It was a beautiful day yesterday, most of which I wasted sitting in the sunshine smoking a cigar and reading. Late in the afternoon I went in for a beer and was high-jacked by the end of the Masters. The Masters - knocking a little ball around a garden with dyed water ponds and recorded bird calls, being cheered on by row after row of overweight Republicans. They are so cute in their trim little white shorts and floppy hats. By the way, who is the fellow who always shows up to holler, "In the hole!" every time someone tees off, even if it's a par 5?
As the Masters wound down I flip-flopped between the garden tour and the 108th Paris Roubaix, the Queen of the Classic one day races, run over the narrow, beat-up cobbled roads of rural northern France into Belgium. It was a close race until Fabian Cancellara kicked it up a gear and left the peleton looking like a bunch of stunned Freds. One of the reasons I love this race is there isn't all of that maintaining 3 second margins, team tactic bullshit of the TdF. It's a race of truth, where a rider puts his head down, pedals hard and, if he is the best man, wins. It also helps that the bigger, stronger men win, not some little 120 pound spider of a creature. No offense, spider men. Eventually Fabian ran the margin up to over 3 minutes before letting up and cruising in about 2 1/2 minutes ahead of the field. He is a Man on a flat road, winning his second race in a week. It's too bad they invented mountains or he's ride away with the TdF too. Bad roads and all, he averaged over 25 mph. I've torn the computers off my bikes because they interfere with my experience, but I'm not certain I can even hit 25 mph anymore.