No, not of Jens Voigt. But who is the cyclist in question?
Ok, another one, From left to right please.
09 August 2011
08 August 2011
Riding Powercranks at Mt Fuji
I am at Mt. Fuji since the weekend, staying at a rental house above
the North shore of Kawaguchiko, in the same compound that was our base
for the Saiko JCRC race last November. Since this trip is with my
wife and our dog and so cycling should be limited to a 1- or 2-hour
rides in the morning, I left the Cervelo at home (along with our
younger son, whose part-time job kept him in town). Instead, I am
riding the Powercranks.
On Transalp, I felt a real difference from 2009 in my strength -- both
on the flats and when I wanted to power-up the last half kilometer of
any climb -- and I think it might have been due to commuting on the
p-cranks several weeks in May/early June, building up new muscles. So
I really wanted to try riding them some more -- the more I ride them
the easier it gets! They are still not as much fun as a bicycle with
a normal crank, but with them I get a work out for my leg muscles
quickly.
I've decided to drop the nickname "paincranks" as it no longer quite fits.
the North shore of Kawaguchiko, in the same compound that was our base
for the Saiko JCRC race last November. Since this trip is with my
wife and our dog and so cycling should be limited to a 1- or 2-hour
rides in the morning, I left the Cervelo at home (along with our
younger son, whose part-time job kept him in town). Instead, I am
riding the Powercranks.
On Transalp, I felt a real difference from 2009 in my strength -- both
on the flats and when I wanted to power-up the last half kilometer of
any climb -- and I think it might have been due to commuting on the
p-cranks several weeks in May/early June, building up new muscles. So
I really wanted to try riding them some more -- the more I ride them
the easier it gets! They are still not as much fun as a bicycle with
a normal crank, but with them I get a work out for my leg muscles
quickly.
 |
| Return to the site of one of the Novembe 2010 "bike leaning" photo shots. |
 |
| The momiji (Japanese maple) leaves were red in November. |
Olmo from the Ice
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| From this angle the bike almost looks like a stealth fighter plane. |
My favourite programs as a kid were "Krempoli", ""Stanley Beamish, "Mini-Max" and the Augsburger Puppenkiste, a marionette theater that would make any kid of today asleep within 10 seconds. Michael Ende, Ottfried Preussler and Max Kruse all wrote famous pieces for the programm and one I remember in particular were the stories about Urmel. And the charcter I liked most was the sea elephant. One day, when I retire, I want to become like the sea elephant from Urmel.
So this is perhaps why the name OLMO, which is or was one of the famous Italian steel frame builders of the sixties, seventies and eighties, is high in my personal list. When I started to become interested in old steel bikes a long time ago (autumn 2010, to be precise), the first bike I fell in love with was the Moser Leader AX evolution This is a nice frame but it very hard to get them in large sizes and . now it is somewhat too modern for me with TIG welded joints and unifork. The second bike I fell in love with was an Olmo. I now own too Olmo frames (I have sold the Faggin and the Peugeot in the meantime to finance them). and the blue one from the Nineties will become my commuting bike and the white "Olmo from the Ice" will become the showpiece.
Still a lot of choices to be made, but here are some photos showing the actual status after working on the bike today. The frame was rusty and in poor conditions when I got it first from Vienna. It was grit-blasted and painted and I bought a set of new decals. Almost every component has a special story. Note the leather grips on the track handle bar, the Shimano 600 AX aero brakes and the Arabesque shifters.
There's so much to write - but another time when the bike is ready. Enjoy the photos.
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| Campagnolo Super Record Brake Lever with Olmo Pantographs plus leather grips. |
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| Shimano 600AX front brake - Eighties arero craze porn |
 |
| The cockpit: Olmo stem with Italian flag |
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| Pantographed fork and Arabesque shifters |
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| Gran Compe Saddle |
 |
| Front view on pave |
 |
| Rear view on pave |
04 August 2011
Bremen Elevation Profile Part II
My recently posted examples concerning the difference in elevation profiles between a typical tour day in the Alps and in Bremen missed an important detail: weather conditions.
I hope I got it right this time.
I rode to the meeting point HaW aka "little hut at the edge of the forest" shortly before seven but nobody was there. Checking the forum again it seems that most of the members wanted to ride the following day. Looking out of the office window that doesn't seem to be a good choice but the weather forecast indicates otherwise. Let's see.
So I started on my own in direction Dammsiel. With a nice tailwind I made good progress in direction Kuhsiel and I thought I give it a try to ride 2 hours with 30 km/hr plus average. After Kuhsiel I made a right turn and rode down the other side of the Wümme, a road Muckel has shown me some weeks ago. Riding there for 5 km, then making a left turn brings one back to "SOS Landscape" and the road to Worpswede. I sprinted over the huge hill in Worpswede, completely exhausting myself for approximately 34 seconds, then rode on in direction Worpshausen. Then it started to rain.
Of course I had no rain gear with me but it wasn't that cold outside so I just went on, but taking a shortcut to Lilienthal and further on to Borgfeld. The road was very wet, it was getting dark and the traffic was rather heavy, so I decided to take the cycling road between Lilienthal and Borgfeld. I had never taken it before; it was OK, but frequent stops at major roads are preventing one from going at a good speed. Then somehow I made a mistake and I found myself on the road leading along the right side of the Wümme. Doesn't matter I thought, eventually it will hit the road between Lilienthal and Boregfeld and I can cross the river and ride home straight. Unfortunately I was already to the North of that bridge so I continued to ride in the rain back to Melkhus /Dammsiel which was a huge detour. The road was completely deserted, some fishermen and some SUV, but otherwise I could only see people in the framer pubs that are placed at convenient intervals along the road. Long stretches of the roads are plastered with black clay bricks and were looking very slippery. I took extra care not to crash.
Arriving at Dammsiel I took a left turn and continued back along the other side of the Wümme again - the road I had originally taken when riding out in the first place. It almost stopped raining but now it was too late anyway. I was soaked and the known feeling of wet socks in wet shoes was already there and in full bloom. But again, it wasn't that bad.
Shortly before arriving at the Kuhsiel my rear tire blew up. This was my first puncture ever with a tubular tire. I had experienced one in Mallorca and I can tell you that this is not a pleasant experience. Even if you are alone and you have no repair kit, no spare tire, no rain gear and no light.
So I continued to ride the last 10 km home on the flat tire with my super-expensive Toppolino carbon wheels. I ride them because my Ultegra wheels are still only temporarily fixed by Christain Sambi of Ravenna fame and the DT Swiss rear wheel is still with Campa for new spokes after the Berlin Velothon accident. For one reason or the other I have ridden home many bikes and many times with flat tires and it is better if a) the rear tire is flat than the front one and b) since today I know that you can go faster on a flat tubular than on a flat clincher. Perhaps this is just because the carbon wheels are lighter.
Which brings me to another important point: It seems that riding on flat tires for longer distances might damage the wheels. So I took the appropriate precautions which are: Riding home, pretending not to care about the wheels, not to look at them, leave the bike in the garage for a week or so and hope that everything will be all right afterwards.
Yesterdays summary: 80 km on the bike, 45 km thereof in the rain, 10 km thereof with a flat rear tire. Average Speed dropped from 31.1 km/hr to something which is too embarrassing to mention. However, if the weather continues as it is, this might have been a good preparation for the Bremen Challenge race on August 28th.
I rode to the meeting point HaW aka "little hut at the edge of the forest" shortly before seven but nobody was there. Checking the forum again it seems that most of the members wanted to ride the following day. Looking out of the office window that doesn't seem to be a good choice but the weather forecast indicates otherwise. Let's see.
So I started on my own in direction Dammsiel. With a nice tailwind I made good progress in direction Kuhsiel and I thought I give it a try to ride 2 hours with 30 km/hr plus average. After Kuhsiel I made a right turn and rode down the other side of the Wümme, a road Muckel has shown me some weeks ago. Riding there for 5 km, then making a left turn brings one back to "SOS Landscape" and the road to Worpswede. I sprinted over the huge hill in Worpswede, completely exhausting myself for approximately 34 seconds, then rode on in direction Worpshausen. Then it started to rain.
Of course I had no rain gear with me but it wasn't that cold outside so I just went on, but taking a shortcut to Lilienthal and further on to Borgfeld. The road was very wet, it was getting dark and the traffic was rather heavy, so I decided to take the cycling road between Lilienthal and Borgfeld. I had never taken it before; it was OK, but frequent stops at major roads are preventing one from going at a good speed. Then somehow I made a mistake and I found myself on the road leading along the right side of the Wümme. Doesn't matter I thought, eventually it will hit the road between Lilienthal and Boregfeld and I can cross the river and ride home straight. Unfortunately I was already to the North of that bridge so I continued to ride in the rain back to Melkhus /Dammsiel which was a huge detour. The road was completely deserted, some fishermen and some SUV, but otherwise I could only see people in the framer pubs that are placed at convenient intervals along the road. Long stretches of the roads are plastered with black clay bricks and were looking very slippery. I took extra care not to crash.
Arriving at Dammsiel I took a left turn and continued back along the other side of the Wümme again - the road I had originally taken when riding out in the first place. It almost stopped raining but now it was too late anyway. I was soaked and the known feeling of wet socks in wet shoes was already there and in full bloom. But again, it wasn't that bad.
Shortly before arriving at the Kuhsiel my rear tire blew up. This was my first puncture ever with a tubular tire. I had experienced one in Mallorca and I can tell you that this is not a pleasant experience. Even if you are alone and you have no repair kit, no spare tire, no rain gear and no light.
So I continued to ride the last 10 km home on the flat tire with my super-expensive Toppolino carbon wheels. I ride them because my Ultegra wheels are still only temporarily fixed by Christain Sambi of Ravenna fame and the DT Swiss rear wheel is still with Campa for new spokes after the Berlin Velothon accident. For one reason or the other I have ridden home many bikes and many times with flat tires and it is better if a) the rear tire is flat than the front one and b) since today I know that you can go faster on a flat tubular than on a flat clincher. Perhaps this is just because the carbon wheels are lighter.
Which brings me to another important point: It seems that riding on flat tires for longer distances might damage the wheels. So I took the appropriate precautions which are: Riding home, pretending not to care about the wheels, not to look at them, leave the bike in the garage for a week or so and hope that everything will be all right afterwards.
03 August 2011
Trainingscamp Diemitz
For cyclist Diemitz isn't as popular as Mallorca, the Alps or Southern France when it comes to the selection of training grounds. Nevertheless it has its charm.
First of all, where the hell is Diemitz? As cyclists tend to prefer the mountains as opposed to the sea, Diemitz isn't necessarily on the radar screen of the cycling world. It isn't located at the sea either, but in the federal state of Mecklenburg-Vorpommern (aka Meck-Vorpom) and just in the middle of a huge region of lakes and swamps, connected by canals, know as the Mecklenburger Seenplate (Mecklenburg lake district). The Müritz lake is the biggest one in Germany after the Bodensee in the South, created by the river Rhein. But the lake district is more than the Müritz lake, there is water everywhere. In fact one can travel from Berlin in the South through the lake district to the Baltic Sea by boat through a system of interlocked canals and sluices.
Also, in case you haven't found out that by yourself or didn't thought too much about the importance of this, Diemitz is located with the former German Democratic Republic. Having spend most of the last 20 years since the German reunification in Asia, I still have difficulties to cope with the fact that there is only one Germany left. Not that I am against it, but still for me it has been a surprising development and when riding by car to Diemitz I tend to say "We are crossing the border now" or "Better not to have a car breakdown after Helmstedt (the former border town on the federal highway)." If you would ask me what came first, German unification or introduction of the Euro, I would know that the former is a precondition for the later, but I would tend to place them at more or less the same point of time. Completely wrong.
The region has the charm of the former regime. Some villages are rundown, many streets have cobblestone roads and the roads between the small villages are nice looking alleys. The most amazing fact about the lake district is, that nobody is living there. It is, so to say, the exact opposite of Shibuya. There are vast amounts of land dedicated to foresting or to large scale agricultural operations. This is only natural for mountainous areas, but the landscape her is rather flat with rolling hills.
What would be better to ride along in style with a bike that fits the area? So I took my blue Gazelle with me and set off one afternoon to explore the area around Diemitz. I had to wait some days as the weather was terrible. Rain all day long, some of the largest recorded rainfalls in history. Even some roads were closed the the fire fighters were busy pumping water back into the lakes.
02 August 2011
ePerformance Camp October 15th and 16th!
After receiving many emails from participants of the March camp wanting to know if we would hold any more professional training camps in Japan, we are proud to announce that we will hold an ePerformance Technical Training Camp in Japan on October 15th and 16th 2011.
The cost of the camp is ¥30,000 but members of the original camp in March will receive a ¥5,000 yen discount. If you have not received the email with the rebate information please drop me a line here.
Right now we are looking at several locations for the camp and to help us get a better understanding of the amount of people wishing to attend. If you are interested in joining this camp please let us know as we are limited to the number of athletes that can attend to between 17 and 25 depending on location, so please reserve your spot by emailing me here.
If you are interested in learning more about this camp then please email me here.
We look forward to riding with you soon!
29 July 2011
Sunday social ride
UPDATE: The Sunday ride started according to plan. Tristan, Graham and I headed out on dry pavement, Jerome caught up, and we met Tom and Ludwig at Tamagawahara-bashi. 6 people -- not bad for a group of expats on an early Sunday morning in mid-summer, with a questionable weather forecast. We decided to head for Takao and then, if all went well, over into the low hills around Sagamiko. The sky was very dark.
As we headed out the river to the WNW, we could see rain and very low clouds, and soon we entered the precip -- real tsuyu (rainy season) or September typhoon season weather, with tiny drenching droplets of warm rain.
Ludwig quickly said he wanted to head back, not favoring a ride in the wet. But he kept with us to the bridge over the Tamagawa, where he and Tom decided to head out Yaen-kaido toward Onekansen, rather than Takao (an easier "u turn" if the rain did not let up). Somehow I was expecting that even if Ludwig and Tom showed up, they would probably head off in a different direction, since they like to ride solo and have finally become a good fit for trips together. Graham, Tristan, Jerome and I pushed on toward Takao, starting up the Asagawa.
The rain got heavier and heavier, the closer we were to the hills surrounding Hachioji. We were still a few kilometers short of Hachioji Station, at a place where the route along the Asagawa involves multiple turns and road crossings, when Tristan slipped and went down -- I heard a "bam" of someone hitting a guardrail behind me. He banged his thigh hard, but fortunately nothing broken, just what looked like it will be a nasty, painful bruise.
We continued on into Hachioji, found a Denny's and sought shelter and breakfast, to see if the weather would improve. It did not, so we headed back. (Except for Jerome who, having had at least 3 cups of coffee and 4 of cola, decided it would be a shame not to at least go up to Otarumi Pass and back, having made it this far).
By the time we got back across the river the rain had almost ceased and we were on dry pavement again. We did a short detour, one trip up the Yomiuri-V-Dori to show Tristan and Graham the location, then Tristan and I did a semi-team time trial along the road on the Kawasaki side back to Futakotamagawa, Graham not far behind.
When I got home, my wife and son reported that it it had not rained at all in Tokyo while we were getting soaked just a bit closer to the western hills.
__________________________
ORIGINAL POST: It has been awhile ... but is anyone else in town (Tokyo, that is -- not Bremen, London, Grenoble or one of the other branches) and interested in a social ride on Sunday, heading out relatively early Sunday morning? I think Jerome is also in.
Maybe a 7:30AM start from Kaminoge (my house), or 7:10AM Ebisu, or 8:00AM from Tamagawaharabashi (the bridge that crosses the Tamagawa just after the Keio-kaku keirin stadium and leads to Onekansen)?
No detailed route plan -- depends on the weather and the group.
The forecast is for cooler, cloudy weather, with a chance of rain showers -- could be worse.
Leave a reply in the comments or drop me an email if you are interested.
As we headed out the river to the WNW, we could see rain and very low clouds, and soon we entered the precip -- real tsuyu (rainy season) or September typhoon season weather, with tiny drenching droplets of warm rain.
Ludwig quickly said he wanted to head back, not favoring a ride in the wet. But he kept with us to the bridge over the Tamagawa, where he and Tom decided to head out Yaen-kaido toward Onekansen, rather than Takao (an easier "u turn" if the rain did not let up). Somehow I was expecting that even if Ludwig and Tom showed up, they would probably head off in a different direction, since they like to ride solo and have finally become a good fit for trips together. Graham, Tristan, Jerome and I pushed on toward Takao, starting up the Asagawa.
The rain got heavier and heavier, the closer we were to the hills surrounding Hachioji. We were still a few kilometers short of Hachioji Station, at a place where the route along the Asagawa involves multiple turns and road crossings, when Tristan slipped and went down -- I heard a "bam" of someone hitting a guardrail behind me. He banged his thigh hard, but fortunately nothing broken, just what looked like it will be a nasty, painful bruise.
We continued on into Hachioji, found a Denny's and sought shelter and breakfast, to see if the weather would improve. It did not, so we headed back. (Except for Jerome who, having had at least 3 cups of coffee and 4 of cola, decided it would be a shame not to at least go up to Otarumi Pass and back, having made it this far).
By the time we got back across the river the rain had almost ceased and we were on dry pavement again. We did a short detour, one trip up the Yomiuri-V-Dori to show Tristan and Graham the location, then Tristan and I did a semi-team time trial along the road on the Kawasaki side back to Futakotamagawa, Graham not far behind.
When I got home, my wife and son reported that it it had not rained at all in Tokyo while we were getting soaked just a bit closer to the western hills.
__________________________
ORIGINAL POST: It has been awhile ... but is anyone else in town (Tokyo, that is -- not Bremen, London, Grenoble or one of the other branches) and interested in a social ride on Sunday, heading out relatively early Sunday morning? I think Jerome is also in.
Maybe a 7:30AM start from Kaminoge (my house), or 7:10AM Ebisu, or 8:00AM from Tamagawaharabashi (the bridge that crosses the Tamagawa just after the Keio-kaku keirin stadium and leads to Onekansen)?
No detailed route plan -- depends on the weather and the group.
The forecast is for cooler, cloudy weather, with a chance of rain showers -- could be worse.
Leave a reply in the comments or drop me an email if you are interested.
24 July 2011
You're wondering now what to do......
...now you know this is the end.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqtfl0gt5fM
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-14264245
Not related to cycling at all but still so sad.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqtfl0gt5fM
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-14264245
Not related to cycling at all but still so sad.
23 July 2011
Bookends
I started my trip with a day alone in a largish European city (Munich) with no plans except to relax, recover from jet lag and look around, before MOB would join me and we would head for Sonthofen and the start of Transalp.
I finished the trip with a day alone in another largish European city (Lyon) with no plans except to relax, recover from Sunday's event and look around a bit -- time to kill before a flight out to Frankfurt the next morning and on to Tokyo.
I would be on the same flight, but 24 hours later than those other remarkable athletes returning back to Tokyo -- the "nadeshiko" Japan national women's football (soccer) team, fresh from their World Championship victory in Frankfurt. Okay, okay, the use of "other" in that last sentence was a bit over the top. Still, I had a great trip, and I cannot wait for Paris-Brest-Paris!
I finished the trip with a day alone in another largish European city (Lyon) with no plans except to relax, recover from Sunday's event and look around a bit -- time to kill before a flight out to Frankfurt the next morning and on to Tokyo.
I would be on the same flight, but 24 hours later than those other remarkable athletes returning back to Tokyo -- the "nadeshiko" Japan national women's football (soccer) team, fresh from their World Championship victory in Frankfurt. Okay, okay, the use of "other" in that last sentence was a bit over the top. Still, I had a great trip, and I cannot wait for Paris-Brest-Paris!
Etape Race Preparation - Compare and Contrast A Day with Jerome and a Day with a Tour Operator
The morning after Bastille Day, Jerome, Didier and I headed for Clermont-Ferrand and the Auvergne region, site of many small, extinct volcanoes, and also of Act II of Etape du Tour, the stage from Issoire to St. Flour.
We had today, Friday, and tomorrow, Saturday, to prepare for Act II. I wanted to enjoy Friday with Jerome and Didier and then rest on Saturday with my tour operator's group, get two good nights' sleep and be ready for a big day on Sunday.
On the way into Clermont-Ferrand, we drove right past the exit for the hotel where my tour group was staying and instead went straight to the center of town to pick up their friend Isabel at the train station. Isabel is a longtime French resident of Japan, temporarily living with her sister in a town near Avignon, post-Fukushima.
Next we headed to Issoire, registered, ate some sandwiches, and enjoyed the atmosphere of the start village exhibitions. Didier got a new rear cassette (adding a few extra teeth) and some Michelin tires. If Clermont-Ferrand was lacking in character, Issoire looked like a very nice, large and relaxed town in the countryside.
My fellow travelers told me that Auvergne is the "real" French countryside, and that I should be prepared for a big and tasty meal tonight. The mood was very festive -- and felt much more authentic than around the start village at the ski town in Valfrejus the previous week.
As usual, traveling with Jerome things happen a bit spontaneously, without all the advance planning that some might think such a trip requires. Didier had booked a hotel room for himself and Jerome for Saturday night in the small town of Saint-Nectaire, but they had no room for Friday, and none for Isabel, who they hoped would stay both nights (and could drive the car from Issoire to St. Flour, avoiding the need to spend Saturday in a shuttle operation). I had my hotel room waiting back in Clermont-Ferrand, about a 40-minute drive away from Issoire, further from Saint-Nectaire. So we headed toward Saint-Nectaire to scout out the situation and see if lodgings were available for them Friday evening.
At the hotel Didier had booked for Saturday, after much back-and-forth with a clerk, who was eventually overruled by the manager, it seemed they could only get one room for Friday night and no more than their current one room for Saturday. The other hotel in town was also fully booked. At least we got some recommendations for restaurants in the neighboring towns, having realized that everything was a bit further apart than we had thought -- further from Issoire to Saint-Nectaire, further from Clermont-Ferrand, and further on to La Bourboule, a town up the valley where we had been told there was a great place to eat. We would keep looking for lodgings, but in the worst case Isabel could have the one room and Jerome and Didier could crash in my room back in Clermont-Ferrand. (I had a double bed, and the camping mat from Transalp Camp).
We strolled up to the chateau above Murol, then finally drove to Lac Chambon and our next destination, the restaurant Le Grillon (The Cicada), overlooking the lake. It was a meal memorable for the setting, the company and the uniformly high quality food in a simple eatery. Of course, we tried the delicious local cheese. Jerome profusely complemented our waitress on the food and as she was heading away across the room loudly pretended to place a call to a friend "Edouard" (being Edouard Michelin, founder of the Michelin Guide) and tell him to come over straight away and be ready to assign some stars. After dinner, we stopped by the bar/pizzeria down the street where a live music band was playing out front. I was amused to see that after our restaurant had closed, the waitress (who must have been in her late 50s or early 60s) also had made it down the street and into the bar for the live music and drinks. The whole town was there, music wafting out across the road and over the lake. Of course, if you lived nearby, you were subject to all the noise, so you might as well come join the party! It really started hopping after 11PM when a group of 20-30 college students came in from some event and each ordered a meal.
The patron of the establishment came off the dance floor and behind the bar briefly, to get himself another drink (definitely not his first of the evening), and Jerome asked him about lodgings in the town. He said he would check and headed back outside. We saw him 10 minutes later, dancing away. When he finally returned, he apologized, but said the one place he was thinking of was closed for the night, and he did not have a key (as it was not his place). He did suggest a place down the road in Murol that we might try -- the Hotel du Parc.
We made it back to Murol where, miraculously, the immigrants who ran the Hotel du Parc were still awake and accepting guests to fill up their last few rooms. It was not the best of accommodations, but at least we had someplace, and it was pretty clear there was no way I would get back to Clermont-Ferrand that night. Didier was my roommate. He snored, worse than MOB, so I slept with my iPod on.
In the morning, I noticed that the only "art" in the hotel were old posters of cyclists, local heros from the great duels of the 1960s between Anquetil and Poulidor. Anquetil won the Tour 5 times. Poulidor defeated him in many one-day classics, and was a perennial second or third in the Tour, but never managed to wear the yellow jersey. He was the son of a farmer and a self-taught natural talent as a cyclist, an incredible story of someone who lost his greatest battles, but (or perhaps because so) remains incredibly popular to this day. Poulidor and Anquetil had their greatest battle on the Puy de Dôme, the 1500 meter tall volcano on the west edge of Clermont-Ferrand. Relationships within many families suffered as people chose sides, Poulidor vs. Anquetil. And on Sunday's stage, mixed in among the the fans' painted slogans on the roadway left over from the Tour a week earlier, as we climbed the Pas du Peyrol, among markings for "Sylvain" [Chavanel], [Thomas] "Voeckler", "Andy" [Schleck] and others, I laughed out loud when I saw someone had written "Poulidor", still cheering him on in large white painted letters, only 40 years too late.
True to his word and feeling a bit guilty about not getting me back to my lodgings on Friday night, Jerome treated me to the hotel, awoke earlier Saturday than he probably would have liked, and drove me back to Clermont-Ferrand.
Back in Clermont-Ferrand, I could sleep some more, in a noticeably larger, cleaner bed, and had none of the distractions of the French countryside to interrupt my race preparation. In fact, in order to maximize our chance of success on Sunday, my tour operator had thoughtfully booked our group at a faceless Hotel Kyriad (somewhere between a Motel 6 and a Days Inn), in the middle of the Zone Industrielle du Brézet, just off the highway exit and near the little-used airport. No distractions at all as we tried to focus on our race plans.
We had really crappy food for dinner -- pasta without sauce that must have been cooked for at least an extra 45 minutes -- but that would not cause us any digestive problems. I did not see or hear any live music or other entertainment nearby. Great for an early night to sleep for the big race. Not so great for a visit to France.
I must say that while the two guys from the tour operator who interacted with us -- Sébastien and Vitor -- were really nice, the tour organization left something to be desired. They need to learn to post (or email) written explanations, instead of depending upon word of mouth for passing on crucial information like what time the bus leaves, from where, and how to meet up with them after the finish, etc. (they were supposed to meet riders at the finish of Act II ... but failed to do so for anyone I spoke with, leaving us cold and wondering where we were supposed to go for our clean clothes we had deposited in the bus and the promised showers).
But the crappy food, even if barely edible, did not make me sick. And the breakfast was tolerable -- hard to mess that up -- and they had us to the start line well in advance, with plenty of extra time in which to get cold. Maybe the lack of distractions, fun, culture, or interesting food is why two of our group placed so well -- 25th and 40th, out of the thousands who rode?
The contrast between Friday and Saturday was almost too much. With Jerome, Didier and Isabel, I had seen a vibrant countryside that was authentic, with rich colors, delicious flavors, warm smiles, healthy animals, and a beautiful sky. On Saturday, I was in an industrial zone in a Motel Six-clone.
In Issoire, we had seen a rag tag local marching band as we left the registration area. My fellow travelers did not seem impressed, but for me they will symbolize the quirky, slightly disorganized and charming side of Issoire and neighboring towns that I saw. I could not get the tune out of my head as I lay resting on Saturday in the Zone Industrielle. I don't think there is much risk if you watch this sketchy video of part of the song, but be careful, if you do get hooked, it could require a trip to the Auvergne. Just let me know -- I can lend you some maps I picked up and am saving for my return.
Issoire Marching Band from David Litt on Vimeo.
As we climbed up to the Chateau Murol, we passed two women who had just finished their show with birds of prey and were walking the birds down the hill. I thought these two might have fit right in with the band.
We had today, Friday, and tomorrow, Saturday, to prepare for Act II. I wanted to enjoy Friday with Jerome and Didier and then rest on Saturday with my tour operator's group, get two good nights' sleep and be ready for a big day on Sunday.
On the way into Clermont-Ferrand, we drove right past the exit for the hotel where my tour group was staying and instead went straight to the center of town to pick up their friend Isabel at the train station. Isabel is a longtime French resident of Japan, temporarily living with her sister in a town near Avignon, post-Fukushima.
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| Isabel at the start village's Michelin exhibit, where Didier got new tires and tubes. Michelin is headquartered in Clermont-Ferrand. We saw lots of Michelin men in the region, some much larger than this. |
Next we headed to Issoire, registered, ate some sandwiches, and enjoyed the atmosphere of the start village exhibitions. Didier got a new rear cassette (adding a few extra teeth) and some Michelin tires. If Clermont-Ferrand was lacking in character, Issoire looked like a very nice, large and relaxed town in the countryside.
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| Registration Friday highly recommended - not crowded, and a very relaxed mood. |
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| Produits du terroir. We skipped the sausages, but enjoyed sandwiches on very nice artisanal bread. |
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| Jerome in his touring garb -- horse drawn carriage available from central Issoire to registration. Much classier than the buses up the hill in Valfrejus last week. |
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| KTM top of the line model in orange and black. MOB's next bike? |
As usual, traveling with Jerome things happen a bit spontaneously, without all the advance planning that some might think such a trip requires. Didier had booked a hotel room for himself and Jerome for Saturday night in the small town of Saint-Nectaire, but they had no room for Friday, and none for Isabel, who they hoped would stay both nights (and could drive the car from Issoire to St. Flour, avoiding the need to spend Saturday in a shuttle operation). I had my hotel room waiting back in Clermont-Ferrand, about a 40-minute drive away from Issoire, further from Saint-Nectaire. So we headed toward Saint-Nectaire to scout out the situation and see if lodgings were available for them Friday evening.
At the hotel Didier had booked for Saturday, after much back-and-forth with a clerk, who was eventually overruled by the manager, it seemed they could only get one room for Friday night and no more than their current one room for Saturday. The other hotel in town was also fully booked. At least we got some recommendations for restaurants in the neighboring towns, having realized that everything was a bit further apart than we had thought -- further from Issoire to Saint-Nectaire, further from Clermont-Ferrand, and further on to La Bourboule, a town up the valley where we had been told there was a great place to eat. We would keep looking for lodgings, but in the worst case Isabel could have the one room and Jerome and Didier could crash in my room back in Clermont-Ferrand. (I had a double bed, and the camping mat from Transalp Camp).
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| Saint-Nectaire as seen from in front of its Romanesque church |
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| Murol, from the chateau above |
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| Jerome surveys Murol from the chateau |
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| Isabel rests as the rest of us climb to the chateau. |
We strolled up to the chateau above Murol, then finally drove to Lac Chambon and our next destination, the restaurant Le Grillon (The Cicada), overlooking the lake. It was a meal memorable for the setting, the company and the uniformly high quality food in a simple eatery. Of course, we tried the delicious local cheese. Jerome profusely complemented our waitress on the food and as she was heading away across the room loudly pretended to place a call to a friend "Edouard" (being Edouard Michelin, founder of the Michelin Guide) and tell him to come over straight away and be ready to assign some stars. After dinner, we stopped by the bar/pizzeria down the street where a live music band was playing out front. I was amused to see that after our restaurant had closed, the waitress (who must have been in her late 50s or early 60s) also had made it down the street and into the bar for the live music and drinks. The whole town was there, music wafting out across the road and over the lake. Of course, if you lived nearby, you were subject to all the noise, so you might as well come join the party! It really started hopping after 11PM when a group of 20-30 college students came in from some event and each ordered a meal.
The patron of the establishment came off the dance floor and behind the bar briefly, to get himself another drink (definitely not his first of the evening), and Jerome asked him about lodgings in the town. He said he would check and headed back outside. We saw him 10 minutes later, dancing away. When he finally returned, he apologized, but said the one place he was thinking of was closed for the night, and he did not have a key (as it was not his place). He did suggest a place down the road in Murol that we might try -- the Hotel du Parc.
We made it back to Murol where, miraculously, the immigrants who ran the Hotel du Parc were still awake and accepting guests to fill up their last few rooms. It was not the best of accommodations, but at least we had someplace, and it was pretty clear there was no way I would get back to Clermont-Ferrand that night. Didier was my roommate. He snored, worse than MOB, so I slept with my iPod on.
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| Roomies. I thought I was done with that after MOB headed back to Germany .. |
In the morning, I noticed that the only "art" in the hotel were old posters of cyclists, local heros from the great duels of the 1960s between Anquetil and Poulidor. Anquetil won the Tour 5 times. Poulidor defeated him in many one-day classics, and was a perennial second or third in the Tour, but never managed to wear the yellow jersey. He was the son of a farmer and a self-taught natural talent as a cyclist, an incredible story of someone who lost his greatest battles, but (or perhaps because so) remains incredibly popular to this day. Poulidor and Anquetil had their greatest battle on the Puy de Dôme, the 1500 meter tall volcano on the west edge of Clermont-Ferrand. Relationships within many families suffered as people chose sides, Poulidor vs. Anquetil. And on Sunday's stage, mixed in among the the fans' painted slogans on the roadway left over from the Tour a week earlier, as we climbed the Pas du Peyrol, among markings for "Sylvain" [Chavanel], [Thomas] "Voeckler", "Andy" [Schleck] and others, I laughed out loud when I saw someone had written "Poulidor", still cheering him on in large white painted letters, only 40 years too late.
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| Raymond Poulidor -- the local hero -- rode for Mercier his entire career |
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| Anquetil = Lance Armstrong Poulidor = Jan Ullrich, but with personality, and without the career-end disgrace |
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| Jerome enjoys (?) an early Saturday breakfast. The waitress is the same woman who checked us in late last night, back at work. |
Back in Clermont-Ferrand, I could sleep some more, in a noticeably larger, cleaner bed, and had none of the distractions of the French countryside to interrupt my race preparation. In fact, in order to maximize our chance of success on Sunday, my tour operator had thoughtfully booked our group at a faceless Hotel Kyriad (somewhere between a Motel 6 and a Days Inn), in the middle of the Zone Industrielle du Brézet, just off the highway exit and near the little-used airport. No distractions at all as we tried to focus on our race plans.
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| Zone Industrielle du Brézet. No distractions. Nothing at all of interest. I took a short warm up ride ... actually, not so short, to try to find the nearest supermarket. |
We had really crappy food for dinner -- pasta without sauce that must have been cooked for at least an extra 45 minutes -- but that would not cause us any digestive problems. I did not see or hear any live music or other entertainment nearby. Great for an early night to sleep for the big race. Not so great for a visit to France.
I must say that while the two guys from the tour operator who interacted with us -- Sébastien and Vitor -- were really nice, the tour organization left something to be desired. They need to learn to post (or email) written explanations, instead of depending upon word of mouth for passing on crucial information like what time the bus leaves, from where, and how to meet up with them after the finish, etc. (they were supposed to meet riders at the finish of Act II ... but failed to do so for anyone I spoke with, leaving us cold and wondering where we were supposed to go for our clean clothes we had deposited in the bus and the promised showers).
But the crappy food, even if barely edible, did not make me sick. And the breakfast was tolerable -- hard to mess that up -- and they had us to the start line well in advance, with plenty of extra time in which to get cold. Maybe the lack of distractions, fun, culture, or interesting food is why two of our group placed so well -- 25th and 40th, out of the thousands who rode?
The contrast between Friday and Saturday was almost too much. With Jerome, Didier and Isabel, I had seen a vibrant countryside that was authentic, with rich colors, delicious flavors, warm smiles, healthy animals, and a beautiful sky. On Saturday, I was in an industrial zone in a Motel Six-clone.
In Issoire, we had seen a rag tag local marching band as we left the registration area. My fellow travelers did not seem impressed, but for me they will symbolize the quirky, slightly disorganized and charming side of Issoire and neighboring towns that I saw. I could not get the tune out of my head as I lay resting on Saturday in the Zone Industrielle. I don't think there is much risk if you watch this sketchy video of part of the song, but be careful, if you do get hooked, it could require a trip to the Auvergne. Just let me know -- I can lend you some maps I picked up and am saving for my return.
Issoire Marching Band from David Litt on Vimeo.
As we climbed up to the Chateau Murol, we passed two women who had just finished their show with birds of prey and were walking the birds down the hill. I thought these two might have fit right in with the band.
Badges
A famous brand requires its own special mark.
Cervelo has its é.
Apple has its ... apple, with a bite taken out.
In German, Austria and Italy I saw all kinds of cars and bicycles. In France I saw all kinds of bicycles, but three brands of cars still seem to predominate, immediately recognizable by their hood badges.
I did not see them anywhere outside of France.
Cervelo has its é.
Apple has its ... apple, with a bite taken out.
In German, Austria and Italy I saw all kinds of cars and bicycles. In France I saw all kinds of bicycles, but three brands of cars still seem to predominate, immediately recognizable by their hood badges.
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| The Peugeot Lion -- Jerome's rental |
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| The Renault diamond -- Chez Bouhet |
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| The Citroen double chevron -- Chez Bouhet |
I did not see them anywhere outside of France.
Sights of Sonthofen - The Ordensburg
MOB and I arrived at the Sonthofen starting pen for Transalp very early, and decided we should stretch our legs a bit to warm up since we would start the day with a climb and needed to be ready -- a practice we abandoned on subsequent mornings, realizing it was more important to preserve energy. Our quick trip around the Southern edge of Sonthofen took in some very nice territory, and one monumental stone building upon on the hill that appeared to be part of a large military facility, complete with fences and barbed wire.
Sonthofen is deep in Bavaria, a region of Germany that was, one might say, especially enthusiastic about that certain German government that took power in the early 1930s. Juliane and MOB had mentioned to me that the conservative political party in Bavaria, the Christian Social Union (sister party of the Christian Democratic Union that operates in the rest of the country), would have (or at least had had) its annual party congresses in Sonthofen.
So I guess it was not a surprise that the most prominent building in the area is the Ordensburg, which, to quote an authoritative source (err, well, to quote Wikipedia) served as an "Adolf-Hitler-School for the education of party cadres."
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| The Ordensburg -- National Socialist Training Center in the 1930s, and French, then American, then German military facility in the postwar era. |
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| Sonthofen, nice country on the edge of the Alps! |
So I guess it was not a surprise that the most prominent building in the area is the Ordensburg, which, to quote an authoritative source (err, well, to quote Wikipedia) served as an "Adolf-Hitler-School for the education of party cadres."
Rest Days - Colombe and Grenoble
Jerome, Didier and I left Annecy for their "base camp" at the house of Jerome's brother, Matthieu, in Colombe, a pleasant town in the countryside about 30 minutes from Grenoble.
After the obligatory bicycle ride to stretch our legs in the valley nearby -- not to mention the short climb up the Col du Parmenie, with side trip up to the Abbey Parmenie on top of the hill above the Col -- we returned and were taken to dinner with Matthieu, his wife Crystelle, and their son Matthius, at a friend's condominium in Grenoble.
Grenoble is significantly larger than Annecy, less a museum piece and more a real city, but it nonetheless has a spectacular physical setting, nestled in a valley between the Alps and the Massif Chartreuse. We had a delicious meal and much good conversation, some of which I understood. We watched the fireworks from the condominium balcony, had more food (cheese!), drink and conversation, and then returned to Colombe. It was well after midnight, but I got the sense that probably if Matthius and I had not been there, the party would have gone even later.
In Grenoble, we saw many signs warning of street closings scheduled for today, July 23, as we drove around town and repeatedly crossed the path of the Tour de France's closing time trial -- last chance to mix up the standings before the final stage in Paris.
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| The view behind Chez Bouhet in Colombe |
After the obligatory bicycle ride to stretch our legs in the valley nearby -- not to mention the short climb up the Col du Parmenie, with side trip up to the Abbey Parmenie on top of the hill above the Col -- we returned and were taken to dinner with Matthieu, his wife Crystelle, and their son Matthius, at a friend's condominium in Grenoble.
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| Once and future Directeur Sportif shows how NOT to ride -- in crocs and with arms constrained |
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| The team wants to go straight to dinner and skip the ride. But the Directeur is relentless and sends us out. |
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| Once we start, we go further than expected and return 45 minutes late. |
Grenoble is significantly larger than Annecy, less a museum piece and more a real city, but it nonetheless has a spectacular physical setting, nestled in a valley between the Alps and the Massif Chartreuse. We had a delicious meal and much good conversation, some of which I understood. We watched the fireworks from the condominium balcony, had more food (cheese!), drink and conversation, and then returned to Colombe. It was well after midnight, but I got the sense that probably if Matthius and I had not been there, the party would have gone even later.
In Grenoble, we saw many signs warning of street closings scheduled for today, July 23, as we drove around town and repeatedly crossed the path of the Tour de France's closing time trial -- last chance to mix up the standings before the final stage in Paris.
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| Jerome and Didi unwind in Grenoble |
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| Bastille Day Sunset from Bea's condominium |
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| The French helped the Americans in the revolutionary war. The Americans returned the favor in WWII. |
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