Midlife Rock Stars?

On this date in 1969, Apollo 11 landed on the moon. The following day, Neil Armstrong and “Buzz’ Aldrin became the first humans to walk on the lunar surface.

I was a kid, so those days were not like any others I had ever known.  It was the first time that I could recall when, it seemed, the world stopped: regularly-scheduled television programs, baseball games and other events were paused, postponed, canceled or rescheduled. There was nothing else on TV because, really, not many people would have wanted to watch anything else.

Perhaps not surprisingly, Aldrin and Armstrong—and Michael Collins, who remained in orbit around the moon and, arguably, was the most important person in Apollo 11’s success— were given a hero’s welcome. I would go as far as to say the that they attained a status in people’s minds that no one else has before or since.

In one sense, they were like rock stars: They seemed larger than life and so many young people wanted to be like them—or, at least, the image they held of those men. And that image includes one of youth: The fame, fortune and glamor of being a rock star seems attainable because some achieve it in their 20s or even earlier: They aren’t much older than siblings, cousins or, in some cases, aunts or uncles. And in one sense, the astronauts seemed young because they were fit and energetic (and, depending on your perspective, handsome) and represented the future.

The image, of course, differs from the reality. Just almost no young person has any idea of just how much hard work it takes to become a successful musical performer, even if you have Jimi Hendrix’s talent, they don’t know how much intensive training someone has to undergo—sometimes at the cost of marriages and other things in life—to become an astronaut.

Oh, and the astronauts weren’t as young as they might have seemed. Aldrin, Armstrong and Collins were born within a few months of each other in 1930. That would have made them nearly 40 by the time of Apollo 11. While that is not old, I think some would say they were middle-aged. Given Armstrong lived to be 82 and Collins to 90–and that Aldrin is 96–they could all be said to have been, literally, in the middle of their lives when they took that historic flight.

Did that make them midlife rock stars?

To The Moon--And The Finish Line

Yesterday, I wrote about how Eddy Mercx's ride to his first Tour de France victory was overshadowed by Neil Armstrong's first steps on the moon.

Well, as it turns out, that day--20 July 1969--isn't the only connection between "The Cannibal," who left his competition in the dust, and the fellow who stepped off the Eagle into the lunar dust.

What Mercx's and Armstrong's (and Buzz Aldrin's and Michael Collins') journeys had in common were the vehicles that took them to their places in history.

By now, you might be wondering whether I've partaken of one of the substances consumed at another watershed event of 1969:  Woodstock.  I assure you, though, that the Kessels bike Eddy rode and the Apollo 11 spacecraft both had the same hand involved in them.  Well, sort of.

Tullio Campagnolo (center) in front of NASA OSO 6 satellite, for which he built the chasis (1969).

That mano is Tullio Campagnolo's.  Yes, the same uomo who designed the hubs, brakes, cranks, derailleurs and other major parts for the bike Eddy rode to the finish line also designed--and made--the chassis for a 1969 NASA satellite.  It's not the same craft that took the astronauts to another world.  But, certainly, much of the same technology and techniques were involved--and Tullio had a hand in them.

How many other people can say they helped to put men on the moon and get men (and women) over the finish line--in race cars as well as on bikes and motorcycles?

Ask Him Where He Was On 20 July 1969

Three days ago, on the 50th anniversary of Neil Armstrong's first steps on the moon, my post highlighted Dr. Rhett Allain's engaging article, "How Long Would It Take To Bicycle To The Moon?"

In my post, I said that everything stopped for Armstrong's historic stroll. Well, almost.  That same day, another legend was born, if you will.  A certain athlete would achieve one of the most resounding victories in his sport and begin a dominance that is all but unrivaled in any sport.

Now, since you're reading this blog, you probably know who that athlete is.  Hint:  He's Belgian.

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Yes, the incomparable Eddy Mercx rode to the first of his five Tour de France victories on 20 July 1969.  To be fair, the ride wouldn't have had to be pre-empted because it took place during the day, while the moon trek took place at night. That is, night in most of the Americas.  Paris time is six hours later than New York's (or Cape Canaveral's) and seven hours past Houston's, so by the time "The Cannibal" crossed the finish line--18 minutes ahead of second-place finisher and 1967 winner Roger Pingeon, one of the widest margins in Tour history--most Americans were still asleep or just waking up.

Although Mercx would become one of the most famous athletes of his or any generation, his ride in France was overshadowed (no pun intended) by the walk on the moon.  That was especially true in the United States, where there was little, if any, recognition of bicycle racing outside a few enclaves in California, Boston, New York, Chicago and, interestingly, Detroit.   And, of course, the 'States were the home base of the NASA.

So, even if bicycle racing becomes as popular as basketball or baseball in the US, if most Americans are asked "What happened on the 20th of July in 1969?," they respond, "Neil Armstrong walked on the moon!"  Then again, if you asked most people what happened on 22 November 1963, how many could tell you that C.S. Lewis died?