mitigate some risks.  While I'm sorry I missed some potential good days out there on the bike, I'm not sorry I made the call.  It would be better to miss a sunny bike ride than end up in a nasty situation while the only person that would notice I was missing was six hours away.  I know that close calls are common on a clear, beautiful day when my husband is riding with me.  Heck, I barely missed creaming a woman who stepped out in the street, backwards, from behind a 5 foot tall hedge last weekend.  It was miracle we didn't connect!  If we had, it would have been nasty.  If I was alone it would have been worse.  If I was completely solo in Germany at the time that situation would haven been an even uglier business.  So, that's why I draw the line there.  I keep rides stationary or in short circuits if I'm solo in Deutschland.  Some may not agree with that decision, but sorry, it's not your call.

Cycling is tough.  We have a lot to take into account when we ride.  There's quite a bit we can control.  We can care for our bodies so they don't fail us out there.  We can keep our bikes in top shape to avoid debilitating mechanicals.  We can ride defensively and carefully.  But, there's a lot out there that's totally out of our hands.  We know that.  It's up to us to deal with it the best we can.  Only we know how.

The Secret

I'm going to let you in on something.  You know all those pictures in the magazines, the blog posts, and Instagram of people cycling in Europe on these wide open roads in these grand vistas? You know those inspiring write-ups about solitude on the European roads?  Those quiet little villages with nothing but sheep and the perfect little cafe?  Ok, those places exist.  They do, I promise.  BUT, that's not Europe anymore than DisneyWorld or the Grand Canyon is representative of America.  The reality is Europe has cities and cars and lots of people too.  It's not a postcard, it's a living place.

A good portion of my cycling is through villages very similar to the one shown here.  It can be a pretty intense experience.  The streets through these towns are narrow to begin with, and then they are made narrower by parked cars.  Pretty much every corner is a blind one.  Buildings are right on top of the road  and there's just a wee strip of sidewalk.  There are intersections that are a free for all, meaning there is no indication of who has right of way.  There's this road furniture designed to slow down traffic.  Really, it just serves to make things more difficult.  And, guys, cobbles are really, really common.  Every single town center is paved in cobbles, some new and smooth, others at least 100 years old and just as gnarly as the one's you see in the Classics.  Hate to burst bubbles here, but there is nothing pleasant about riding over cobbles.  Then, there are people.  People live in the villages, towns, and cities of Europe, believe it or not.  Even the smallest village has people walking around during the day.  Some of these people step out into the street without looking, walk out from between cars, blindly open car doors, let their dogs and children run willy nilly into the streets.  The cars, of course, can be an issue too.   There are four rush hours- morning, before lunch, after lunch, and the evening.  In some regions there is only one road connecting all the communities so traffic can get pretty backed up even in the little one horse towns.  Speed limits are higher.  ATVs are street legal.  Tractors are street legal.  Vehicles I can't even identify are street legal.  It can get pretty wild on these roads.  All these everyday things can combine to create situations that would make your average American cycling advocate soil themselves.

Of course, yes, cycle paths and on road infrastructure are more common.  But, cycle paths aren't designed for sporting cyclists.  They can be used for training, but they can get just as congested with commuters and folks out for a leisure ride as the roads are with cars after lunch.  On-road lanes are common in large cities, but in smaller cities and towns they are as rare as they are in America.  Some of them are routed in inexplicable ways which confound those who have never followed them before.  Oh, and people park their cars in the lanes over here too.  The systems of Belgium, The Netherlands, and Denmark are not the norm.

So, if people want to ride the epic roads seen in the calendars, blogs, and magazines they have to throw the bike on the car and drive to them just like you do when you want to ride epic roads in America.  For the most part, European cyclists have the same challenges American cyclists do.  It's not the Promised Land (ok, Belgium is the Promised Land).  Before you start freaking out and labeling me as negative, don't panic.  Bare with me here.  Riding a bike in the majority of Europe is better than it is in a good portion of the States, but not for the reasons you may think.

The secret to happy cycling is not in lanes, lights, sharrows, paths, or boxes.  The secret to happy cycling is attitude.  Jerks and morons are everywhere, and that's not going to change anytime soon.  But, there is a prevailing attitude from cyclists, drivers, and pedestrians that bicycles belong on European roads.  For the most part, drivers aren't surprised or miffed when a bicycle appears in their path.  Well, if they are they keep it to themselves.  Pedestrians are still oblivious, but they don't go ballistic when you gently bring them back to reality with the ding of a bell.  Other cyclists still do stupid things, but those guys are in the minority and generally live in cities.  Close calls still happen, but they aren't rooted in hatred and ignorance.  They happen because the situation was just sketchy.  They happen because city planners come up with some wacky designs.  They happen because people get distracted and don't pay attention.

So, you know what, America?  You have the potential to become the greatest place in the world to ride a bike.  No, you don't have roads with the heritage, you don't have the storied legacy and rich cycling culture.  But, you have wide roads and open ones.  You don't have to go through busy city centers unless you want to.  You have intersections that make sense and standardized traffic laws.  The odds of getting plowed over by a thresher are slim to none.  You have endless cycling possibilities.  All you need to do is to change your attitudes.  Drivers, stop thinking the roads are your's to own.  Stop believing you're the dominate form of life.  Cyclists, stop believing that drivers supersede you on the totem pole.  Ride like you belong there, deliberately and legally.  Pedestrians, while I realize you're few and far between, just try to remember that there are other people in the world and they really don't want to run into you.  Law makers and enforcers, start enforcing traffic laws and seriously prosecuting violators.  If drivers aren't held accountable when they endanger the lives of others, their attitudes won't change.  While you're at it, go after cyclists when they are on sidewalks or riding the wrong way.  If our attitudes change to being more mindful of others and accepting of all transportation methods as equals, we can revolutionize American cycling.

It really could be that easy.  If people can ride their bikes in Europe in far more intimidating and challenging situations and not hate every kilometer or get creamed as soon they clip in, then American cyclists definitely can too.  There really is no excuse.

Hitting the Alpine Trails

So, hiking in Europe is a pretty big deal.  They don't do it like we do in the States.  Being out in the backcountry, carrying everything you need to live on your back, filtering your water, and obsessing about bears is an incredible experience that I can't recommend enough- seriously.  But in Europe, long distance backpacking is more a leisure activity, not an exercise in survival.  You don't carry dehydrated food, you don't even need a tent.  In the very popular spots, there's food and drink along the way and there's a bed of sorts available at the end of the day.  Of course, that all comes from the fact that Europe has a lot more people in it.  You're never far from civilization.  And that can make the walking all day thing a whole lot of fun.  Did I mention there was beer?  If you love backpacking in the States you'll love it just as much in Europe.  Maybe more.

The Alps, be it the French, Swiss, Italian, Slovenian, Austrian, or German (not to mention the Liechtensteiner and Monacan), is one of the most popular places to go for a hike, wander, or trek.  Let me tell you, you've never hiked in a place quite like this.  Over the holiday weekend we drove down to the Austrian Alps to get some quality mountain time.  Usually, April is the off season in the mountains, bridging the gap between ski season and the warm weather that permits high altitude trekking and climbing.  Thanks to the unseasonably warm weather this Spring the higher trails were mostly accessible despite one overnight light dusting.

The great thing about hiking in Alpine countries is that people have been doing that sort of thing there for quite some time.  The trails are well established and well marked.  The maps (available at every little tourist information office in every little town) are proper maps.  They're waterproof, have scales and keys, and they have topo lines. They're basically USGS grade and this makes me very happy.  You'd be surprised how rare it is to find tourist maps at this level of detail, and a good map can make or break a hike.  Well, all the maps produced by the tourist bureaus in the Alps are good.  Between the signs at every trail intersection (they're even in the really barren, hard to get to places) and these perfect maps, you don't have to worry about losing your way.  You can plan a route down to the minute.  Plus, along the way there are huts (also labeled on the map).  These huts aren't just lean-tos with a picnic bench.  A lot of them are staffed, rent beds, and serve meals.  One that we came across brewed beer, pretty good beer actually.  There are trails everywhere.  All are labeled on the maps and points of interest are indicated on the trail with walking time.  They even color code the trails for difficulty level.

Despite the cushy support system, the trails can still kick your butt.  Sure, some of the hut to hut circuits stay more or less on the flats and are family friendly.  But, head up a little higher and bring your trekking poles and a good set of boots because you'll be scrambling, balancing on cliff edges, and possibly tackling some snow.  Head a little higher and there are via ferrata routes or bring your ropes and pitons.  Anyway you want to do it, you'll have fun.  Beer, alpine cheese, and hot coffee aren't that far off.  Of course, it's the scenery that makes a good hike, and the Alps have good scenery in spades.

So, if you're visiting Europe take some time away from the cities and sightseeing, grab a daypack, strap on your boots, and go for a walk in the Alps.  You won't be disappointed.

Prepping for Paris-Roubaix

All is quiet now...

This Sunday all of us who are suckers for a great bike race will be sitting down in front of the TV (or hunkering along a roadside in northern France if we're lucky) to witness one of the greatest single day races on the calendar.  For cycling connoisseurs this is the greatest month in cycling.  Sorry, July.  Last Sunday we had De Ronde van Vlaanderen, Paris-Roubaix this Sunday, and then the week of the Ardennes Classics beginning on the 20th.  It's the height of the Spring Classics season, and there isn't a better time of year to be a cycling fan.  I love the Spring Classics, particularly the ones in April, more than anything else on the schedule.  I love how unpredictable they are.  I love the landscape.  And, I love the intensity.  It's really hard to pick a favorite race.  Even after spectating almost all of them last year, I still couldn't pick one.  You can't beat the atmosphere at the Tour of Flanders.  Paris-Roubaix is hauntingly gorgeous.  The legacy and unique nature of the Ardennes can't be denied.  But, for many Roubaix is their number one.  It's a pretty big deal.

This week the teams are out on reconnaissance rides, prepping their bikes and minds for the Hell of the North.  Meanwhile, we fans have our own prepping to do.  We certainly shouldn't arrive on Sunday ill prepared anymore than the riders should.  How does a fan prepare, you ask?

First off, it doesn't hurt to review the events of last year's race.  You can watch the entire broadcast of the 2013 Paris-Roubaix here.   Of course, it wouldn't hurt to catch up on the 2012 edition either and relive Tom Boonen's famous solo ride.  Next, there are the documentaries.  The most well-known is Jørgen Leth's A Sunday in Hell which documents the 1976 edition featuring The Merckx, Roger De Vlaeminck, Francesco Moser, and Freddy Maertens.  This is one of the greats in cycling documentaries, but a little difficult to get your hands on.  Snippets are available online, but if you want to watch the whole thing you'll have to buy a copy.  Those aren't too easy to find either.  The next great documentary is the 2009 Road to Roubaix.  Lastly, you can catch the CBS broadcast of the 1988 edition which not only covers the race, but provides some great behind the scenes footage of Team 7-Eleven.  And, if you don't mind an amateur's attempt, here's my quick video of the Arenberg from last year.  


Trouée d'Arenberg from CG Inlux on Vimeo.

As for reading material, I have two recommendations.  First of all, the write up on The Inner Ring website is a fantastic, quick read on the history of the race.  They also feature some beautiful photos.  For a more lengthy story of L'enfer du Nord, check out the recently published book The Monuments by Peter Cossins.  I haven't gotten to the Roubaix section yet, but the Liege-Bastogne-Liege chapter was very well done.  

With all that under your belt you should be pretty well prepared for Sunday.  As for Sunday itself, all you have to do is find the least dodgy feed (unless you live somewhere that will broadcast in English), sit back, and watch the drama unfold.  Of course, all of this would be more enjoyable if preceded or followed by a bike ride (depending on your timezone).  But, you're guaranteed a successful Roubaix if it includes a great menu.  I've spent most of the week focusing on my Roubaix Day dinner and I'm pretty pleased with the final lineup.  For those who are interested, here's what I've come up with:

Starter

Deviled Eggs de l'enfer

Main

Poulet avec Pavè

"Punctured" Flat Noodles with Herbs

Classic Spring Classic Salad

Dessert*

Cinnamon-Sugar Dusted Shortbread Cobbles

or

Nutella Mud Pie

*Dessert Menu dependent on Sunday's weather.  I'm hoping for rain.

Drink pairings have yet to be determined.  I'm taking recommendations, as long as it's something I can find in a German grocery store.  

Anyway, Sunday will definitely not disappoint in regards to the racing.  Will Cancellara pull off a fourth win?  Will Boonen set the new record for the most wins?  Or, will another contender take the glory?  We'll find out on Sunday.  See you there!

Stranger Things Have Happened, I Think

I'm pretty sure we all have things we hate, downright detest.  We probably have lists.  Well, I have a list.  When I was a kid my list was Mathematics (this included all branches therein, homework, and class), going to the orthodontist, piano recitals, and Easter dresses.  I loathed Math (or Maths as you may prefer) because I didn't get it, struggled with it from the time we began subtracting, and it was always the thorn in my report card.  The orthodontist, well, who really enjoys the orthodontist?  People sick in the head, that's who.  The fellow who "reshaped" my mandible and scarred a good portion of my childhood was old-school in his methodology.  His techniques included, and I kid you not, hammers, chisels, cement, and the employment of assistants with a disturbing lack of empathy.  While I'm glad I no longer resemble a bulldog, I can't say I ever warmed to the guy.  Piano recitals were just irritating.  Spending months on end practicing the same tired tune over and over again for the supposed entertainment of other parents who really only care about their child's performance always struck me as ridiculous.  And, Easter dresses?  That was just a matter of taste, the bane of the tomboy.  Since reaching adulthood, the list has certainly changed.  Math no longer troubles me, I have mastered the calculator and can successfully get through life.  The orthodontist hasn't been seen in over ten years and my mouth is quite happy about that.  I haven't touched a piano or publicly performed music in ages.   Of course, I haven't had an Easter dress since I began choosing my own wardrobe.

But there's still a list of preferred avoidances.  The list is mostly composed of food products like quiche and smoothies containing too much roughage.  Flying from US airports is on there.  Climbing hills on a bike is somewhere near the top of the list.  Like Math, I hate it because I struggle with it.  That's probably pretty lame of me.  I stopped hating Math because, basically, I no longer needed to do it.  I didn't "defeat" my Math issue by working harder at it, I just went through my formative years detesting about 100 minutes of every day spent in class and doing the work, having a pretty crappy attitude, then blissfully moving on once school was behind me having never really faced the beast.

I could very well just go about my cycling in the same way, tell myself I'm not built to climb hills and therefore never will successfully and avoid the hills at all possible.  Or.  Or, I could grow up a little.

A funny thing happened on Saturday.  The weather forecast was amazing so we planned a cookout with a few friends for the evening. We decided that an hour or so bike ride in the morning wouldn't be a bad idea given the evening's menu of hamburgers and beer.  It wasn't going to be a killer ride.  I was pretty beat after a full week of long rides and landscaping.  We were going to go easy.  We thought after having explored the major touring routes lately, that it was time to venture more "on road" into the smaller valleys.  So, we headed out.  Despite a Flemish headwind from the get go, things were going well.  After glancing at the map, we chose a 30km loop through some villages that would get us home in plenty of time to prep for our guests.  Google presented us with tantalizing "bike friendly, fit for grandma" roads.  All was going well until the second village.  Then, traffic started getting rather congested to the point we were track standing more than moving forward.  But, the map was pretty adamant that we would be in the clear once we hit the town limits.  I mean, there was a solid green line indicating a bike path next to the road.

There was no bike path when we got out of town.  In fact, this so-called bike friendly road was anything but.  It was a narrow road and a long, solid climb in heavy traffic.  My "Aaargh! Giant Hill!  I hate this!  I hate the world!  I hate everything!" switch was on the verge of getting flipped.  Then, it didn't.  I just kept pedaling.  I wasn't chipper about it, and I certainly wasn't flying, but my legs just kept doing what needed to be done.  When we got to the top, sure, I was hurting, but there we were.  There had been no stopping, there had been no walking.  And, you know what?  A thought crossed my mind.  "Hey, this is actually rather nice.  I think I sorta get the attraction."  Well, then it started pouring.  So much for the warm positive feelings and that beautiful forecast.

Then, we had to go down the hill to the next village.  Ok, I definitely get the attraction to climbing now.  If it hadn't been pouring buckets, my shoes weren't full of water, and if I hadn't been rather concerned about the husband riding on slicks...What am I saying? That descent was one heck of a ride!

After that it should have been pretty straight forward following the signs through the villages back to ours.  The trouble was, the weather just kept getting worse.  There was standing water on the roads, there was no sign of a let up, and it was getting progressively colder.  Once again, Google showed us an alternative "short cut"- solid green line, through forest, little to no traffic.  We should have known better.  I have to admit, I had a bad feeling when we turned onto the new route.  "Through forest" usually means tractor or logging road.  The forests are usually on top of large hills.  Such was the case.  This climb was brutal, vertical, positively evil.  Yeah, and there were still cars who were there for the shortcut, no speed camera advantage.  I was dying.  My poor legs, abused by a week of daily rides broken up with mulch spreading, shoveling, and rock hauling, were screaming.  It was torture.  It went on for miles.  I needed a break, also known as "photo opportunity."  But, we got back on those bikes and kept going, slowly, mind you, and we climbed that sucker.

The next descent wasn't so fun.  The road was tractor wide and it went straight down that hill all the way to the river, no turns, no pauses in the gradient.  It was still pouring.  There was mud everywhere.  I had a death drip on my brake levers.  Now it was my hands' turn to do the screaming.  That descent wasn't fun, it was freaking scary, especially when a tractor came at us full tilt.

We made it home, though rather a little worse for wear.  But, oddly enough, when we pulled into the driveway I didn't think back over the ride and focus on how horrible it was, how much it hurt, and how much I hate climbing.  We talked about how much fun that was.  I realized that actually I could do it.  With a little work and dedication, climbing would no longer be on the hate list.  I may never "dance on the pedals" up 11% grades, but I don't have to hate it.  I don't have to avoid it.  I do have the capacity to improve.  I could actually get to a point of enjoying it.

We'll see.  But, if I start praising quiche you should get concerned.