The day when you sit down, and let the post-tour-angst be soothed by watching youtube video clips of Jens. Or reading articles about his exploits.

Funny interview with Jens Voigt after his crash on stage 16

Jens Voigt Rant on Spectators

Watch out for the bears in them there mountains…

The Rules #79

And that leaves Renshaw. In which is a good way to start a war with the UCI. Hard to defend a case that offers no counter arguments, the only thing is to take the penalty and move on.

Except its not.

The UCI is a bit long in the tooth to be dictating the rules of the road, where there are unsure rules to begin with :: Rules of the Group Sprint :: It is put nicely that the rules of a group sprint are difficult to enforce, and instead of:

Riders shall be strictly forbidden to deviate from the lane they selected when launching into the sprint and, in so doing, endangering others.

The rules should say:

The first rule of Sprint club, is that you don’t talk about Sprint Club.

Well, it is actually a little more complicated than that.

In August of 2007 I posted in excitement about a bike that I had been given for free. Since the bike photo at the other blog, I had replaced the brakes with some STI shifters that weren’t compatible with the groupset – so the Campag Mirage STI shifteres were used only for braking – and added some SpeedPlay pedals. And up until the 18th February it was going swell.

After doing 3,457km I'll take the pedals. Retired.

On the 18th I went for a ride. The down tube split, which wasn’t exactly a great thing to find out – riding into Geelong and the lower part of the bike starts to swing when I pedaled. Eerie, and I was glad it didn’t happen whilst decending at speed. It was welded up, and I was promised that it would be fine to take on the road. I wasn’t so sure, so I just kept using the trainer.

From the start of March till the start of July I had done plenty of rides on the trainer. Nice but not fun. And eventually after dreaming enough to get back on the road, I decided to try a nice ride on a sunny winters day to test the “It’ll be fine” theory.

I got less than 100 meters before the welding that was safe for the road gave out. Split frame once more.

Nice welding? I dunno. Worked on the trainer just fine.

I have now stopped wishing to get the bike back on the road. It is time for a new bike. And in a ‘Usual Suspects’ like twist the author of this little bike site rides nothing. Pretty adverage story too.

Beside the fact this book makes the grandeur of the Tour seem a little small, it doesn’t take away from the bizzareness of riding through massive and daunting mountains for days on end. Indeed in bypassing the epicness is does bring out the bizaare, crazy, comical and just pure manicness of the Tour. It shows what length men would go to be labeled success and how far the organisers go to make it enjoyable for the rest of us.

I guess the biggest thing this book showed me was that the tour is comical, pharsical, almost abstract and contrived race. But what sport isn’t? With the organisers endeerments and almost chaotic mood swings sending 200 people into the unkown with one goal – some will behave, some will conform and some will act as they choose to – it is as unpreditcable as anything you could think of.

The tour seems to be devised by a board of people, showing the signs of a race marked with awesome racing at one side, and insane antics at the other. It never seems to be an even affair, with wild doping allergations and brutal physical battering sending all particpants to the edge of the phyke.

Desgrange, the founder of Le Tour, said that “the ultimate tour would be one only one man can finish.” And he set out to set that up. But he may not have considered the length men will go for fame, fortune and to suffer. The book shows that, like life, some will cheat, some will succeed but most will fail.

I found the book to be a great once over read. I leant about heroes of the Tour’s past, famous mountains and crazy antics. The race by race reviews were entertaining and enjoyable, especially since it was all from the start, the very first tour in 1903 – ‘The First Annual Congress of Hardy Crotches’.

Rendell provides witty remarks to match the comedic happenings of each tour and makes reading 104 years of epic cycling history a breeze. The from the lesser known riders to the greatest, every tour gets a write up based on how much information was/is known.

It is presented in way to be devoured and enjoyed – no difficult words; especilly if you know a little Tour-Lore, mountain pronounciation and some of the bigger names of cyclists; and no complicated descriptions. I suspect it would be a handy book to have around all your cycling mates to show them how much you know about the Tour.

In the end, this book will probably be a once read and shelve until I want to refresh my knowledge of Le Tour. It has cemented in my mind that the Tour is simply the hardest race devised by men with crazy minds and raced by men who agree to the terms of annihilation.

We may have carbon bikes and teams built around people, but the Tour will always be what it was. As Desgrange wrote after the riders concquered the Ballon d’Alsace: “my opinion that man’s courage knows no limits and a highly trained athlete can aspire to remarkable performances.” I’d add, ‘if inspired to.‘, and The Tour of France is that inspiration.

The brain is surrounded by cerebrospinal fluid, one of the functions of which is to protect it from light trauma, but more severe impacts or the forces associated with rapid acceleration may not be absorbed by this cushion. Concussion may be caused by impact forces, in which the head strikes or is struck by something, or impulsive forces, in which the head moves without itself being subject to blunt trauma (for example, when the chest hits something and the head snaps forward). Wikipedia – Concussion

The clocked turned to 1:10pm – Looking around I said, ‘I think you can start the time from now, that I actually remember things.’ How much time had passed since the accident? Unsure. What had happened? Unsure. How… Well, lets say the questions remained unanswered.

The plan was pretty certain today. We were going to head into the Pako Fest in Geelong West as a family and enjoy a walk around the busy area, maybe even sample some foods. But there was a bit of time to kill before we headed into Geelong, so the boys and I went for a ride.

We are rather blessed to live where we do, just up the road is an old railway which running beside it is a rail trail. A nice track that only stops to cross roads, but it otherwise it is an uninterupped ride alng some rather nice scenery to either Geelong or Queenscliff. So we rode up the hill and turned onto the trail towards Queenscliff.

Somewhere between there and the first road, I was riding with the two younger boys, and Nathanel had shot off the front. Joking I said to the boys ‘lets close the gap’. So we started off to catch Nathanael, and really the next thing I remember is sitting on the couch at home.

The crash has been erased from the memory banks. Being helped by a gentleman from the Bellarine Peninsula Railway is completely forgotten, all that remains of that help is a dirty t-shirt from my supposed blood nose. My boys were amazing, walking a severly concussed father home – I can’t remember walking home.

My father-in-law looked at my when we got home, and just kept wondering where I got my sideburn from. I hadn’t had one of those before.

Face Injuries

What happens next is a mixture of dream and real. I think Josh and Jem came past – Josh must of, becuse my previously broken road bike is welded up. Lots of questions were answered in a haze. I slept a lot. I moved in pain a lot. I chatted a bit. People fussed about, and went on with a semi-usual day.

My wife got home from the shop to find me dazed on the couch. She was asking questions to, and in my concussed state I’d answer as best I could. The curly one was when she asked if I remembered she was pregnant. I stared blankly, ‘How long have you been?’ I asked, ‘Did I know that already?’ – I think she knew then that the concussion was rather bad.

How the crash happened eludes me. My mind is remembering in echoes of black and white. Possibilites of yesterday are just that, I could only remember to intro to this partly because I have decided thats what was happening, and from what I could piece back together from questions I have asked. My Saturday literally vanished.

My injuries are a side burn on my face. Black eye, possibly from when I blow my nose the right side of my face blows up too. Gravel rash on my right knee, shoulder and both hands. Not too bad for a crash, but the worst I have done in some time, the last crash into a car door didn’t leave me like this…

My boys were so awesome. The three eldest helped me up, and with the help of the railway man got me walking. We walked all the way from the rail trail home, down a busy street. And I can’t remember a thing about it. They did so well, I’m a proud Dad.

Sorry about the rambliness of this, while it only happened yesterday I’m still recovering both mentally and physically. I’ll use that an an excuse for rambling a bit.

Will post photos when I find a camera.

Five minutes slip by. To my mind they feel like another hour. My body relaxed and reminding me to stay here “Enjoy the rest. I need to recover.” It says to me. Ah, Blissful sleep, a resting body, and an indeterminate state of mind. Confused, I turn the alarm off and slowly coax myself out of bed – sometimes you have to step up to the plate, and sacrifice a little sleep. Thats what I keep telling myself.

It was difficult to get through those forty kilometers that cold morning. I was feeling greatful for the arm warmers that came into my possession over winter. Even in December, what is meant to be a summer month in Australia, they are a comfort, a luxury – nay, a nessecity. Sometimes these individual sleeves are motivation to ride in the weather. Sometimes it’s those little motivations that encouage the discouraged. Little things make better riders.

Last week I was living the life of an theoretical cyclist. In my mind I would think about all the riding I wanted to achieve – the mountains I was going to climb – the stages I was going to win. But it never turned into physical activity. It never resulted in what would make me a better cyclist. It is way too often that I fall into this form of study: the theory of cycling, the thought of cycling, the dream of cycling.

And of course, the obvious happened. Putting theory into practice never eventuated. I tried coersing myself, promised sweets to myself, I even tried encouraging other people to get inspired by their passions. Nothing worked. Junk food intake increased and I became a little uninterested in riding.

It wasn’t that I hated cycling. It was that I was finding it hard to get back on the bike. Not even deep and interesting thoughts, online articles, some books I ordered from Amazon could have put me onto the bike. For the fear of failing had taken my mind. Doubts of climbing how I had started to. Doubts of been able to get into Geelong and back. The theory of cycling has its dark moments too, and the dark side had taken over.

That is why waking up early in the morning was a motivational tool. Set the alarm. Get up. Ride. “Come on, you promised yourself you’d ride every week-day this week.” Stupidly I needed a small promise like this to get on the bike again. Sometimes it’s those little motivations that encouage the discouraged.

It nearly failed. Saved like when you drop a glass and catch it before the moment of impact – you get a whole glass instead of shards. At that moment of the repeat alarm, I could have hit that button again and rolled over again into that blissful sleep. Woken an hour later and gone back to the normal regime.

But I would have been devistated. Two weeks ago I was feeling great about been able to ride a local hill in a respectable time. Granted its not a climb, just an uphill section of road for just over 2kms. But it is so far my grade point for how I’m going. Last week I was feeling uninspired, eat food and think. A theoretical cyclist.

This week I have ridden every day. Three days in a row and tomorrow will be four. Tomorrow it will be four if I get up at the alarm… I wonder what tomorrows motivation will be: Little things make better riders…

The hill flattened out, and I started to recover. Focus on breathing. Look around to survey area. Check upcoming traffic lights. In an instant, a flash of a small red door. A confused grunt. And sky.

I shook my head, trying to ascertain my location. Hard road. Bike on top of me. Middle of busy street… My mind is racing “Gotta stand up, Gotta keep riding. Its what the pros do…” Okay, stand up, at least let the person know she hit me.

I still could get my orientation, things were a little confusing. Two small ladies were standing pretty close to me at this stage, asking if I was alright. I took my glasses off and smiled. “Yes, I’m okay.” More chat to see if I was okay.

I remember trying to feel what was wrong. I could stand up, that’s good. Legs hurt. A small bit of blood. I’m mentally checking everything, while these ladies are talking away to see how I am. Maybe I could have been a little more courteous, but I did just have an MX-5 door swing open on my leg.

“It was just a moment in time. You rode past at the exact time I opened the door…” An excuse if I ever heard one… I agreed, only to save her the trauma, but on a narrow, busy street like this there is no other place for me to ride… I guess it was just a moment in time…

“Where are you going?” She asked. I told her about the trip to my brothers, and by this stage I was rather eager to get on with the riding. Looking back, maybe I should have taken her up on the doctors visit, or a coffee, or something – but at that time my mind was all about getting to Roger’s so I could ride with him.

“Oh my, your shaking.” She said while writing her mobile number into my phone – which I had taken with me that day – “Of course I am,” I smiled “I just had a car door open on me.” I rode off, clipping in and down the street, round the corner and away from the scene of the accident. My leg sore, but I’m still able to ride…

I managed to get back home without any problems. Iced and a small rest was all it really needed. I went out for a ride the following Tuesday, and everything was good until I got home. I think over-exerting it too early made the ligaments a bit tender, so I’ll stay off the bike till Monday, and see how it feels then. But I’m walking okay, and lately haven’t cringed when I knelt on the ground.

Just so you know, the delay for this update was because I was waiting for a huge bruise to surface. One a tiny one came up, and half of it is indistinguishable because of the bike-shorts tan line that is starting to appear after winter.

I could be forgiven for thinking that I should deserve at least a bruise, but I got to say, I like the fact I can get creamed on my bike and get up and ride again. I like that much better than war wounds. And after a few days being sore, I was back on my bike again. It was great…

I know the typical thing is to start a blog to show the progression in loosing weight. And time has come for this to change. This little place on the internet was started because it had to be so much more than a weight-loss blog – even now as I write that word I am shuddering. “Blog”, it’s so web-ified.

What this is, this web-page, is more than that. It is where cycling becomes known as a place of change. It is where cycling becomes known as a place of challenge. It is a little place, in the dark-corner of the internet, where I am here to document change and challenge.

Partially this training section will be where I write about loosing weight, because as I explained before ‘Deep inside a fat body is a champion cycling waiting to bust out’ (okay, maybe I editorialised that statement). So, yes, I am currently overweight but at this stage it hasn’t stopped me from riding – just being a good training aid, carrying that extra weight.

So yes, sometimes I will write about being overweight, but that is not the aim of this particular website. As the catch-phrase says – “If you are not riding epic, you are only commuting” – that is the aim of the website. To inspire more from a bike than it can show itself.

Often times, especially from my recent experience, the idea of riding a bike extends past the idea of riding, and leads right into something more. Where the bike is changed from something that you are doing, to something that you love, right into the realms of something you just need to suffer throught to get home.

And somehow I, along with a few of my friends, hope to capture that essence right here. On this small page, in a dark-lonesome-corner of the internet.

I did hear on the internet that you are making a come back for next years Tour de France. At first I didn’t think it could be true, but then I remembered how you compeated in the Leadville this year, and I thought that the rumour could be half serious.

Then I heard you would be with Astana. My heart sank as to how dominating that team would be – I love Astana, but with you, it would be way too hard for anyone to compete. I suppose it could just be a bid to make sure Astana competes next year.

But I had a brain wave.

How about you – The King of Tour de France – and myself – self-proclaimed wheel-sucker – start a team.I have been keen to ride this race for the past 18 months, and reckon we could make headlines by starting a team. It’d be awesome.

I have it all figured out.

1. I am sure we wouldn’t have to pay for anything. Everyone loves you, and the team would be headline news, so the sponsors would come to us.
2. With the changes to the UCI and Le Tour, I am sure they would accept a large team, such as ours, into their race. They are trying to save face after all.
3. I would move to France and ride the course for the next 5 months – in winter – just to make sure I would be good.

I also heard that Astana were saying the rumors to be not true. This excites me even more, and makes my offer more valid.

If you are even considering this, feel free to send me an email. I’d love to start a chat about this.

With Thanks

james

PS – considering the sarcastic manner of this post – I would like to state that I would actually do this. For real. So if the real Lance Armstrong reads this, well, it’s for you.

I have been cycling for nearly a year. I fell in love with it, and I don’t know how or why.

There has to be something more to cycling. I cannot seem to pinpoint it though – and i am not sure anyone who loves it can.

People who cycle seem to spend money as if its only currency is to gain more gear.

I started cycling to loose weight. I started at 124kg and am currently at 110kg – and it is because of a wierd love of asport i knew nothing of. I wanted to loose weight so i could run without shin splints – but now want to loose weight to climb better.

There must be something to this. Something more than a lycra fashion statement. Something more than watching Cadel win the tour. Something more than getting to school… I am finding that something very hard to define. And even harder to find.

This blog is in part an experiment as to what drives this undefined something. It is in part a way for me to wave a flag on the internet. It is really just bits and parts of what is going on in me… What blog isn’t hey?

So, sorry if I made myself to be a bike-know-it-all. I am a rookie, and now I am proud of it. Well, I did call my website wheel-sucker – now you know why.