Tuesday, March 31, 2009
"28 March 2009
Dear Chief Dolan,
I am writing to you as a resident of the Steven's Square neighborhood in Minneapolis.
Today, the so-called "RNC 8"—charged with organizing direct action during the 2008 RNC—held a bike tour of the sites of the pre-RNC house raids in Minneapolis, before planning to cycle on to the sites of similar raids in St. Paul. The two parts of the day were organized to be split with a community lunch at the Walker Church. The participants were a wide range of people including local quakers, community activists, journalists, lawyers, educators, etc.—basically a cross-section of the city.
At 3:00pm today (Saturday March 28th), there were 6 bike police, a police van, a squad car, and a creepy-looking dark sedan stationed outside the Walker Church during the lunch.
The planned ride to St. Paul was cancelled because of this climate of intimidation. Nonetheless, the police continued to deploy in great numbers on the Marshall St. Bridge, where the ride had been scheduled to cross. And in St. Paul, several patrol cars were observed at the RNC raid sites that the ride had planned to visit, including 3 cars blocking the intersection at Iglehart and Chatsworth, next to Mike Whalen's house which was raided.
You may recall that Mr. Whalen's house was raided as the FBI believed that he was "collecting weapons" for the RNC. It turned out to be boxes of vegan literature for his room mate that had in fact been arriving at the house for a year and a half prior to the event. A video crew from New York was raided at gunpoint and handcuffed. Haven't you all already done enough to Mr. Whalen? This is blatant police thuggery.
It is estimated that 20-30 police officers and federal law enforcement officials took part in this apparently joint powers operation to harass a few dozen people on bicycles eating a community lunch in a church. Is the City's budget not already in trouble enough without this wanton waste of public funds?
Despite all road rules being obeyed and respected, there was one arrest for "disorderly conduct" of someone attempting to leave the event earlier. From what I understand, he was picked off as he left the main group, which continued on the Greenway. The Greenway, for heaven's sakes, an official city bike route with only pedestrian and bike traffic! Is there no sense of proportion left in in the Cities?
My question to you is very simple: What exactly is going on in the Twin Cities these days, when the police feel that it is acceptable to harass people peacefully gathering for political/community events and taking a casual bike ride around the cities—a group of no more than a few dozen people?
Enough is enough. We are supposed to be living in a free society. It is the job of government officials to guard those freedoms jealously. It is therefore totally unacceptable that police deploy in such large numbers for small events or—frankly—even at all if no crime is being committed.
The job of the police is not to intimidate citizens, yet this is exactly what is going on these days. It is completely disgusting to see this in America. Something needs to be done. A clear message needs to be sent to end—for once and all—such intimidation of the community.
The RNC has left the Cities, apparently the Cities cannot let go of the RNC overkill mentality of policing. I urge you to take immediate, unambiguous action.
You are making the Cities a scary place to live. We should be able to go about our Constitutionally-guaranteed business, our political associations, and our vegan potlucks without this kind of—frankly—pervasive and fascist intervention.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
And: "We can sit back and know that we've done what we can do. Now God's going to do what he can do," said church member Tami Crist. (Apparently overlooking the fact that it was her God that rained destruction down on her head in first place.) Oh well, forgive and forget.
This season could be an interesting one for Astana. Levi is in good form, I believe Contador is the best of the lot, and of course there is always the looming specter of Mr. Armstrong. Keep in mind, Lance is a close friend of team manager, Johan Bruyneel, as well as a part owner of the team. Who will the team support, the big name, or the best rider? Maybe it will prove to be one and the same...but not likely.
1. Levi Leipheimer (Astana) 15hr 33min 26sec. 659.3 km raced at an average speed of 42.38 km/hr
2. Alberto Contador (Astana) @ 16sec
3. David Zabriskie (Garmin-Slipstream) @ 22sec
4. Stef Clement (Rabobank) @ 49sec
5. Denis Menchov (Rabobank) @ 1min 7sec
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Some of my favorite roads are the narrow twisting crushed rock back roads that wynd through the wooded valley, up and down the hillsides surrounding Lanesboro, Minnesota. Viewed from Google Earth they are a maze of spider webs laid on the green moss ridges. They have names like the Ox Trail Road, the Hogback Road, or are named for the streams they cross, or for the long dead farmers who worked the abandoned farms. My Peter Mooney bicycle with it's fenders, wide tires and big gears was built up specifically for these roads, roads where you can ride for two hours and never meet a car or truck. I think of them when I see photos of these wonderful lads riding L'Eroica in northern Italy.
Every Fall approximately 600 mostly older men gather in Tuscany for L'Eroica, a ride over over the white crushed rock backroads of Tuscany. It is a ride, a 200km race, for "big old men on big old bikes". As it winds it's way through the villages the locals line the streets cheering, offering wine, fruit, bread and cheeses to the riders...the heroes. A great country Italy. I have to pack a lunch.
(Photos from the Italian Cycling Journel)
"...official briefings lost the jokes and quips that had broken the tension earlier in the week. Instead, Thursday's meeting opened with a prayer.
"We need all the help we can get," Mayor Dennis Walaker said.
The city of 92,000 unveiled a contingency evacuation plan Thursday afternoon, but at least four nursing homes already had begun moving residents by then.
"A few of them said they didn't want to go. I said I'm going where the crowd goes," said 98-year-old Margaret "Dolly" Beaucage, who clasped rosary beads as she waited to leave Elim Care Center.
"I'm a swimmer," she said, smiling, "but not that good a swimmer."
Monday, March 23, 2009
2. Thou shall not run red lights, except when there is no one else around; it shall be as the tree falling silently in the forest.
3. When a motorist cuts you off, offer up the sign of the cross. One finger pointed towards Heaven will not suffice.
4. Thou shalt wave to thy fellow cyclist. If he should ignore you, offer your blessing, and not “Fuck you, moron.”
5. If three consecutive cyclists ignore your wave, you are exempt from the forth commandment.
6. If passed while climbing a steep hill by a Fred with a 30 inch granny gear, resist the urge to wish that his chain will jump over his plastic dork disc and rip every spoke from his rear wheel.
7. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s ass, nor his six-pack abs, or any other part of his body.
8. Before the sun sets on the Sabbath, thou shalt shave your legs.
9. The meek shall inherit the earth. Blingy equipment that is lighter than an anorexic butterfly, will not substitute for miles in your legs.
10. Thou shalt not lie. Thou shalt not go on Internet forums under a pseudonym and boast how you blew all your friends away on an 8,000-foot climb, when the biggest hill in your area is a bridge over the freeway.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Just over two kilometres from the top, where the white shale of the summit reflects the sun and turns up the wick further, Simpson fell to earth. Did he actually whisper: "Put me back on the bike." Words subsequently attributed to him? Who knows, but they have gone down in legend and they sound authentic enough.
Simpson was the GB team-leader and far and away the biggest fish in a smallish British pool. He was the totem-pole around which British cycling gathered. Team managers and mechanics did exactly what he said.
Another 500 agonizing yards up the mountain he fell again and was very probably dead before he hit the ground - heart failure brought on by heat exhaustion. The Tour doctor, Pierre Dumas, could have been anywhere along the course but he was close by, and on arrival immediately began resuscitation procedures, although he feared the worse. He also called in a helicopter which eventually transferred Simpson to Avignon Hospital where he was pronounced dead at 5:40pm."
A memorial to a drug aided career. Bizarre. Baseball anyone?
MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVEEEEEEEEEEEEEENDIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISH is the winner!!!
Cavendish beat Haussler by about 10 centimetres. Hushovd came in third at two seconds. Heinrich Haussler really made the gap when he launched his sprint. But Cavendish's comeback in the last 50-100 metres was just sensational.
100th Milan - Sanremo Results
1. Mark Cavendish
2. Heinrich Haussler
3. Thor Hushovd
4. Allan Davis
5. Alessandro Petacchi
6. Daniele Bennati
7. Aitor Galdos
8. Enrico Rossi
9. Luca Paolini
10. Peter Velits
Mario Cipollini himself is now singing the praise of Cavendish and the Brit's "Extraordinary Talent" (two words the Lion King just said over and over again half a dozen times).
You really can't blame Cipo. It's not that common to win a difficult (perhaps not because of its hills, but certainly due to its lenght) race like this at your first ever attempt, but guys like Mark Cavendish ... yes, they can!! Just call it "Generation change" if you want. Cavendish was born in 1986, Haussler is pure class of 1984. And the boys of the 1970s couldn't do much to stop them.
Petacchi didn't even make the podium, Rebellin made a new addition to his "I tried, but couldn't" collection. And Lance Armstrong was never really a factor in today's race - media coverage aside of course. Mark Cavendish gained about 20 metres on Haussler in the last 200m.
Mark Cavendish talks as fast as he rides, so it was quite hard to catch everything he said in his first talk with Italian TV's "serial interviewer" Alessandra Stefano. But we clearly hard him say "this is the biggest day in my life" adding that "I'm happy, I'm very happy" and praising George Hincapie in particular
He even admitted that he had a hard time when he saw Haussler go away like that in the final straight. But he didn't lose hope and won. Mark Cavendish sprints as fast as he speaks English, you know ...
Friday, March 20, 2009
Rydjor Bike, my LBS, has a beatup Raleigh frame that was race ridden by Andy Hampsten, the pride of Grand Forks, North Dakota (this becomes important later in the story). Also tucked away in a drawer is Andy's rider's license for the years 1985 through 1988, the year he became a man - no, the year he became The Man.
(Please pardon the funky spacing. The html was converted from a harvested Adobe document and it doesn't wrap well.)
"From the start of the Giro, I knew the Gavia Pass was
going to be the key stage. The 1966 winner of the Giro, Italian Gianni Motta had
befriended our team and throughout the early stages of the Giro he kept telling
me "Andy, the Gavia is your stage to take the pink jersey". It was really cool
that an Italian was so supportive of an American and an American team trying to
win his national race. We knew that the conditions were going to be pretty bad
on the Gavia Pass. The morning of the stage, the race director held a meeting
with all the team managers and he told them that it was snowing on top of the
pass but the road was clear. Armed with that information, our support personnel
scoured the shops in Sondrio, where we were staying and bought all the warm
gloves and wool hats they could find. Each rider was then asked to pack a
special mussette bag which was to be handed to the rider ½ mile before the summit
of the pass. All our warmest clothes including the hats and gloves went into the
bag. The stage had two climbs, the relatively minor Passo Aprica, a 2000 foot
climb followed by a 1500 foot descent then a long, gradual 2000 foot ascent up a
valley to the 4500 foot, 10 mile climb over the Gavia followed bya 15 mile, 4500
foot descent into Bormio and the stage finish. Things started to look grim on the descent of the Aprica. I was wearing tons of clothes, but the rain had been coming down in buckets from the start of the stage and I was shaking badly from the wet and cold. In the valley going up to the base of the Gavia I was upset because this was going to be my big day and it appeared that it was not going to happen. Slowly, I began to accept that it was going to be bad and that it was going to be bad for everyone else. I convinced myself that I should just stick to the plan that we had hatched weeks before. I had a good relationship with my coach, Mike Neel, and I trusted him. In 1985, my first Giro, he and I had driven the route of my first stage win in the morning
before the stage started. Mike had shown me the exact spot to make my attack and
I went on to win the stage. I realized that I had to go 100% on the attack and
hold nothing back. I had about 10 kilos of wet clothing from the weather, but I
had to get rid of everything. I dumped my leg warmers and 2 extra jerseys. I was
down to shoes and socks, shorts, 1 undershirt, a thin long-sleeve polypro top
and clear Oakleys. I was wearing the "performance" jersey which is the rider with
the best combined point totals in sprints, climbing and overall classification
made of pretty thick wool, which was nice! My biggest asset was that I kept my
neoprene gloves. I realized that I had to keep my hands warm or I couldn't
function. Going up the valley, the "boys" (i.e. my teammates) were doing
everything they possibly could for me; bringing me hot tea every 5 minutes;
taking my clothes, etc. I was not sure how much I would have to suffer, but I
felt that we were all going to have to go to a new limit to get over the pass. I
knew I could suffer, but I also knew it would be very hard for my teammates so I
was trying to psyche them up as well. I remember telling Bob Roll that this would
probably be the hardest day on the bike in our lives. At the bottom of the
climb, the Del Tongo team was at the front riding tempo for their race leader,
Chioccioli, but, everybody knew I was going to attack. When the road steepened,
I went to the front and all the climbers marked my wheel. I could hear them
muttering "Hampsten is going to attack" and trying to discourage me. At this
point the road was still paved, but when I came around a left-hand switchback
and saw the road turn to dirt and the 16% sign, I punched it. I was definitely
playing head games. I wanted the other riders to be afraid of both my strength
and of the height of the climb. The other riders knew I was strong, I had won
the mountain stage to Selvino two days before. I was putting my cards on the
table now, so early on the climb, because on the valley approaching the Gavia, I
had re-affirmed my commitment to attack on this day. I was prepared to attack
multiple times, but I was relieved to see it break up so quickly into little groups. Zimmermann, Breukink, Chioccioli and Delgado were all chasing, but it was definitely breaking up. There was a small breakaway of minor riders up the road that was coming apartso I concentrated on picking off those riders. I was glad to finally be going hard again because I was still cold from the descent off the Aprica some 10 miles back. Because of all the rain, the dirt was really shaky. It was pretty soft, each tire left a groove mark. I had to use my 39x25 to make progress. I think I was more
comfortable on the dirt than everyone else; I trained a lot on dirt in Colorado
and I had ridden a lot in the snow in Colorado and in winters in North Dakota, I
had ridden my bike 3 miles each way to school in the snow. As I climbed higher
and higher, my mind started wandering and the psychological aspects of what was
happening started to creep into my mind. I felt that I had achieved my results,
to date, without taking any shortcuts, but when it started getting bad, I
thought about what I could do to make things better. I gave up on asking God for
any help, I was blessed already having the privilege of racing, instead I
speculated on what I would bargain for if the devil showed up. Demoralized by
this chain of thought, I realized that at the beginning of the day, I had relied
only on myself to get me through the stage. On the Gavia, as always, there where
no shortcuts and I had never looked for help from pills or other aids, although
I was in such a mental state that I doubt I would have resisted any temptation
that delivered me to Bormio. I must rely on myself to see me through. At 4mi to
go to the summit, my mind started going into a fog. I was going hard, but it was
not like I was murdering anyone, Breukink was the closest behind at about 1
minute back. I started thinking about how cold I was now and the 15mi descent
from the summit and the doubts started creeping in..... Were the team cars going
to get through? Would the soigneur be there at 2.5 mi to go with hot tea? Would
Och be there at 1km to go with my bag? What would I do when I got my bag? I
realized that if I stopped to put something on, I probably wouldn't keep going,
so I decided to just take the bag and keep riding. About 3mi from the top, I
went to put on a wool hat but decided first to brush the water out of my hair,
but my hand went 'thunk' on a huge snowball that fell onto my back. I got a
bottle of hot tea from our soigneur ET at the point of the climb that was carved
out of the mountain-side, which is about 2.5 miles below the summit. I tried to
hug the mountainside and get a moment of shelter but the spectators where more
determined to shelter themselves than move. At 1mi to go, the wind picked up and
the snow was blowing hard into my face .I was creating tracks in the snow from my
tires, but the traction was OK.
Now I really started thinking about the 15mi of descending and how cold I was
and how much colder I could get. At 1/2mi to go, I took my special bag with a
jacket and gloves from Och. The wind was blowing so hard that I could barely
keep the bike going and put my jacket on, no-hands. In retrospect, I should have
just stopped and put the jacket on since I lost 40-50 seconds to Breukink and he
eventually caught me at the top, but if I had stopped, I may never have started
again! When I saw the buildings I thought that was the top of the climb (it
was!) and if I was going to stop, I should do so here. But I really wanted to
race at that point. It wasn't survival yet. By the way it was snowing and the
way the flakes were coming down, I figured the storm was coming from the north
so I reckoned that the conditions would be much worse on the descent. Because of
this, I didn't fly over the top but held back to save some energy for the
descent. When Breukink caught me at the top, at first, I thought I would follow
him on the descent but he was going so slowly when the descent started that I
figured I should go in front and make my own mistakes. I learned later that
Breukink never put on a jacket. Instead, his team manager, Peter Post followed
him down the descent and kept him alert by yelling and cursing at him. I only
had one gear for the descent, all the others had iced up and I kept thinking that
I must keep pedaling to keep that one gear free of ice. The road at the top of
the descent was gravel. It was better for descending than asphalt as it did not
ice up. I tested it a couple of times to see if it was solid and it was. The
spectators on the descent did not know if the race had been cancelled so they
were wandering all over the road. On one turn, I almost hit a Carerra team
mechanic holding a spare pair of wheels and walking down the middle of the road.
I remember he was wearing this beautiful gore-tex full body suit and I really
wanted to have it on me! As I descended, I got colder and colder. I tried to
shut out the cold and concentrate on the road ahead. It was asphalt now, but
luckily it was not icy. I tried not to brake too hard. When I used the brakes,
first I had to break the ice from the rims, then scrape the water off before I
got any stopping power. I was concerned about hypothermia and just how much
colder I could get before I was no longer able to pedal the bike. My arms were
basically locked up from the start of the descent, I just tried to keep pedaling
to keep my legs moving. At one point, I looked down at my legs and through a
layer of ice and lanolin grease, I could see that they were bright red. After
that, I didn't look at my legs again. About 10km into the descent, Mike Neel in the team car caught up with me. There wasn't much he could do, the snow had turned to a cold rain, all I cared about was getting down to a place which was warm and I could stop. At about 6km to go, Breukink caught me, but I was totally blocked and could not respond. Breukink had no rain jacket on, just a jersey, so he could descend faster on the long straight drop into Bormio. There was no bloody way I was going to take my jacket off. After I crossed the finish line, I headed straight for our our soigneur, Julie. I was in such a rage trying to get down the mountain in one piece that
when our team doctor, Max Testa, came up behind me and tried to put his jacket
around me, I didn't realize who it was and since he was keeping me from Julie
and my warm clothes, I started punching him. Mike Neel came over and
straightened me out and got me in the team car, which was running it's heater
full blast! When I started to warm up the pain started to come back. Mike then
told me I had the jersey and the pain and the euphoria swept over me and I just
started crying, laughing and shaking. A whole wave of emotions covering the
range of finishing the stage to the realization that I would survive gave me a
brief and refreshing emotional meltdown . Within 10 minutes of the finish, I was
up on the podium. The pink jersey felt good. I slipped it on and all my doubts
went away. The TV interviews began and I remember saying 'Incredible, I have
never seen conditions like this, even in Colorado. Today it was not sport, it
was something beyond sport." Everyone who made it over the Gavia that day was a
winner. Even to this day, there is a clique of riders whose bond is that they
rode over the Gavia that day. One reason I think the Italian fans liked the
stage was that it epitomized their lives, especially post-war. All the suffering they had to endure to survive was similar to what I was going through."
FM: Just before the stage started I tried to ride my bike on a climb and I noticed I couldn't use the muscles of my left arm to pull on the handle bar very hard. So my mechanic, Faliero Masi, the best mechanic of all time, cut a piece of inner tube and suggested I pull it with my mouth. That was a great idea!
VP: Then, during stage 16, from Bologna to Rapallo, through the Apennines, you crashed again and broke your humerus.
FM: Yes, I didnt have enough strength in my left arm and I crashed after hitting a ditch by the road. I fell on my already broken bone and fainted from the pain. The ambulance came to bring me to the hospital. In the ambulance they gave me water and I got back on my feet. When I realized that I was being taken to the hospital I screamed and told the driver to stop. I didn't want to abandon the Giro!
I mounted my bike again and restarted pedaling. The peloton had waited for me, so I arrived in Rapallo in a relatively good position. I had no idea of how serious my condition was, I just knew that I was in a lot of pain but I didn't want to have X-rays that evening. During the days that followed I could hold my own.
VP: You were even able to ride the Stelvio Pass (Stage 19)!
FM: Yes, there I didn't have problems on the climb, but the descent was hard. On the climb I could go up at my own speed. At that point my aim was just to finish the Giro, not to win it of course. I didn't want to abandon the Giro in the year of my retirement.
VP: Why did you have problems on the descent?
FM: Because I could not brake with my left hand and I skidded. That was tough!
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The 242km stage started from Merano in the Dolomites in cold, wet weather. Gaul made his first attack with Bahamontes on the day’s first climb, the Costalunga. They were reeled in on the descent, but Gaul attacked again on the second climb, the Passo Rolle. This time, the Angel of the Mountains really took flight and by the top of the pass race leader Fornara, suffering in the awful conditions, was four minutes behind. But Gaul then had more bad luck. Two punctures cost him six minutes and he was well behind the leaders when he reached the foot of the day’s third giant climb, the Brocon, as the rain redoubled in ferocity.
Over this third climb in a stage that would take the leaders nine hours to complete, Gaul again turned on his climbing power. He passed Fornara and set about chasing the other top Italians, Fiorenzo Magni and Nino De Filippis. The Luxembourger continued his relentless progress into a violent head wind. With about 40km to go, he had passed Magni, caught De Filippis and was only two minutes behind the leader on the road, Bruno Monti.
At this point, with Fornara almost five minutes behind, De Filippis was the virtual race leader. But once Gaul passed him, De Filippis suddenly lost all his willpower in the horrendous weather. He could barely turn the pedals and was soon re-caught by the Fornara group. De Filippis could go no further. He stopped, collapsed and was then carried into his Bianchi team car.
By the time Gaul reached the wet streets of Trento, at that foot of the 14km ascent to the ridge-like summit of Monte Bondone, the frail-looking 23-year-old climber was looking strong enough to win the stage and perhaps take over the pink jersey.
On the early slopes of the climb, where the grade was at 10 percent, the rain began turning to snow and later to a full blizzard, blown by gusting winds. The maglia rosa, Fornara, was overcome by the freezing temperatures and took refuge in a farmhouse. Others rode to a standstill, while some riders stopped to dip their freezing hands in bowls of hot water offered by spectators. Only 43 of the day’s 89 starters would reach the Bondone’s 5413-foot summit, and some of those arrived in cars (and were allowed to start the next day).
Gaul arrived at the summit finish almost eight minutes ahead of the second man, Alessandro Fantini, and 12:15 ahead of defending champion Magni. His face a wrinkled mess, his hands and feet turned blue, Gaul had won the stage and taken the Giro lead by 3:27 over Magni. Never in the history of the Italian race had one man come from so far back to win the overall title in a single day. Gaul had to have his clothes cut from his frigid body before he was immersed in a hot bath at his hotel. Two days later he was crowned the champion of the 1956 Giro d’Italia.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
This coming Saturday the 21st, the bicycle racing season kicks off with the first of the one-day Spring Classics, the 100th edition of Milan-San Remo. I enjoy the one-day races more than the longer tours because there are less team tactics, less holding back. Because there is no tomorrow, there is less parsing of strength; they are mano-a-mano. There are those who maintain I am an opinionated S.O.B. (duh), but I offer the following, not as an opinion, but as a fact:
Eddy Merckx was the greatest rider to ever turn a pedal, and anyone who thinks otherwise is either a fool, or has absolutely no knowledge of cycling history.
The following is an edited down piece from the Milan-San Remo site:
Friday 19 March 1976. The 67th Milan-San Remo was won for a record seventh time by Eddy Merckx.
For once the man who had made Molteni sausages a dish royalty knew about, was not the pre-race favorite. His inconsistent form in Tirreno-Adriatico, which had finished three days earlier, saw him finish second overall to Roger De Vlaeminck. Merckx however had not fully recovered from an earlier bout of bronchitis.
Eddy Merckx was part of a leading group of fifteen riders that formed on the descent of the Capo Berta, which came after the 240 km mark. Along the rolling coast road Merckx attacked three times. Each time he caught the rest of the group by surprise with bursts of effort that took him up to 100 meters clear. Each time his rivals fought back up to him, but having to dig deep into their reserves of strength. Then suddenly the race route turned right off the wide coastal road and onto the narrower road of the Poggio climb. Here came the fourth and vital attack. Again it was a surprise move, but this time there was hesitation. De Vlaeminck and Maertens looked at each other, each hoping the other would bridge the gap. Instead it was a young Vandenbroucke who crossed and joined Merckx.
The two Belgians climbed side by side, and at the top it was clear the victory would be between these two. "Eddy asked me to do my share, but I had to confess that I was virtually at the end of my strength." Vandenbroucke said later. At the top, the nearest, Paris-Nice winner Laurent, was 15 seconds behind followed by Panizza, with the rest not far back. Merckx had out-witted his rivals once again, for most had been expecting an attack over the top of the Poggio, scene of several of his winning moves in the past.
Into San Remo itself, Vandenbroucke took over the lead from Merckx, who motioned him through. With 300 metres remaining Merckx erupted from Vandenbroucke's back wheel and the race was over.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
I have known L.P. literally all my life. Our parents were friends when we were children, then later we worked together. When I say "worked together'', that is exactly what I mean. For a number of years, before computers, we had adjacent drafting tables and even shared a telephone. Eventually we moved up and were were separated by office walls, but he was still there. Most of the other office conversation seem to revolve around sports. While I could dip my toes into that conversation for a while, it wasn't anything I cared about. L.P. was the person with whom I could discuss politics, philosophy, or the latest NOVA program. We exchanged books and articles. We shared an interest in obscure things like heritage roses, antique fly rods, native orchids and tallgrass prairie restoration. Over the years, who was influencing who, became obscured.
Then in a dark time, he left our company. Of course he found a better job almost immediately, but I was left isolated, alone...with no one but jockstraps to talk to. It was a dark time indeed. Our one hour a week helps keep me centered and focused again. Thanks.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Wednesday, March 4, 2009