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riders collective
a cyclist’s sampling
of some of the
Web’s best blogs,
ride reports, tips,
videos, reviews,
and photographs
©
aggrezine
october 2010
/by us/for us/about us/
©Aggrezine™ Publishing LLC. All material used with permission and © original sources.
Photo ©Mary Burbank
www.riderscollective.org october 2010 1
It seems we all wave to
passing cyclists as we tool
along with friends through
the landscapes around us.
It is a secret handshake of
sorts, an acknowledgment
of a bond forged by a common passion.
But since our friendly gesture is often extended to
joggers, power walkers, and
everyday amblers as well, I
think our motivation springs
from a deeper source.
The pleasures of pedaling
in a peaceful, scenic setting
produce a fundamental
feeling of well being—one
we instinctively share
with those we encounter
along the way.
(If only these neurons
of nicety fired whenever we
idled in jammed traffic.)
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rc
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publisher,
editor,
designer,
and cyclist
’
Paul S. Kramer,
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riders collective
introduction
Photo © Matt Gibson
Old Spokes Home
riders collective
322 N. Winooski Ave
Burlington, VT 05401
(802) 863 - 4475
oldspokeshome.com
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ok
It may look
like a typical smalltown cycle shop, but does yours
specialize in rescuing, restoring and reselling
neglected and discarded old bikes? And does yours have a
museum displaying samples from a century of bicycle
technology? Needless to say, this place isn’t your typical LBS.
old spokes home
From the
store’s collection
1869
riders collective
1876
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W
elcome to Old Spokes Home, a small
neighborhood bicycle shop in Burlington,
Vermont. They have a huge selection of reconditioned used bicycles for sale, with over 300 used
road bikes, three-speeds, mountain bikes, and
hybrids in inventory. They also sell new bikes
from Surly, Jamis, Salsa, KHS, and Independent
Fabrication, as well as classic vintage rides.
1889
1890
old spokes home
From the
1893
1897
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1899
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1902
old spokes home
From the
1914
1937
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1939
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1951
old spokes home
From the
1958
1973
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1976
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1984
riders collective
Taking the
Long Way Home
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Commuters
get to cycle every
day, rain or
shine, summer
or winter. How
lucky is that?!
Having an office
20 yards from
home isn’t going
to stop dave barter
from joining in.
Reprinted from Cycle magazine
riders collective
the long way home
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anctimonious. Smug. That’s
of winter. It was the final straw when I
how the Clarksons of this
calculated that his 36-mile round trip
world characterise
would push his weekly training
commuting cyclists. They
mileage way beyond mine. Not only
annoy me too. It’s not that I
was he to join the ranks of the
don’t agree with the idea
sanctimonious, but he’d be doing me
that we should get out of our over on the summer rides as well.
cars and onto our bikes. I know that
I thought he was joking when he
cycling to work saves money,
said: ‘Dave, you could always join me.
improves health, and clears the roads Why not become a virtual commuter?’
of traffic. I just have a problem with
On your marks
commuting. Like those who are
retired or unemployed, I can’t join in: The plan was hatched. Rob’s normal
I work from home.
commute was an 18-mile journey to
About the best I could manage
my home town. I would awaken early,
would be a 60 foot
mountain bike ride to
About the best I
the shed at the bottom
could manage
of the garden that has
become my office.
would be a
Maybe to add interest I
60-foot mountain
could ride from the
bike ride to
bedroom, ‘huck’ down
the shed at the
the stairs and hone my
trials skills as I dodge
bottom of the
kids and cereal in the
garden that has
kitchen en route…
become my office.
Things worsened when
my lunchtime riding
buddy, Rob, announced
that our sessions were cancelled. He
mount the bike and cycle in the
had decided to cycle to work instead.
direction of Rob’s place. Meanwhile,
Through gritted teeth I congratulated Rob would wait until 8am and then set
him, particularly as it was the depths
off. We would meet, I would turn
The Ten Commandments
of Virtural Commuting
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Always go first thing in the
morning. Something will crop up
and stop you from riding later
on in the day. Can you
remember the last time the
phone rang before 7am? Get
out there before it starts ringing.
Ritual is everything. Prepare to
go the night before and you’ll go.
Procrastinate and it will become
too hard or too time consuming
and your resolve will crumble.
You ensure the longevity of your
virtual commuting career if you
leave the house as quietly (and
tidily) as possible. Waking your
partner, housemates or relatives
will earn their wrath.
Save a cheery smile for road
users imprisoned within their
cars. Remember that without
them your feelings of
sanctimony would be much
reduced. Don’t hector them
either. The mantra of the virtual
commuter should always be
‘demonstrate, don’t remonstrate’.
As with all rides, the things you
leave behind are the things
that’ll catch you out. The worst
punctures happen when the
spare tube’s at home and fully
charged batteries discharge in
direct proportion to the
number of backups you’ve left
in the kitchen.
the long way home
round, and together we would cycle
back. Rob would continue on to his
office and I, the virtual commuter,
would roll up at my own front door
and report for duty. What could be
simpler?
riders collective
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lot, actually. The
night before saw my
frantic preparations.
I started by
strapping lights to
my bike and siting
it next to the front
door. The virtual commuter would
soon lose the support
of his wife if the young
children were awoken
before the very last
minute necessary to
clothe, feed and herd
them to school.
I collected a mound
of cycle clothing and
placed it strategically.
Underwear and base
layers by the bed,
middle layers on the
kitchen table, and
helmet, gloves, shoes,
coat and overshoes next to the bike.
Pump, tube, tools, mobile phone and
house keys were placed alongside the
middle layers ready to be stuffed into
pockets. Energy powder was carefully
measured and mixed into my bottle,
then mounted to the bike.
Then it started to get silly. I laid out
my toothbrush, toothpaste and contact
lenses. I put a cereal bowl and spoon on
the table and, as an afterthought, stood
a packet of Frosties next to them. I
resisted the temptation to tear off the
required lengths of toilet roll.
The final step: I set my alarm clock for
6.30am. It made a funny noise – I think
it was the digital equivalent of ‘Are you
sure?’ It hadn’t seen such an early hour
in three years of home working.
Then it started to
get silly. I laid
out my toothbrush,
toothpaste and
contact lenses....
I resisted the
temptation to tear
off the required
length of toilet roll.
And so to bed, and a hacking cough
that saw me finally drift off at about
1am. A perfect start to my life as a
virtual commuter.
6
Why not use a virtual commute
as a means to stay in touch.
Contact your friends within a
ten-mile radius and virtual
commute to a café midway.
7
If you can’t get enough of your
virtual commute, consider a
career change. Cycle couriers
and many postmen get paid to
ride. Failing that, add a virtual
commute at the end of your
working day as well.
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Remember to leave the bad
habits of other commuters at
home. These include: talking
loudly into mobile phones;
drinking overpriced lattes;
actively ignoring your travel
companions; smelling of
aftershave; wearing odd socks;
and pretending to complete
crosswords that are way beyond
your vocabulary.
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Why not buy a new bike for
your virtual commute? I’m sure
your partner would fully
understand and share with
enthusiasm your justification of
yet another pointless cyclingbased purchase.
10
Remember that all virtual
commutes should end in the
shower.. A virtual commuter
should never be detectable by
smell, only by the
sanctimonious smile.
the long way home
riders collective
MILK FLOATS
AND MORNING LIGHT
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senses. As I skulked through my
home town, I became aware of the
indigenous creatures that
populate the early morning. A
postman struggling with a full bag
of mail, a milk float blocking a
car-laden street, dustmen slinging
black sacks, and a spattering of
early morning dog walkers trying
to ignore the defecating canines
attached to them by leads.
Orange lamplight and mist had
repainted the streets and my
regular escape route from town
became suddenly unfamiliar.
Morning came and I rolled out of
bed, driven by the excitement of a
pending new adventure. Resplendent
in my lycra underwear I tiptoed
down the stairs and rendezvoused
with my breakfast apparatus. Swift
calculated movements saw breakfast
disappear, then my semi-nakedness,
followed by my contact lenses down
the back of a radiator…
I rapidly disintegrated into a
maelstrom of picking up, putting
down, clothing and unclothing. As I
zipped up my final layer
I caught a glance of my
I had an hour to
heart rate monitor strap.
do the 18 miles
I had half a mind to leave
it, but couldn’t face the
to Rob’s house.
small gap in my near
I flicked on the
perfect training log. Off
lights and headed
and on came the clothes
for the final time.
into the dark of
I left the house five
a winter morning.
minutes later than
The virtual
planned. I had an hour
commute was on.
to do the 18 miles to
Rob’s house. I flicked on
the lights and headed
into the dark of a winter morning.
Gradually I slipped from suburbia
The virtual commute was on.
and followed a steep hill under a
Cool fresh morning air rushed
railway bridge and into the dark.
through my lungs straight to my
Here I learned the first lesson of
the cycle commuter: my front light
was entirely inadequate.
A thin pool of light in front of me
failed to pick out the potholes and
lumps in the road. I veered from left
to right as hedgerows and corners
rushed at me, and I desperately
fought to keep control in the
dazzling flood of full beam lights
that streamed from approaching
cars, only dipping at the last
possible moment. I could not see
and nor, apparently, could I be seen.
Lesson one: attach decent lights.
COMMUTER RACING
A motorway roundabout
provided temporary
respite as I was stopped by
a traffic light and lit by a
street lamp. I glanced
down at my cycle
computer: seven miles in
30 minutes. I was slow this
morning, which surprised
me. The dark had altered
my perception of speed.
At 7.30am the motorway
was surprisingly busy. I
allowed myself a private
smile of sanctimony. The lights
changed and I rekindled my fight with
the headwind, on into another town.
There was no spectacular
riders collective
the long way home
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sunrise. Daylight snuck up on me.
Slowly the darkness around me
became grey. The groans of my
poorly serviced bike were
interspersed with bird song.
The bike and I creaked
towards our halfway
point. At last I reached a
queue of traffic stopped
at lights and mocked by
unattended roadworks. I
afforded each driver a
cheery smile and glided
to the front of the queue.
A short sprint, in which I
was probably the only
conscious participant,
saw me cross the
roadworks first to bag
the first prize of day.
A few miles further I reached the
midpoint of my ride. Rob had left on
the dot and I met him a few miles from
his house. I turned in the road and
took a deep suck on Rob’s rear wheel.
As is always the case with any rider I
meet up with, Rob was better
prepared than me. His bike sported a
set of powerful lights. It was well oiled
and looked clean. I spotted no holes in
his kit and he’d even had a shave. I
maintained the facade of some
friendly banter as I secretly willed
pieces to peel off his bike.
We retraced my route at what felt
like double the speed, driven by the
wind behind us and that unspoken
agreement that spurs two riders to
increase their pace faster than that of
I’d covered 32 miles and the clock
said 9:15. I had a complete day ahead
of me, without the interruption of a
lunchtime ride or evening turbo
training session. I felt tired, but a
motivated kind of tired. No,
I’ll be honest, I felt the
A short sprint,
fatigue of the sanctimonious.
in which I was
I was tired, but I’d earned the
right to be tired, and that
probably the
sort of tired felt good. I was
only conscious
ready for the day ahead. If
participant,
you understand that, then
you probably cyclesaw me cross
commute already.
the roadworks
My virtual commute may
first to bag the
seem entirely pointless. It
first prize of day doesn’t save a car journey and
I’d have ridden the miles at
lunchtime anyway. Yet after it
one. The traffic jams had become
I had one of the most productive day’s
more profound but were easily
work in a long while. And so I’ll
skirted by confident cyclists. All too
continue. Not every day, mind: 32
soon I was close to home and waving
miles is a fair distance and I’m sure
Rob ‘goodbye’ as he turned off
that a percentage of my motivation
towards his office.
was delivered by novelty. But I’m
definitely doing it at least once next
week, and maybe the week after. And
ready for work
It felt strange to turn the key in my
we’ll see about the week after that.
own front door at nine o’clock in the
morning. The house was quiet, devoid Cycle magazine is published by the Cyclists’
Touring Club, the UK’s national cyclists’ organiof children and smelling of breakfast. I sation. The CTC provides a comprehensive
changed, showered and then sat with a range of services and protection for its memcoffee to reflect upon my commute.
bers. To find out more, visit www.ctc.org.uk
riders collective
A SHOE FOR ALL SEASONS
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Cycling sandals keep
you comfortable in
whatever weather
Mother Nature’s
dishing out
a shoe for all seasons
riders collective
winter is when the
benefits of wearing sandals
really become important: No
matter how thick your socks,
or warm your booties, toes
inside shoes just can’t move
around like they do in a
sandal—and that means the
agony of frozen pinkies,
along with the other eight
toes. With sandals, you can
wear the thickest ski socks,
top things off with a
polarfleece-lined neoprene
booty, and still have the
freedom to wiggle around.
spring flowers mean
April showers as well. And
while not as painful as
frostbite, soggy socks and
waterlogged feet are pretty
uncomfortable. In the early
season, if the temperature is
too chilly for a foot bath,
lightweight Gore-Tex socks
will keep your feet perfectly
dry while your waterproof
sandals take the beating of
the raindrops. And when it’s
wet but mild, sandals give
the sheer delight of having
cool rain tickle your toes.
summer is the season
sandals were designed for,
and wearing cycling sandals
in the hot sun is pretty much
a no-brainer. There’s nothing
like riding with the wind
whistling between your
toes—and while in the rain,
summer temperatures mean
that, unlike in spring, you
don’t need to worry about
keeping your feet warm with
waterproof socks (though
on really sunny days a light
wicking sock is good for
keeping cool and burn-free).
autumn temperatures
are too cool to enjoy the
benefits of cycling barefoot,
and too warm to appreciate
the roominess you get in a
sandal when wearing winter
socks. But you’ll be glad
you’re wearing sandals the
first time it rains and your
feet stay warm and dry in a
pair of medium-weight socks
under waterproof Gore-Tex
ones. And when you come
in, the waterproof socks are
a lot easier to remove than
over-the-shoe rain booties.
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Photos ©Trevor Morris
a shoe for all seasons
keen
riders collective
Style: Commuter Cycling
Sandal
Suggested Retail: $115
SPD cleat compatible
Upper: Synthetic webbing.
In Sole: Hydrophobic mesh
Out Sole: Non-marking
rubber
Mid Sole: Breathable mesh.
Fastener: Two Velcro® straps.
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shimano
Style: SH-SD65
Suggested Retail: $80.00
SPD Compatible
Upper: Synthetic leather and
mesh upper
Sole: Rubber and EVA insole
with padded heel support
Fastener: Three Velcro straps
lake
Style: LXSDL
SPD Compatible
Upper: TeKtile™ synthetic
leather upper with a molded
heel provides.
Fastener:
Two Velcro® straps
nike
Style: Havasu Cycling Sandal
2 hole cleat compatible
Upper: Synthetic leather and
mesh uppers.
In Sole: Nylon 6,6 insole
plate.
Out Sole: Proprietary Nike
BRS 1000 rubber outsole.
Mid Sole: Contoured and
co-molded PU midsole/
insole.
Fastener: Two Velcro® straps.
one-track mind
by Marty Larson
riders collective
theprairiepeddler.blogspot.com/
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Rarely does it make sense
to say that a thing was
both the hardest, and yet
funnest thing you’ve done.
It takes a certain sort of
individual to put those two
phrases together in one
sentence. A tad demented.
A little bit off. A glutton for
punishment. This is a story
of being under-prepared.
And lucky. Really lucky.
one-track mind
ee, I signed up to do this
race early in the year,
when Tim and Joe first announced it. One hundred
spots filled up in a matter
of hours. I attribute this
to two things. One: It was
free. Really! Tim and Joe are strong
proponents of the grass roots, minimal support (Joe has completed the
Great Divide and also puts on the
Trans Wisconsin, both free events).
The other reason is it’s Chequamegon, the king of Midwest single
track. They were promising at least
80% single track content. That can’t
be bad, right? Back then, this event
made all the sense in the world.
I’m not really the most talented rider out there.
I’m a consistent midpack finisher
in nearly any race I do. Cyclocross
or Mountain bike. Always midpack.
Oh, I’ll have an occasional good race,
but overall I’m not
particularly fast. I
can ride pretty well
technically, but I
know folks that can ride my pants off
that way too!
So I registered for the Chequamegon 100. It was early in the year, and
of course I could train and be ready
for this, right?
Ha! Right.
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I made it down to Austin for a
week of riding and racing. That
would be a fantastic way to kick
off the training. That, and riding
the Pugs a bunch over the winter
months. Should be a good start,
right? Sure was.
Problem was, that start
wasn’t really followed up
with anything. Oh, I rode
my bike all right. Got
plenty of road miles in.
All in little spurts of 40
miles or less though. Oh,
wait! One ride did get
over 60 miles. And it was
a headwind the whole
way. That should prepare
me quite well.
Many of you who read
this also know that I own
and run a bike shop. This
certainly takes up a bit of time to run.
Then there’s the family commitments
So the fateful weekend arrives, I
find Jeff to graciously cover the store
for me, and I drive up Friday night to
Nater’s inlaw’s cabin near Spooner.
Get there at 11’ish after closing the
store and leaving town at 6:30. Wake
up at 4:15 to
get ready and
drive up for the
7am start time.
The start
went well
enough until
about 3 miles
in. Damned
Shimano chain
I had on the
bike (converted
to 1x9 for the
race. Not doing
something like
that on a SS.
I’ll leave that to the crazies) snapped
on me. Never broken a SRAM chain.
Never. Why I put the Shimano
on I don’t know. Thankfully
Andy came riding by and had
a SRAM link that got me going. From that point on, Andy, Nate
and I rode on. We also ran into a few
guys from Mpls that were comfortable with out pace too. I think we
had a group that changed from 5 to
10 depending on how strong riders were feeling.
back then, this event made
all the sense in the world
too. But this is about bike riding. In
the spring, everyone wants to get out
and ride, and its my job to make sure
folks are able to do that. Spring hits,
and here I am busy as all get out, repairing and selling bikes. Riding time
took a dive. So I rode when I could.
one-track mind
he first section of 10 or
so miles of
single track
was a private
network that
dumped us
onto the Birkie trail until
we were able to hook up
with the Makwa trail for
the next 30’ish miles. The
Makwa was an amazing
piece of single track. You
could frequently hear comments like “THIS is what
single track should be” as
we were hauling through
the woods. I mean really.
The trails there were just
fantastic.
After the Makwa system,
we were directed on
to some forest service
roads for about 10 miles.
Telemark Road and Rock
Lake Road are what you
would think would be
restful. Problem is that
hills on the roads were
actually HILLS. On trail,
the route is contoured,
so you’re never really
sure you’re climbing
that far. Much easier to
climb on trail vs. on the
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road. So that took a ton of
energy out of us. The road
section took us up to the
Namekegon single track
loop and the half way
point for the full hundo.
We took a nice 15 minute
break at the Namekegon
Town Hall. Ate a couple
peanutbutter/nutella/banana/crasin/honey roll ups
and deli sammies. Then
got going again. I tell ya, it
was hard moving after that
break. Took a bit for the
legs to get back in the motion of the ride.
The riding was all super
fantastic, but it was all
starting to look like this to
my brain:
HandleBra
www.handlebra.com
Durable so
the wrap has
lasting value
Can be custom
corded
“Yup, this Ellis is
wrapped
in Black HandleBra.”
—Dave Wages, Ellis
Cycles, best of show,
NAHBS 2010
Real leather—
feels fantastic!
Liquid repellent
Properly skived
edges so
wrap lies flat.
one-track mind
fter Telemark,
we got to ride
the Rock Lake
Loop. Very appropriately
named. Attached
to that is the Hildebrand Loop that for me,
was where my brain shut
down. I simply couldn’t
handle ANY more input.
This was mile 75 or so, of
which, the predominant
content was rather intense
single track.
It was here where I
stopped. Made the decision
to ride in on the road and
took this, on probably the
prettiest section of singletrack the whole day:
a
VIDEO
TUTORIALS
The road ride back in was
long, but I’m glad I did it.
I’m glad i
had the
presence of
mind to call
the ride
before i hurt
myself
Nate and I finished the loop
together for about 85 miles.
Something I’m very happy
with. I’m glad I had the
presence of mind to call the
ride before I hurt myself.
Or my bike. I’ll for sure be
back for next year.
Bicycle Aid
for Africa
www.re-cycle.org
Life awaits...
My
name is
Alex
Ramon.
The purpose of this
site is to help people
learn how to fix their
own bikes. While I
don’t work in a shop
anymore, I still have
all of my tools, so I
might as well share
what I know.
1-877-4RAG-TOP
It has been said that life is but
a journey. Are you enjoying yours?
Go get some “non-conditioned”
air into your lungs! Jog, walk, skip,
or ride a bike; just get out there!
riders collective
Recumbent bicycles are a great
way to enjoy the great outdoors,
while still being comfortable.
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To further improve that
comfort, we suggest a
99% UV proof Recumbent Ragtop.
recumbentragtops.net
Portraits from the Saddle
Robb Maciag and his partner, Ania, decided to take it easy cycling
through the Wakhan Corridor—the narrow land-link in
Northeast Afghanistan, connecting it with China. This
afforded them the time to stop
and take a good close look
at the people along the way.
riders collective
Posted on cyclingnomads.org
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portraits from the saddle
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“We met two boys taking care of
a huge herd of cows and sheep.
And they didn’t really have shoes so
we gave them some socks,
as we were wearing two pair.”
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“Too much work to do, but not
enough time and hands.”
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“You don’t need to speak any
language here to feel like
a guest and among friends.”
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“You are born somewhere
else...a lottery, nothing else.”
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“No chances to complain—
only to smile, shake
hands, and share food,
time, and good words.”
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ycle
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http://www
ten deadly sins
as long on a set of batteries as
old-style lights. And helmet- or
head-mounted lights are the
best, because then you can look
directly at the driver to make sure
they see your light.
one:
the right cross
This is the most common
ways to get hit (or almost get
hit). A car is pulling out of a
side street, parking lot, or
driveway on the right. Notice
that there are actually two
possible kinds of collisions
here: Either you’re in front of
the car and the car hits you,
or the car pulls out in front of
you and you slam into it.
riders collective
How to avoid this collision:
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1. Get a headlight. If you’re riding at night, you should absolutely use a front headlight. It’s required by law, anyway. Even for
daytime riding, a bright white
light that has a flashing mode
can make you more visible to motorists who might otherwise Right
Cross you. Look for the new LED
headlights which last ten times
2. Honk. Get a loud horn and
use it whenever you see a car
approaching (or waiting) ahead
of you and to the right. If you
don’t have a horn, then yell
“Hey!” You may feel awkward
honking or yelling, but it’s better
to be embarrassed than to get
hit. Incidentally, many countries
require bells on bicycles, but the
U.S. doesn’t.
3. Slow down. If you can’t
make eye contact with the driver (especially at night), slow
down so much that you’re able
to completely stop if you have
to. Sure, it’s inconvenient, but
it beats getting hit. Doing this
has saved my life on too many
occasions to count.
4. Ride further left. You’re
probably used to riding in the “A”
line in the picture, very close to
the curb, because you’re worried
about being hit from behind. But
take a look at the car. When that
driver is looking down the road
for traffic, he’s not looking in the
bike lane or the area closest to
the curb; he’s looking in the middle of the lane, for other cars. The
farther left you are (such as in
“B”), the more likely the driver will
see you. There’s an added bonus
here: if the motorist doesn’t see
you and starts pulling out, you
may be able to go even farther
left, or may be able to speed up
and get out of the way before impact, or easily roll onto their hood
as they slam on their brakes. In
short, it gives you some options.
Because if you stay all the way to
the right and they pull out, your
only “option” may be to run right
into the driver’s side door. Using
this method has saved me on
three occasions in which a motorist ran into me slowly as they
hit their brakes and I wasn’t hurt,
and in which I definitely would
have slammed into the driver’s
side door had I not moved left.
Of course, there’s a trade-off.
Riding to the far right makes you
invisible to the motorists ahead
of you at intersections, but riding to the left makes you more
vulnerable to the cars behind
you. Your actual lane position
may vary depending on how
wide the street is, how many
cars there are, how fast and how
close they pass you, and how
far you are from the next intersection. On fast roadways with
few cross streets, you’ll ride farther to the right, and on slow
roads with many cross streets,
you’ll ride farther left. See lane
position for more about this.
two:
the door prize
A driver opens
his door right
in front of you.
You run right
into it if you
can’t stop in
time. If you’re
lucky, the motorist will exit
the car before
you hit the door, so you’ll at
least have the pleasure of
smashing them too when you
crash, and their soft flesh will
cushion your impact. This kind
of crash is more common than
you might think, and in fact cyclists crashing into parked cars
is the #1 kind of car-bike collision in Santa Barbara. We’ve
compiled a list of cyclists killed
by running into open car doors.
Ride to the left. Ride far enough
to the left that you won’t run
into any door that’s
ten deadly sins
#2 (cont’d.) opened unexpectedly. You may be wary about
riding so far into the lane that
cars can’t pass you easily, but
you’re more likely to get doored
by a parked car if you ride too
close to it than you are to get
hit from behind by a car which
can clearly see you.
three: the
crosswalk slam
riders collective
You’re riding on the sidewalk
and cross the street at a crosswalk, and a car makes a right
turn, right into you. Drivers aren’t
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who have told us they were hit
this way, such as Ray John Ray.
One study showed that sidewalk-riding was twice as dangerous as road riding, and another study said it’s even more
dangerous than that.
expecting bikes in the crosswalk, and it’s hard for them to
see you because of the nature
of turning from one street to another, so it’s very easy for you to
get hit this way. In fact, this collision is so common we’ve lost
track of the number of people
1. Get a headlight. If you’re
riding at night, you should absolutely use a front headlight. It’s
required by law, anyway.
2. Slow down. Slow down
enough that you’re able to completely stop if necessary.
3. Don’t ride on the sidewalk
in the first place. Crossing
between sidewalks is a fairly
dangerous maneuver. If you do
it on the left-hand side of the
street, you risk getting slammed
as per the diagram. If you do it
on the right-hand side of the
street, you risk getting slammed
by a car behind you that’s turning right. Sidewalk riding also
makes you vulnerable to cars
pulling out of parking lots or
driveways. And you’re threatening to pedestrians on the
sidewalk, who could get hurt if
you hit them. These kinds of
accidents are hard to avoid,
which is a compelling reason to
not ride on the sidewalk in the
first place. In addition, riding
on the sidewalk is illegal in
some places.
Some special sidewalks are
safe to ride on. If the sidewalk
is really long (no need to frequently cross streets), and free
of driveways and pedestrians,
then there’s little risk to you and
others. Just make sure when
you do cross a street or driveway that you slow down considerably and that you check
the traffic in all directions, especially behind you if you’re riding with the flow of traffic.
four: the wrong
way wreck
You’re riding the wrong way
(against traffic, on the left-hand
side of the street). A car makes
a right turn from a side street,
driveway, or parking lot,
#4 (cont’d.) right into you. They
didn’t see you because they
were looking for traffic only on
their left, not on their right. They
had no reason to expect that
someone would be coming at
them from the wrong direction.
Even worse, you could be hit
by a car on the same road coming at you from straight ahead
of you. They had less time to
see you and take evasive action
because they’re approaching
you faster than normal (because
you’re going towards them rather than away from them). And if
they hit you, it’s going to be
much more forceful impact, for
the same reason. (Both your
and their velocities are combined.)
riders collective
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Don’t ride against traffic. Ride
with traffic, in the same direction.
Riding against traffic may seem
like a good idea because you can
see the cars that are passing you,
but it’s not. Here’s why:
l Cars which pull out of driveways, parking lots, and cross
streets (ahead of you and to the
left), which are making a right onto
your street, aren’t expecting traffic
to be coming at them from the
wrong way. They won’t see you,
and they’ll plow right into you.
How the heck are you going
to make a right turn?
l Cars will approach you at a
much higher relative speed. If
you’re going 15mph, then a car
passing you from behind doing
35 approaches you at a speed
of only 20 (35-15). But if you’re
on the wrong side of the road,
then the car approaches you at
50 (35+15), which is more than
twice as fast! Since they’re approaching you faster, both you
and the driver have lots less
time to react. And if a collision
does occur, it’s going to be ten
times worse.
l Riding the wrong way is illegal
and you can get ticketed for it.
l
One study showed that riding
the wrong way was three times
as dangerous as riding the right
way, and for kids, the risk is seven times greater.
Nearly one-fourth of crashes involve cyclists riding the wrong
way. Some readers have challenged this, saying if 25% of
crashes are from going the wrong
way, then riding the right way is
more dangerous because it accounts for 75% of crashes. That
thinking is wrong. First off, only
8% of cyclists ride the wrong
way, yet nearly 25% of them get
hit -- meaning wrong-way cyclists
really are three times more likely
to get hit than those who ride the
proper way. Second, the problem
with wrong-way biking is that it
promotes crashes, while rightway biking does not. For example,
cyclists running stop signs or red
lights is 17% of their crashes.
But do we therefore conclude
that not running signals causes
83% of crashes?! (Hint: No.)
buy a
box of
24!
www.drwillbar.com
five: red light
of death
You stop to the right of a car
that’s already waiting at a red
light or stop sign. They can’t see
you. When the light turns green,
you move forward, and then they
turn right, right into you. Even
small cars can do you in this way,
but this scenario is especially
dangerous when it’s a bus or a
semi that you’re stopping
Don’t let
cold hands
keep you
inside
anymore!
Curing the common cold
www.barmitts.com
#5 (cont’d.) next to. An Austin
cyclist was killed in 1994 when
he stopped to the right of a semi,
and then it turned right. He was
crushed under its wheels.
riders collective
Don’t stop in the blind spot.
Simply stop BEHIND a car, instead of to the right of it, as per
the diagram to the right. This
makes you very visible to traffic on
all sides. It’s impossible for the car
behind you to avoid seeing you
when you’re right in front of it.
Another option is to stop at either point A in the diagram on
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the previous page (where the
first driver can see you), or at
point B, behind the first car so it
can’t turn into you, and far
enough ahead of the second car
so that the second driver can
see you clearly. It does no good
to avoid stopping to the right of
the first car if you’re going to
make the mistake of stopping to
the right of the second car. EITHER car can do you in.
If you chose spot A, then ride
quickly to cross the street as soon
as the light turns green. Don’t look
at the motorist to see if they want
to go ahead and turn. If you’re in
spot A and they want to turn, then
you’re in their way. Why did you
take spot A if you weren’t eager to
cross the street when you could?
When the light turns green, just
go, and go quickly. (But make sure
cars aren’t running the red light on
the cross street, of course.)
If you chose spot B, then when
the light turns green, DON’T pass
the car in front of you -- stay behind it, because it might turn right
at any second. If it doesn’t make a
right turn right away, it may turn
right into a driveway or parking lot
unexpectedly at any point. Don’t
count on drivers to signal! They
don’t. Assume that a car can turn
right at any time. (NEVER pass a
car on the right!) But try to stay
ahead of the car behind you until
you’re through the intersection,
because otherwise they might try
to cut you off as they turn right.
While we’re not advocating
running red lights, notice it is in
fact safer to run the red light if
there’s no cross traffic, than it is
to wait legally at the red light directly to the right of a car, only to
have it make a right turn right
into you when the light turns
green. The moral here is not that
you should break the law, but
that you can easily get hurt even
if you follow the law.
By the way, be very careful
when passing stopped cars on
the right as you approach a red
light. You run the risk of getting
doored by a passenger exiting
the car on the right side, or hit
by a car that unexpectedly decides to pull into a parking space
on the right side of the street.
six:
the right hook
A car passes you and then tries
to make a right turn directly in
front of you, or right into you.
They think you’re not going very
fast just because you’re on a
#6 (cont’d.) bicycle, so it never
occurs to them that they can’t
pass you in time. Even if you have
to slam on your brakes to avoid
hitting them, they often won’t feel
they’ve done anything wrong.
This kind of collision is very hard
to avoid because you typically
don’t see it until the last second,
and because there’s nowhere for
you to go when it happens.
handlebar or helmet mirror, get
one now.) Be sure to look in your
mirror well before you get to the
intersection. When you’re actually going through an intersection, you’ll need to be paying
very close attention to what’s in
front of you.
riders collective
l Don’t
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ride on the sidewalk.
When you come off the sidewalk
to cross the street you’re invisible to motorists. You’re just begging to be hit if you do this. Keith
Vick was killed this way in Austin, TX in Dec. 2002.
l Ride to the left. Taking up
the whole lane makes it harder
for drivers to pass you to cut you
off or turn into you. Don’t feel
bad about taking the lane: if motorists didn’t threaten your life
by turning in front of or into you
or passing you too closely, then
you wouldn’t have to. If the lane
you’re in isn’t wide enough for
cars to pass you safely, then you
should be taking the whole lane
anyway. Lane position is discussed in more detail below.
l Glance in your mirror before approaching an intersection. (If you don’t have a
seven: the right
hook, part 2
You’re passing a slow-moving
car (or even another bike) on the
right, when it unexpectedly
makes a right turn right into you,
trying to get to a parking lot,
driveway or side street.
1. Don’t pass on the right.
This collision is very easy to
avoid. Just don’t pass any vehicle on the right. If a car ahead of
you is going only 10 mph, then
you slow down, too, behind it. It
will eventually start moving faster. If it doesn’t, pass on the left
when it’s safe to do so.
When passing cyclists on the
left, announce “on your left” before you start passing, so they
don’t suddenly move left into you.
(Of course, they’re much less
likely to suddenly move left without looking, where they could be
hit by traffic, then to suddenly
move right, into a destination.) If
they’re riding too far to the left for
you to pass safely on the left,
then announce “on your right”
before passing on the right.
If several cars are stopped at a
light, then you can try passing on
the right cautiously. Remember
that someone can fling open the
passenger door unexpectedly as
they exit the car. Also remember
that if you pass on the right and
traffic starts moving again unexpectedly, you may suffer #3, the
Red Light of Death.
Note that when you’re tailing a
slow-moving vehicle, ride behind
it, not in its blind spot immediately to the right of it. Even if
you’re not passing a car on the
right, you could still run into it if
it turns right while you’re right
next to it. Give yourself enough
room to brake if it turns.
2. Look behind you before
turning right. Here’s your op-
portunity to avoid hitting cyclists
who violate tip #1 above and try
to pass you on the right. Look
behind you before making a
right-hand turn to make sure a
bike isn’t trying to pass you.
(Also remember that they could
be coming up from behind you
on the sidewalk while you’re on
the street.) Even if it’s the other
cyclist’s fault for trying to pass
you on the right when you make
a right turn and have them slam
into you, it won’t hurt any less
when they hit you.
eight:
the left cross
A car coming towards you makes
a left turn right in front of you, or
right into you. This is similar to
#1, above. Austin cyclists hit this
way include Dr. Lee Chilton, John
Howell (former president of the
Austin Cycling Association),
#8 (cont’d.) and
borne.
Janne
Os-
much that you’re able to completely stop if you have to. Sure,
it’s inconvenient, but it beats
getting hit.
1. Don’t ride on the sidewalk.
When you come off the sidewalk
to cross the street, you’re invisible to turning motorists.
2. Get a headlight. If you’re
riding at night, you should absolutely use a front headlight. It’s
required by law in most countries, anyway.
riders collective
3. Wear something bright,
even during the day. It may
seem silly, but bikes are small
and easy to see through even
during the day. Yellow or orange
reflective vests really make a big
difference. Reflective leg bands
are also easy and inexpensive.
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4. Don’t pass on the right.
Don’t overtake slow-moving vehicles on the right. Doing so
makes you invisible to left-turning motorists at intersections.
Passing on the right means that
the vehicle you’re passing could
also make a right turn right into
you, too.
5. Slow down. If you can’t make
eye contact with the driver (especially at night), slow down so
clists tend to move left when
they look behind them, which of
course can be disastrous.
2. Don’t swerve in and out
of the parking lane if it contains any parked cars. You
might be tempted to ride in the
parking lane where there are no
parked cars, dipping back into
the traffic lane when you encounter a parked car. This puts
you at risk for getting nailed from
behind. Instead, ride a steady,
straight line in the traffic lane.
4. Signal. Never move left without signaling. Just put your left
arm straight out. Be sure to
check your mirror or loo behind
you before signaling (since a car
passing too closely can take
your arm out).
ten: the rear
end, part 2
A car runs into you from behind.
This is what many cyclists fear the
nine:
the rear end
You innocently move a little to
the left to go around a parked
car or some other obstruction in
the road, and you get nailed by a
car coming up from behind.
1. Never, ever move left without looking behind you first.
Some motorists like to pass cyclists within mere inches, so
moving even a tiny bit to the left
unexpectedly could put you in
the path of a car. Practice holding a straight line while looking
over your shoulder until you can
do it perfectly. Most new cy-
3. Use a mirror. If you don’t
have one, get one from a bike
shop or an online shop right
now. There are models that fit
on your handlebars, helmet, or
glasses, as you prefer. You
should always physically look
back over your shoulder before
moving left, but having a mirror
still helps you monitor traffic
without constantly having to
look behind you.
most, but it’s actually not very
common, comprising only 3.8%
of collisions. However, it’s one of
the hardest collisions to avoid,
since you’re not usually looking
behind you. The risk is likely greater at night, and in rides outside
the city where traffic is faster and
lighting is worse. The three cyclists killed when hit from behind
in Austin in 96-97 were all riding
at night, and at least two of them
didn’t have lights on their
#10 (cont’d.) bikes. The best
way to avoid getting Rear-Ended
is to ride on very wide roads or in
bike lanes, or on roads where the
traffic moves slowly, and to use
lights when biking at night.
riders collective
1. Get a rear light. If you’re riding at night, you absolutely should
use a flashing red rear light. Bruce
Mackey (formerly of Florida, now
head of bike safety in Nevada)
says that 60% of bike collisions in
Florida are caused by cyclists riding at night without lights. In 1999,
39% of deaths on bicycles nationwide occurred between 6
p.m. and midnight. [USA Today,
10-22-01, attributed to the Insurance Institute for highway safety]
Bike shops have red rear blinkies for $15 or less. These kind of
lights typically take two AA batteries, which last for months
(something like 200 hours). I
can’t stress this item enough: If
you ride at night, get a rear light!
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2. Wear a reflective vest or a
safety triangle. High quality reflective gear makes you a lot more
visible even in the day time, not
just at night. I had a friend ride
away from me while wearing one
during the day, and when she was
about a quarter mile away, I
couldn’t see her or her bike at all,
but the vest was clearly visible. At
night the difference is even greater. Bike shops have vests and triangles for $10 to $15. Also, when
you hear a motorist approaching,
straightening up into a vertical position will make your reflective
gear more noticeable.
3. Choose wide streets. Ride
on streets whose outside lane is
so wide that it can easily fit a car
and a bike side by side. That
way a car may zoom by you and
avoid hitting you, even if they
didn’t see you!
4. Choose slow streets. The
slower a car is going, the more
time the driver has to see you. I
navigate the city by going
through neighborhoods. Learn
how to do this.
5. Use back streets on weekends. The risk of riding on Friday or Saturday night is much
greater than riding on other
nights because all the drunks
are out driving around. If you do
ride on a weekend night, make
sure to take neighborhood
streets rather than arterials.
6. Get a mirror. Get a mirror and
use it. If it looks like a car doesn’t
see you, hop off your bike and onto
the sidewalk. Mirrors cost $5-15.
Trust me, once you’ve ridden a mirror for a while, you’ll wonder how
you got along without it. My paranoia went down 80% after I got a
mirror. If you’re not convinced, after
you’ve used your mirror for a month,
take it off your bike and ride around
and notice how you keep glancing
down to where your mirror was,
and notice how unsafe you feel
without it.
7. Don’t hug the curb. This is
counter-intuitive, but give yourself a little space between yourself and the curb. That gives you
some room to move into in case
you see a large vehicle in your
mirror approaching without moving over far enough to avoid you.
Also, when you hug the curb
tightly you’re more likely to suffer a right cross from motorists
who can’t see you.
CO-RIDER.com
MID/FRONT-MOUNTED
CHILD’S SEATS
Remembering Fignon*
riders collective
No one who watched will
ever forget the
final seconds of
the ’89 Tour.
For the rest,
this story’s the
next best thing.
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by Tom Haig
F
*
rom the beginning of June I stopped buying
the English-language Herald Tribune and only
bought L’Equipe, the French sports daily. The
Tour of France was just around the corner, and I
wanted to be up on it. Andy Hampsten had held on
to the fourth place he captured in Grenoble, and I
hoped he would make a run at the title. I’d hate to
not know what was going on if an American had a
shot at winning it.
The week before the race started, newspaper
racks began filling up with Tour de France previews.
I bought a few of them and was surprised to learn
that Hampsten wasn’t even considered a favorite. Even though he’d had a brilliant tour the year
before, he was considered a pure climber and not
someone who competed in the contra la montre or
“race against the clock” stages where the riders do a
shorter course one at a time.
The big favorites remained the reigning champion Pedro Delgado of Spain and two-time winner
Laurent Fignon of France. Fignon had had a series
of setbacks since winning back-to-back titles at the
ages of 23 and 24. He’d won the Tour of Italy, however, and appeared to be in great form. Also listed were the great Dutch climbing duo of Stephen
Rooks and the needle-thin Gert Jan Theunisse.
Each magazine would list their potential top twenty as well as their favorites to take the sprint title
and the King of the Mountains title.
The one name that was left out of every publication
was that of the 1986 Champion, the American
Laurent Fignon, the Frenchman who won the
Tour de France in 1983 and 1984, and lost to Greg
LeMond in 1989 in the race’s closest finish, died on
August 31st of cancer. He was 50 years old.
remembering fignon
Greg Lemond. Lemond had been shot
by his brother-in-law in a hunting accident the year after he’d won the race.
Since then he’d bounced from team to
team, never getting a result with any of
them. Two days before the race, Samuel Abt, the only American reporter who
ever got a cycling column printed in the
Herald Tribune, wrote a small piece on
the trials and tribulations of Lemond.
Three years after becoming the world’s
greatest cyclist, Lemond was struggling with a second tier
Belgian Team, ADR.
riders collective
T
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won the opening stage, but the big surprise was that Delgado was nowhere
to be seen when the starter called his
number. His trainer had gotten the
start times mixed up, and the great Pedro was still warming up on a stationary bike when his time started ticking
off. Finally a fan screamed at him to get
on the course but by that time he was
almost three minutes late. The yellow
jersey from ‘88 was starting the ‘89
Tour in dead last place.
Hampsten was way
back in the pack, but
Jackie assured me that he
would make up all that
time in the mountains. I
didn’t even think to look
for Lemond. The next day
two stages took place, a
150 km circuit as well as
a 50 km team time trial. In
the team time trials, each
team takes off three minutes apart and rides over
the course at breakneck
speed with each teammate taking a turn at the
front of the line. They pull for all their
worth until the pace slows and another
teammate comes to the front and pulls
the train. Even a good rider can lose a
ton of time if his team rides poorly.
Hampsten’s 7-11 team finished in
the middle of the pack, but Fignon’s
Super U Team won the stage, and Delgado’s Reynolds team was right behind. I’d been reading all the cycling
articles since April, but at that point I
couldn’t even remember which team
Greg Lemond rode for.
The first couple of days went by
with virtually no change in the standings. The opening stages are long flat
Three years
after becoming
the world’s
greatest
cyclist,
Lemond was
struggling with
a second tier
Belgian Team,
ADR.
he only name rider
on the team was the
great Belgian sprinter, Eddy Plankaert—not
someone who could help
him climb the monstrous
passes of the Pyrenees
and the Alps.
Jackie had been a competitive cyclist in his
younger days and was a
Tour de France fanatic.
From the day the race
started until the finish in Paris, Jackie
sat in the ticket booth of the haunted
house and watched every second on a
small color TV. The day before the tour
started, I slid in behind Jeanine and
watched one of the big pre-tour hype
shows. Jeanine rigged up the booth so
that all three of us could watch. She
might as well have loaded up a syringe and shot me full of heroin. I was
hooked after the first ten minutes.
I always had difficulty understanding
French television, but after reading all
the cycling articles I knew enough vocabulary to understand the bike commentators. Dutchman Erik Breukink
races in which the pack, or peloton,
stays grouped together. There are usually some breakaways, but the peloton
travels much faster than individual or
small groups and tend to pick up the
breakaways, leading to dramatic mass
sprints. If a rider finishes in the group
he is credited with the same overall
time as the winner. That insures the
safe arrival of most of the peloton—except for the fierce sprint battle for the
prestigious stage wins. The riders in
contention for the overall lead are happy just to
make it through the first
week without ending up
in one of the Tour’s infamous pileups.
O
n the fifth day of
the Tour came the
first contra la montre, a 78-kilometer (48
mile) individual time trial
from Dinard to Rennes.
The riders take off individually in reverse order
of their overall time. The
papers expected Delgado to rise up the
standings but were mostly looking for
Fignon to regain the Yellow Jersey for
the first time since his ‘84 victory. But
by the end of the day the cycling world
was turned upside down and the sport
had changed forever. A former champion was wearing the Yellow Jersey
but it wasn’t Laurent Fignon. It was the
American Greg Lemond.
Lemond had mounted a set of Scott
triathlon handlebars on his hightech Bottecchia frame and the tight
aerodynamic body position allowed
him to cut through the air and knock
seconds off each kilometer. Lem-
ond hadn’t even given an interview
before that stage, but now the press
mobbed him. He took the bouquet
on the podium then stepped up again
to put on the Yellow Jersey that had
been stolen from him by 38 pieces of
buckshot. It was an incredible story,
but the journalists of L’Equipe called
it a fluke. Fignon had been hit by a
horrible rainstorm in the middle of
his ride, and Delgado, who started at
the beginning of the day, didn’t have
any competitive times to
pace himself by. Lemond
had lucked out, L’Equipe
wrote, and would surely
be dropped in the first
climbs of the Pyrenees.
Jackie had to agree
with the journalists, but
he assured me that winning a contra la montre
was no small feat. The
CLM’s are the show of
who is the strongest
rider, and rarely does a
Tour winner go through
the race without winning one of them.
“This is a great sign for Fignon,” he
said. “With Delgado so far behind, the
race is his.”
That was also the overwhelming response of the crowd at the Platanes. A
group of Portuguese men always sat in
the back of the bar playing cards, but
when someone talked football or Formula One, heated debates arose. I’d
never heard them talk about cycling
before, but with the Tour in full swing
the talk of the Cafe des Platanes turned
to the Tour de France.
“The Tour is a long race,” my friend
Joao told me, “but this year
remembering fignon
it’s Fignon’s. And that’s good for the
sport too. It’s good to have a French
guy win the Tour de France.” I didn’t
know enough about the sport to challenge them. Apparently they didn’t
know enough about Greg Lemond.
Nobody did.
riders collective
S
’
’ ’
’
’
ure enough when the race got to
the Pyrenees, Lemond had very
little team support, and Fignon’s
Super U team lead the charge up the
prickly hot climbs. Lemond was able to hang
with Fignon for most of
the climbs but on the
final ascents, he gave
ground. With two weeks
gone and the race heading into the Alps, Laurent
Fignon was in Yellow.
The first stage in the
Alps was a contra la
montre heading straight
up to the ski lifts in the
town of Gap, just a hundred kilometers from
Les Avenières. So far Fignon had proved the superior climber, and Lemond, still in second place,
was dismissed as burned out and
hoping to stay in the top ten. We had
to do three shows that day, and I was
sprinting back and forth between the
ticket booth and the show site to see
what was going on. I did the high dive
for the second show, but instead of
running backstage with the team I
jumped the show fence in my Speedo
and ran back to the ticket booth to
see who was setting the pace. Lemond and Fignon were the last two riders out of the gate and by the end of
the day Lemond had again turned the
cycling world on its saddle by pulling
ahead of Fignon and taking over the
Yellow Jersey.
“That’s very interesting,” Jackie said,
“If he’s still this strong this late in the
race, he’s no pretender. These last couple of days are going to be a dog fight.”
We looked at the remaining stages of
the Tour and just ahead was the legendary climb to Alpe D’Huez. Devin
from the Casa was coming into town,
and I’d already called my day off. We
were going to drive up to
the top of Alpe D’Huez to
catch cycling’s equivalent
of the Super Bowl. And
we had an American in
the Yellow Jersey.
After the last show, I
picked up Devin and met
his girlfriend and future
wife, Sharon, in La Tour
du Pin. It was great to see
Devin on the road again
(he had showed up to
take pictures in Berlin),
and Sharon seemed like
she was in the mood to do
anything. Sharon had never seen the
Alps before, and she was content to
gaze at the cliffs and peaks while Devin
and I caught up on what was going on
back in Cheeseland. They didn’t care
about the race, but they could tell that
I was consumed by it. A friend of mine
from Champaign, Don Hannigan, was
also passing through and was pretty
psyched for the trip.
The next day the three of them
watched a day’s worth of diving shows,
then we piled into the Polski and headed for Bourg d’Oisans just a few kilometers past Grenoble. The sun set while
we had dinner at a small café, then we
Lemond,
still in
second
place, was
dismissed
as burned
out
and hoping
to stay in the
top ten.
loaded back into the Polski and began
the 23-switchback climb to the top of
Alpe D’Huez. Alpe D’Huez isn’t the longest or the highest climb in the Tour,
but it is the steepest and most difficult. Ten-minute leads have been cut to
shreds in a matter of a few kilometers.
Some of the Tour’s climbs flatten out at
least a little along the route, but Alpe
D’Huez is 18 kilometers (11 miles) of
pure hell. We were getting dizzy looking over the side of the mountain along
the drive. Climbing it on a
bike with the world’s fittest athletes on your tail
would be insane.
T
he sides of the
road were packed
with Dutch cycling fans wanting a
stage win from Gert Jan
Theunisse, the current
holder of the red and
white polka dot King
of the Mountain jersey.
There were so many
Dutch cars along the
road that the French Gendarmes
actually hired a platoon of Dutch
police. L’Equipe had estimated that
more than 400,000 spectators would
line the course with most of them
saturating the final few kilometers
of Alpe D’Huez. The fans that made
it up early had spray-painted the
names of their favorites in big white
letters across the road. For every
‘Lemond’ sign we drove over there
were 50 ‘Fignons’. We were on their
turf, and the Frenchies were letting
it be known. When we got to the top
we found a grass parking lot and set
up our tents. The city of Alpe D’Huez
was packed to the brim but surprisingly quiet. That wouldn’t last long.
We woke up to a glorious blue sky
supported by dozens of sharp-ridged,
snow-covered Alpine peaks. Below the
summits were layers of Alpine meadow in full bloom that lined the mountain streams all the way down to our
tents. The day’s course was 100 miles
covering two 2,000-meter (more than
6000 ft.) passes before finishing with
the climb to Alpe D’Huez, the most grueling leg in the sport of cycling. As the loudspeakers
in town announced the
start of the race the temperature was just hitting
70 degrees. In less than
an hour the thermometer was pushing 85. That
meant that in the valleys
between the climbs the
riders would be looking
at temperatures in the
mid 90’s.
I’d been riding every
day and thought I was in
decent shape, but after
watching a dozen or so gray-haired
tourists climb to the summit of Alpe
D’Huez I realized I wasn’t even in the
game. I’d done a couple of smaller
climbs around Les Avenières, but I
hadn’t even thought of the major climbs
I could see from the high dive ladder. I
considered myself a fairly avid cyclist,
but now I could see I hadn’t even started. I was feeling light-headed from the
altitude, and people twice my age were
topping off a 2,000- meter climb. I never felt so inadequate in all my life.
The four of us ate lunch, then found
a stream and doused ourselves with
freezing cold water before
remembering fignon
walking back to town and finding our
spot along the road. The finish line
was completely packed, so we took a
spot at the very top of the hill where
the riders would crest before making their final sprint. The overhead
speakers were loud and tinny and
difficult to understand, but I could
make out that Theunisse had broken
away and had a three-minute lead
entering Bourg d’Oaisan. The pack
had completely broken up, and the
lead group consisted of
Fignon, Delgado, Lemond and the Columbian
climber, Alberto Rincon.
The superstars had left
even the great climbers
Hampsten and Rooks far
down the mountain.
Before the riders
passed through town,
the Tour’s publicity caravan arrived throwing out
water bottles, cassette
tapes, hats and anything
else a sponsor might be
selling. After the caravan
came an army of support vehicles carrying hundreds of extra wheels and
bikes. Finally the television helicopters
rose out of the valley, and we knew the
riders were only minutes away. There
was so much noise that nobody could
understand the loudspeakers.
The Dutch fans, all dressed in red and
white polka dot shirts, were tensely
awaiting their hero, Theunisse, while
the French were dying to see Fignon
take some time off Lemond’s lead.
There was also a cadre of Spaniards
hoping for Delgado to avenge his opening error with a great stage win. The
American contingent consisted of ...
well... the four of us. Not only did Lemond not have a team, he didn’t even
have a fan base to back him up. We
didn’t meet any other Americans all
day. Our countryman was winning the
world’s toughest endurance challenge
and nobody in America even knew.
A
s leaders approached, the roar
was deafening. The crowd
squeezed so tightly into the
road that there was barely enough
room for the TV motorcycles to pass through. We
saw the army of Dutch
fans go wild on the switch
back just below us, so we
knew that Theunisse had
kept his lead. A few seconds later he blew by us
looking like he was on a
morning stroll.
Now it was time for
Lemond to pull over the
top. We were screaming
our lungs out as we saw
the crowd make way for
the second group. But
when they came up to us we saw only
the pony-tailed Fignon and the handsome Spaniard Pedro Delgado. No Lemond in sight.
A minute passed and the crowd
began to cheer another rider. This
time it was Delgado’s teammate, the
tiny Columbian Rincon. A minute after that an exhausted Greg Lemond
powered up the hill and dug for all
he was worth. He looked tired and
dehydrated, but he was digging up
the switchback trying to recapture
all the precious seconds he’d lost.
We found out later that he’d missed
his food bag at the feeding station
riders collective
The Tour
was over.
Lemond’s
valiant
comeback
from the
hunting
accident was
falling one
step short.
’
’ ’
’
’
and had been running on empty ever
since the bottom of the climb. He
was driving hard for the finish, but
on this day it wasn’t enough. At the
end of the day, with only one day of
climbing and a short contra la montre in Paris, Greg Lemond was 33
seconds behind Laurent Fignon.
We’d had a brilliant day on the
mountain, but as we sat in the threehour traffic jam on the way back to
Grenoble we all had the look of defeat
on us. We were tired and
sunburned, but seeing
a Yellow Jersey on Lemond at the end of the day
would have soothed everything. I wasn’t looking forward to the trash
talking at the Platanes
the next day.
The four of us spent
the night at Jean Pierre’s
new house in Virieu high
above the Bourbe River
valley, just a few kilometers from Grenoble. In
the morning I dropped
Don, Devin and Sharon off at La Tour
du Pin and drove the Polski back to
Buvin to pick up the divers. When I
saw Jackie at the ticket booth he was
happy with the result, but he said it
was far from over. “Thirty-three seconds isn’t much,” he said. “The way
Lemond’s been racing against the
clock he could still do it.”
That day we watched the last
mountain stage that ended at Villard
de Lans—the same place where Ted
and I had watched Delgado take the
tour lead the year before. Theunisse
was cooked from his incredible climb
to Alpe D’Huez, leaving Lemond, Fi-
gnon, and Delgado once again on the
final climb. A few kilometers from
the top, Fignon, now in Yellow, took
off from the front of the pack catching Delgado and Lemond by surprise.
Lemond urged Delgado to join him on
the counter attack but Delgado was
cooked. Pedro had raced himself from
last place back to a spot on the podium in Paris, but the Yellow Jersey was
out of his reach. Lemond had to get
Fignon himself. He made an impressive charge but Fignon
held off. The 33 seconds
that would be difficult to
make up in Paris had now
turned into an all-but impossible 50 seconds. The
Tour was over. Lemond’s
valiant comeback from
the hunting accident was
falling one step short.
Laurent Fignon had sewn
up his third Tour de
France title.
“C’est fini!” Jackie said.
“Lemond was incredible,
but you can’t be gone
from racing for two years and hope to
win the Tour de France. Other races,
maybe, but not this one. It’s just too
damn demanding.”
I
did my last show then rode disconsolately back to the Platanes.
The Portuguese were trash talking
and reassuring me that I didn’t know
shit about the sport. The kinder of the
bunch told me that nobody had ever
ridden from out of nowhere like Lemond. He had no reason to hang his head.
Second place in the Tour de France isn’t
a bad feat by anyone’s standard.
Stage 19 finished in Aix Les
remembering fignon
Baines, just past the first Alpine ridge
from Les Avenières. Right before I had
to leave the ticket booth for the last
show, I saw Lemond break away from a
pack of favorites and outsprint Fignon
for his second stage win of the Tour.
He was happy with the win, but when
a French reporter asked him if it made
up for losing the Tour he got pissed.
“I’ve still got two days to race!” he said.
riders collective
T
’
’ ’
’
’
he riders started Stage 20, the
last mass start of
the Tour, in Aix Les
Baines, and then followed
the Rhone toward Lyon.
We pushed our 1:00 show
back so we could drive out
to the river and watch the
riders go by. They passed
along a tiny road just below the Ranch Marin in
Buvin, but they were riding very slowly and maintaining the peloton. It was
a day for the sprinters as
the race stayed grouped
up all the way to the finish in L’isle d’Abeau. Only the final day in
Paris remained.
It was a Saturday night in Les
Avenières, and I went into the Platanes
with a bit more attitude than usual.
After a pile of drinks the trash talking
started up again, and I was talking with
my beer voice. “Fifty seconds isn’t shit,”
I said. “It’s a 26-click (16 mile) race—
I’ll take on anyone in this bar right now.
We’ll go 26 clicks and I guarantee I’ll
beat you by more than fifty seconds!”
Gerard told me that if I tried to ride
26 kilometers after what I drank I’d end
up fifty seconds from death. “Look,” I
said. “If Fignon wins tomorrow I’ll buy
you all a drink. If Lemond wins tomorrow, I drink next week for free.” There
were about ten people around and
they all eagerly took the bet. I got on
my bike and stubbornly swerved the
three clicks back to Buvin.
I woke up with a cement block for
a forehead and barely made it to the
park in time for show call. I launched
off a half-loopy gainer double high
dive at the end of the first show so
I could get it out of the way. I didn’t
want to think of anything
else the rest of the day
but the damn race. Normally the finale of the
Tour de France is a mass
start race ending in ten
laps around the Champs
Elysees, the most prestigious sprint in the sport
of cycling.
This final stage, however, was a rarity. The
Tour de France changes
its route every year, and
in 1989, for the first time
in over 20 years, the finish of the Tour would be a contra la
montre finishing at the base of the Arc
de Triumph. The watch races are usually 50 to 75 kilometers long, but this
one, at 26 kilometers, would be one of
the shortest in Tour history. Luckily
Jackie had picked up L’Equipe because
I was running too late to stop off at
the Maison de la Press to buy my copy.
The headline read “Fignon, King of the
Sun,” the title the paper traditionally
throws on the champ. According to
the journalists this thing was over.
The first few riders had already finished and Thierry Marie, a Frenchman
known for short time trials, held the
Lemond
was already
on the
course,
tucked away
on his
brand new
aerodynamic
triathlon
handlebars.
day’s fastest time. But being more than
two hours behind Lemond and Fignon
in the standings, he was no threat for
the overall title. The announcers were
going over the perfectly flat course
and explaining how it would be impossible for Fignon, an excellent time
trialer in his own right, to lose such a
huge gap in such a short time. Based
on Marie’s time, Lemond would have
to ride the fastest time-trial in the history of cycling to make up the 50-second gap. Either that or
Fignon, an ice cold competitor who looked so
strong the last few days
of the tour, would have
to collapse on the most
important day of his life.
It would probably take a
combination of the two
and neither was remotely likely to happen.
B
ack at Walibi, we
did our second
show in front of a
packed summer crowd
of 2,500 people. Before drying off, Jen
and I hurried back to the ticket booth
to watch Lemond’s ride. In college I
would have died to have 2,500 people
gasp over a couple of big dives, but after witnessing the challenges that the
Tour riders face, I just wanted to be a
sports fan.
When we got to the ticket booth and
found our seats in front of the 10-inch
screen, Lemond was already on the
course, tucked away on his brand new
aerodynamic triathlon handlebars.
Even though he’d won the first time
trial using them, none of the riders
followed his lead because of the extra
weight they added to the bike. Lemond’s head was pressed against his
outstretched arms, and he was breathing to the side as if he were swimming
the crawl. The camera kept pointing to
the massive 57-cog gear he was pulling
with the ease of a finely tuned motorcycle engine. As he passed the intermediate time he was a good 30 seconds
ahead of Marie’s mark.
Fignon jumped on the course three
minutes after Lemond without even
wearing an aerodynamic
helmet. His long blond
hair was tightly tied leaving his thin ponytail dangling behind. As Lemond
blew across the pavement
his body was motionless,
aside from his piston-like
thighs. Fignon was restless, often standing in his
cleats trying to crank up
extra speed. At the last
check point Lemond had
obliterated Marie’s time
and was firing down the
Rive Gauche, closing in on
the Arc de Triumph with each powerful stroke. He took the last few turns
through La Place de la Concorde without breaking stride leaning hard into
the pavement. He righted his bike and
took only a few more breaths before
blasting past the finishing panels faster
than anyone in the history of the sport.
200 meters, 150 meters, 100 meters,
50 meters, finally he flew past the Fiat
finish sign painted across the Champs
Elysees.
When Lemond’s final time stopped
on the television Jen and I pounded
our fists. He had done his half of the
bargain. He had just ridden a
remembering fignon
’
’ ’
’
’
A
fter the show I ran back to the
ticket booth and asked Jackie if I could have his copy of
L’Equipe. “It won’t do me any good,”
he said. I tucked it into the belt holding my hip sack, mounted my Peugeot
and sprinted up the hill towards Les
Avenières. Just before I hit the Platanes I pulled the paper out and rode
by the cafe with the giant proclamation of Fignon’s victory right in their
face. I wasn’t alive for “Dewey Defeats
Truman,” but this was much sweeter.
I pulled up a seat at the bar and hoisted my first glass. “To Greg Lemond, the
greatest athlete in the world!” I said.
“Victory party in Buvin tonight!”
One of the Portuguese sports addicts
at the bar filled my glass and raised
his for another toast. “To the Tour de
France!” he said, “The greatest sporting event in the world!”
Jackie and Jeanine took Jen and me
out for a victory dinner, and Gerard
brought a case of Champagne from
the Platanes to the house in Buvin.
We toasted Lemond deep into the
night, and I passed out
using the newspaper for
a blanket. When I woke
the next morning, I slowly lifted my head and
the first thing I saw was
the newspaper from the
morning before. I reread
the articles announcing
the sure victory of the
great French champion,
Fignon. I felt like shit, but
by afternoon my hangover was gone. Laurent
Fignon’s would last a
lifetime.
’
’
“Forty-Six!
Forty-Seven!
It’s Over!”
I screamed,
“Forty-Nine!
FIFTY!!
He DID IT!!!
HE DID IT!!
HE FUCKING
DID IT!!!”
two together. Either they’d seen our
show and knew we were Americans or
they heard the accent and had to figure
out what we meant. Undoubtedly after
we passed they would take a second to
think about it then throw their hands
up in the air and say, “C’est pas vrai!”
(This can’t be true!)
At that point in the season we were
in such a groove that every show
seemed the same. But the show after
Lemond’s victory was a memorable
one. I grabbed the mic
before the show started
and announced the race
results to the groan of the
overflow French crowd.
Every time I had the
chance I took the microphone out of Philippe’s
hand and again shouted,
“On a gagne!” I’d always
taken pride in not being
the loud ugly American,
but when your countryman wins the Tour de
France it’s time to stand
up and be counted.
’
riders collective
N
ow it was Fignon’s turn to
answer. He was well behind
Lemond’s time, but surely he
couldn’t lose his 50 second overall advantage.
He’d won several time
trial stages over the
course of his first two
Tour de France victories, and he had to be in
better form than those
years. All eyes were
on him as he struggled
to stay in his seat and
maintain position. He
stood again and again,
trying to pick up the
tempo, but all it did was
push wind against his
chest. His bike started to rock, and
as he cruised around La Place de la
Concorde he stopped his pedaling
to maintain his balance. Now he was
blasting down the Champs Elysees,
with Lemond’s time parked in the
lower left corner of our small TV. By
this time a crowd of thirty people had
gathered around the haunted house,
and Jackie and Jeanine had turned
the TV out so everyone could see.
Fignon had long since passed Lemond’s time but he still carried that
50 second overall lead going into this
final stage. As his clock continued to
move against Lemond’s frozen figure,
I started screaming out the difference
to the crowd. If the difference grew to
more than 50 seconds, Lemond would
have pulled off the impossible.
“Thirty seconds!” I yelled. The formerly confident French faces now
turned quiet and stared at the TV. Fignon was visibly suffering, throwing
every fiber of his thighs into each pedal
stroke.
“Forty seconds!” Jackie stiffened up
and pounded his fist on the counter.
“Forty-Five seconds,” I
yelled. “He’s gonna do it!”
The Frenchmen looked at
the TV—Fignon had just
passed the 150-meter
marker.
“Forty-Six! Forty-Seven!
It’s Over!” I screamed, “
Forty-Nine! FIFTY!! He
DID IT!!! HE DID IT!! HE
FUCKING DID IT!!!”
Jen and I hugged each
other as the crowd of
Frenchman threw their
hands up in the air in disgust. Lemond was hugging
his wife and son on the Champs while
Fignon collapsed in a pile on the finish
line. He’d won the 23-day 3,300-kilometer (2,050 mile) bike race by eight
seconds—by far the closest margin in
Tour de France history. Jackie, always
calm, simply nodded his head and said,
“Chapeau les Americans—C’est encore
le votre.” (Hats off, Americans—it’s
yours again.)
Jen and I jumped out from behind
the ticket booth and danced around
the park singing, “On a gagne!” (We
won!) in our worst American accents.
The Frenchies didn’t get what we were
going off about until they put two and
’ ’
stage of the Tour de France at over
54 kilometers an hour (33.5 mph),
shattering the existing record. Thierry Marie, who up to that point was
considered the best short time-trialist
on the globe, was over a minute and a
half behind. That in itself was a Ruthian achievement.
Tom Haig is a former circus performer,
business writer, and web programmer.
He has traveled to more than 50 countries and to all 50 states. In addition to
several articles based on his experiences, he has written a book, The Bridge
To Venice, from which this account of
the 1989 Tour is an excerpt. He recently
graduated from the Edward R. Murrow
College of Communication at Washington State University. He is a two-time
winner of the Portland Marathon in the
Hand Cycle division. Visit his blog at
captaincrip.blogspot.com. Email him at
tomhaig@hotmail.com
riders collective
’
’ ’
’
’
Glimpses of Past Glory
Photographs from the
Nationaal Archief of The Netherlands
www.flickr.com/photos/nationaalarchief
1938
riders collective
glimpses of past glory
’
’ ’
’
’
Belgian Maurice Geldhof climbing the Aubisque. 1928
riders collective
’
’ ’
’
’
Felix Sellier, after being hit by a car, early 1920s.
You have to try it to believe it!
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’
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riders collective
Bicycle Packs, Bags & Accessories
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Giusto Cerutti breaks a wheel in a fall.
Rules forbid accepting help. 1928.
Forged by hand.
Driven by passion.
riders collective
donwalkercycles.com
’
’ ’
’
’
888.732.7030
www.wabicycles.com
Pierre Gallien in the Alps, 1937.
riders collective
’
’ ’
’
’
Federico Ezquerra, first to the top of the Galibier, 1934
riders collective
at the end, a look back
’
’ ’
’
’
Jules Buysse, 1926

File

Transcription

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brochure - Cades Cove Heritage Tours

BackRoads Magazine

Founder`s Message From the Editor`s Keyboard News

September - VA

April - VA

inside: ahdra drags, torches across america run and lots more