L'Alpe, Le Col—And A Secret

Today is Bastille Day.

So, why have I posted a photo of a tide rolling in?

No, I am not making a hackneyed metaphor for the mobs that stormed the prison that became a symbol of monarchial tyranny and class stratification.  Nor am I making an equally tired cliche about the cycles of history.

I took that photo on Bastille Day, almost.  Actually, it's from a couple of days after, just ahead of a Tour de France stage--in the French Alps.

That scene is of something to which I've alluded in other posts.  I took the photo as I pedaled above clouds. To this day, I can't say whether I felt more elation over rising above the clouds or reaching the top of the mountain, which I did a bit later.

Now I am going to reveal one of my dim, dark secrets:

Yes, that's what I looked like on 17 July 2001, a bit more than a year before I started my gender affirmation process. (I am squinting because, at high altitudes, the sun is more intense.) Not only was my world different; so was the world.  For one thing, I asked some random stranger to take that photo:  In the days before i-phones, it was more difficult to take "selfies" without special equipment.  Also, 2001 was the last year of the franc and lira:  On my next trip to France, three years later,  I'd be paying in euros.  And less than two months after I rode to the top of l'Alpe d'Huez, ahead of the Tour peloton, the terrible events of 11 September would change so much else.

A couple of days after that climb, I would ascend to another iconic Tour climb:  the col du Galibier.  I described that climb, and how it--or, more precisely, descending from it and crossing the valley--led me to, among other things, becoming the midlife cyclist who authors this blog. (See this and this.)

So, on this Bastille Day--as the Tour de France climbs and descends through its second day in the Alps--I am writing in part to celebrate the country which I feel almost as much kinship as my own and ascending some of its most difficult climbs.  But I now realize that I am paying homage to the person--known as Nicholas, Nick or Nicky-- who brought me to the part of the journey I've recounted in this blog.  I hope I am honoring him in the way he deserves.

Oh, and today is the anniversary of the day I gave up his name and assumed mine, two years after I ascended those mountains.  I remember feeling, on that day--Bastille Day--that I felt more free, that I had climbed another mountain.

Whether they finish first, last or somewhere in between, the riders in today's Tour stage will always have that.  Just ask Phillipa York, nee Robert Millar.

Note:  I apologize for the poor quality of the images.  I'm still learning how to use my iPhone to take pictures of old pictures!

  

Polka Dots For This Mum!

In the summers of 2000 and 2001, I became a "Tour chaser":  I rode along part of the race's route.  Specifically, I rode the mountain stages, not far from the race itself.  In 2000, I rode up and down some of the Pyrenees climbs en route to Spain and back.  The following year, I ascended some of the most difficult Alpine climb, including a ride up the Alpe d'Huez in the morning, ahead of the Tour caravan.

I thought I was quite the rider.  So did anyone who saw me or heard about what I did:  I made all of those climbs and descents with a full set of panniers and handlebar bag.  So, although my bike--a Voodoo Wazoo Cyclo-cross machine--was relatively light, especially considering that I rode with sturdy tires, I was hauling about ten kilograms more than any of the racers.

I don't know what it would be like to do those climbs now.  After all, I was twenty years younger than I am now.  Oh, and those two tours (the 2001 ride took me into a bit of Italy and another bit of Switzerland) were the last I did before my gender affirmation process.  So I had a full dose of testosterone, if you will, powering those muscles in my legs.

But I must say that someone who followed Sunday's ninth stage of the Tour de France puts me to shame.  

#TDF2022 It's hard to be a good mom #respect #sharingpassion pic.twitter.com/vKZwPRso6I

— ProCyclingStats.com (@ProCyclingStats) July 10, 2022

Dubbed "Supermum" and "Mum of the Year," she pedaled up--and down--the Col de Croix with her kid in tow.  Some have suggested that since she was riding a Cannondale, and did something similar in the wake of the 2019 Giro d'Italia, the bike-maker should sponsor her.

If I'd been awarded the polka-dot jersey for my rides, I would gladly have given it to her. 

The Next Tour?

 World War II suspended the Tour de France and most other cycling and athletic-related events.  For one thing, many riders were called to fight for their countries.For another, had the events been held, riders' safety could not be ensured.

So I was surprised to learn that a race transversing one of the world's most war-torn countries last week.  One thing that makes the race all the more interesting is that it is being promoted as a counterpart to the Tour de France.  Burkina Faso was a colony of that country, called Upper Volta, until 1984.

Eighty cyclists are riding the race, some of them Europeans.  (They say they're not worried about safety because "the military are everywhere.") Perhaps most prominent among them is Paul Daumont, who also competed in this year's Olympics in Tokyo.  The good news is that, at 22, he still has a lot of riding ahead of him.  

But he admits that it hasn't been easy for him, or other cyclists from his country.  The country's cycling federation gave him a bike when he showed potential but, he says, you need a really good bike which few of his compatriots can afford.  Also, I imagine that his team and others in Africa simply don't have the budgets or facilities of their European counterparts.  

Daumont has already raced, not only in Japan, but in other countries like Switzerland.  It's fair to wonder whether he and other talented cyclists will follow their counterparts in football (soccer) to careers in Europe, where teams from the English Premier League to Serie A feature star players from Africa and other parts of the world. The French national team won the World Cup in 1998 and 2018 largely thanks to the efforts of their African and Middle Eastern players.

Two things Daumont and other African cyclists share with their football-playing counterparts are ambition and a willingness to work very, very hard.  So, perhaps, we might see Africans win the Tour, Giro and Vuelta sooner rather than later.

  

Marianne Martin Finally Gets Her Due--Somewhat

 It's one thing to call a baseball player "the Black Babe Ruth."  One player wore that moniker.  But some called "the Bambino" "the White* Josh Gibson."

Gibson died at age 35, three months before Jackie Robinson broke Major League Baseball's color barrier.*  Yet he wasn't enshrined in the sport's Hall of Fame until a quarter-century after his passing.

Five years ago,  Rogatien Vachon was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame--more than three decades after he played his last game in the National Hockey League.  When he retired, he was among the sport's top five or ten in several categories for his position.  He spent the bulk of his career with the Los Angeles Kings, where he became the franchise's first superstar. But, as great as he was, he was overshadowed by other goalies like Ken Dryden, who played for the dynastic Montreal Canadiens teams, and Ed Giacomin, who spent his career with the New York Rangers and Detroit Red Wings.

So why am I mentioning them on this blog?

Well, a parallel just played out in the world of cycling.  On 6 November, Marianne Martin will accept her induction to the US Bicycling Hall of Fame in Colorado Springs.  She actually was inducted last year but, due to the pandemic, her ceremony was postponed.  

Her enshrinement comes three decades after she retired from competition and nearly four after her most notable achievement on two wheels.  That her induction was so late in coming is also a sad commentary on the state of competitive cycling.

Marianne Martin and Laurent Fignon, winners of the women's and men's Tour de France, 1984

In 1984, she won the inaugural edition of the women's Tour de France.  The race, 18 days long, ran in tandem with  (though on shorter courses than, with the same climbs and peaks as) the men's version.  Six editions of the women's Tour were held, the last coming in 1989, the year Greg LeMond came back from a near-fatal hunting accident to win the men's Tour for the second time.

LeMond got his induction, well-deserved as it was, five years after his last race.  Martin's honor took a quarter-century longer to come her way.  Still, she doesn't express anger or resentment. "Half my friends don't even know that I was a cyclist.  It's not something I carry out in front of me," says Martin, who is a photographer.  While she says that cycling was something she did, not who she was, it's hard not to compare her post-cycling life and reputation with that of LeMond who, in turn, is less famous than the disgraced Lance Armstrong.

*--The only athletes I respect as much as human beings as I respect Jackie Robinson are Billie Jean King, Muhammad Ali, Colin Kaepernick and Simon Biles. That said, I will not refute (or confirm) the rumors that Jackie wasn't the first Black Major League Baseball player, as others--including Babe himself--were rumored to be Black.  Also, it wouldn't surprise me if some light-skinned Black players moved north (where all of the MLB teams were, and Jim Crow laws weren't) and passed themselves off as white.  

Just Another Bike Rider

“Darling, my face is my passport.”

Whether or not Vivien Leigh so replied to a jaded customs officer’s demand for documentation, it’s hard to imagine how anyone could have failed to recognize the visage of one of the stage and screen’s brightest stars.

A cyclist out for a trining ride last week could’ve identified with her. Authorities stopped him from proceeding along a road near Saint Raphael, along the French Mediterranean coast.

Millions of people witnessed the incident during a live news broadcast on France 2. The road had just been closed due to the risk of forest fires that have engulfed other Mediterranean locales.

"Ce randonneur à vélo"
Euh c'est juste Chris Froome qui a gagné 4 fois le Tour de France sur la même chaîne. @France2tv

Poke @DansLaMusette pic.twitter.com/SVZS0mGEhv

— Johan Rouquet (@JohanRouquet) August 11, 2021

What the presenter, veteran journalist Johan Rouquet, didn’t realize  was that “ce randonneur à velo” wasn’t just any old bike tripper.  Rather, the fellow who’d just been turned back was none other than four-time Tour de France winner Chris Froome.

Sometimes you just can’t be famous enough!

Bilingual Bonehead Busted

I really try not to be a mean, vindictive person.  I know it's wrong to wish harm to other people, but...  

There are some people who really deserve to become candidates for the Darwin Awards. The problem is that instead of removing themselves from the gene pool, they harm others.

I am thinking in particular about the spectator who, with her back to the peloton, stepped into its path while holding a banner of bilingual banality:  "Allez Opi-Omi."  Allez, is of course, a French greeting or wish for good luck, while Opi-Omi is a German term of endearment for grandparents.

The latter part of the sign led authorties to believe that she was German or, perhaps, Alsatian or Swiss.  Turns out, she's a local woman, and the gendarmes took her into custody in Landerneau, where the first stage of this year's Tour de France ended.

About 45 kilometers from the first stage finish line, her stupidity, vanity or egocentricity, depending on how you see her action, resulted in one of the worst crashes in recent Tour history.  Eight riders were involved, and one, Marc Soler finished the stage but abandoned the race after fractures were found in both of his arms.

According to local law in Finistere, northewestern France, the woman could be fined 1500 Euros (about 1800 USD), provided that the crash doesn't cause the riders more than three months of inaction.  She could face stiffer penalties, however, if individual riders take action against her.  Soler says he might try to sue her, and Tour organizers say they're considering that option.  

Whatever comes of their actions, the woman will have few, if any, rivals for sheer thoughtlessness.  One can only hope that she doesn't pass on that trait.

A Socially-Distanced Peloton?

For many Americans, the beginning of the baseball season, however belated and truncated, was a sign that things were "returning to normal."

(What does "normal" mean anymore?  What did it ever mean?)

Well, less than a week into the new season, something that the league commissioner, team owners and others who had a vested interest did not anticipate--or simply ignored the possibility of--happened.   It seems that they if they foresaw anything, they envisioned one or two players on a time getting infected, and isolated.  

Instead, 17 members of the Miami Marlins tested positive for the virus.  As a result, at least the next four games on the Marlins' schedule have been postponed.  Given that the schedule is already belated, truncated and compressed, no one really knows how or whether those games will be made up.  Moreover, other games have to be postponed or rescheduled because the Marlins were playing in Philadelphia, and the next team that comes to town will either have to reschedule or find a way not to use the visiting team's clubhouse.

More important, though, are the family members, friends, girlfriends, flight attendants, restaurant or bar workers or others those infected players may have contacted--not to mention members of opposing teams.

I mention the Marlins because their situation got me to wondering about other sports, including bicycle racing.  Baseball is not a "contact" sport; players typically come within six feet of each other only when they run or slide into a base.  On the other hand, in basketball players. for example,  are normally within inches of each other, and are wearing very little.

What I said about basketball players also applies to bicycle racers in the peloton.  In major races, a hundred or more riders are pedaling--and breathing hard--in an area about the size of an eat-in kitchen in a New York apartment. 

I thought about all of this when I learned that the Vuelta a Burgos was running.  It's the first international race held since coronavirus shutdowns began in March. Race organizers tout the precautions they are taking and, to date, no rider has tested positive.  Still, one has to wonder whether the race will end without anyone coming down with the virus.




The same question could be asked about the Tour de France.  It would normally end about now, but has been rescheduled for 29 August to 20 September.  Tour organizers have devised two different sets of protocols.  Still, one has to wonder whether either would be sufficient, especially there seem to be new outbreaks in parts of Europe as well as the US.

A socially-distanced peloton?  Perhaps a race could be run that way.  But would it lose something, like a basketball game in which defenders can't stand between a the basket and an opponent dribbling the ball.

Connect--Or Follow--The Dots

In a normal year, the Tour de France would be in its third or fourth stage right about now.  Depending on where the prologue was staged, the riders would be pedaling by Picardian poppy fields, zagging along la Cote Opale or, perhaps, winding past Burgundian vineyards.  While they might encounter some hills along the way, they probably would not have begun to ascend the tortuous mountain climbs for which the Tour is famous.

So, there wouldn't be much talk about who would be "crowned" King of the Mountains

and wear the "royal" polka dot jersey.

Perhaps the only riders who get more respect than its wearer are the ones who sport the overall leader's maillot jaune (yellow jersey) or the points leader's green jersey.  Having pedaled up a few Tour climbs, including the Alpe d'Huez, les deux Alpes, Col de Lauteret,  and le Col du Galibier, there are few athletes I admire more than those who make such ascents on a regular basis!

Plus, I'll admit, I am just enough of a fashionista to want to wear a polka dot jersey!

The Only Tour We'll See?

I saw the Tour de France today.

If you thought that was a cheap trick to get your attention, well, maybe it was.  The Tour normally doesn't begin until early July, a little more than two months from now.  Its organizers say that it's been rescheduled to begin on 29 August and run until 20 September.  Given how many other races and other sporting events--not to mention concerts, festivals and other gatherings--have been canceled altogether for this year, it wouldn't surprise me if this year's edition of the race meets a similar fate.

But, I tell you, I really saw the Tour today:

OK, it wasn't the race.  For that matter, it's not like any bike that would be ridden in one of the world's major competitions.  It seems rather like any number of other basic hybrid bikes one can buy:  probably not terrible, but not fantastic either.  Not bad looking, though.

Oh well.  It might be the only Tour de France we see this year.

Fall Classics?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how the coronavirus might keep you from getting the new bike you want. 

The other day, I wondered whether quarantines or containment zones might keep us from doing some of our regular rides--or force us to re-route them.

Now I've learned that bike races, just like other sporting events can be affected.  The Sea Otter Classic, which had been scheduled for next month in Monterey, California,  has been rescheduled for 1-4 October.  

Of course I understand organizers' reasons for re-scheduling the event.  And, given that Italy is basically under lockdown because of its virus outbreak, it's no surprise that this year's Strade Bianche and Milano-San Remo one-day classic races have been postponed.  So, I wonder whether upcoming "classics" further north in Europe, such as Gent-Wevelgem and Paris-Roubaix will also be affected, as the scope of the outbreak is spreading and France has banned gatherings of 1000 or more people.

If those races are postponed or cancelled, what will happen to the Giro d'Italia, which runs in May, or the Tour de France or Vuelta a Espana if the epidemic engulfs those countries.   
David Lappartient, the president of the Union de Cyclisme Internationale, says that canceling the Giro or the Tour would be a "disaster" for cycling.  He seemed more optimistic about the prospects for the Tour, not only because he's French, but also because the worst of the crisis may pass before the race starts.

The Tour's grand depart is scheduled for 27 July--a week earlier than normal--because of the Tokyo Olympics, which themselves may be postponed.

Perhaps the Sea Otter won't be the only major cycling event in October after all. Or, to put it another way, the World Series might not be the only Fall Classic this year!

A Shift In The Middle Of The Tour

"Brooks" of Retrogrouch frame is so kind.  Last month, we wrote posts on the same topic, days apart, without prior consultation.  He said, "You know what they say about great minds."  Now, I would never, ever give myself such credit.  Really!

Anyway, I wrote about a pair of Simplex bar end shifters, still in their original packaging, I saw at Tony's  Bicycles in Astoria.  I also espied a pair of Shimano bar-ends from the same era (1970s) in Tony's showcase.

Little more than a week later, Brooks wrote his excellent post about bar-end shifters in general.  As he points out, they offer most of the advantages of integrated brake/shift levers ("brifters") without their vulnerability to damage--and expense.  Brooks then discussed some of the different bar-end shifters made during the 1970s--when they seem to have been the most popular--and today.  

He does mention something very interesting but almost entirely forgotten:  Campagnolo has offered bar-end shifters at least since the early 1950s-- around the time they introduced the Gran Sport, their first parallelogram rear derailleur.  The funny thing is that when that derailleur first saw the light of day, Campagnolo wasn't offering a down-tube shifter--which are commonly associated with classic Campy-equipped racing bikes-- to go with it.  Why?

Well, it has to do with front derailleurs of the time.   You see, front changers at the time weren't operated by Bowden-type cable controls.  Instead, a direct lever moved the cage that shifted the chain from one chainring to another.  These are sometimes jokingly referred to as "suicide shifters" because, in order to make the shift, riders had to spread their legs.  

That arrangement also meant that riders did all of their shifting with their right hands.  (Nearly all rear derailleurs are operated by levers on the right side of the bike.) During the 1949 Tour de France, dozens of riders switched their "suicide" levers to the then-new bar end (pass-vitesses) shifters developed by Jacques Souhart--but only for the front derailleur.  They continued to use downtube shifters--mounted on the right side of the handlebars-- for their rear derailleurs. 

 

From "Stronglight" in Flickr

That allowed the racers to continue to do all of their shifting with their right hands and would not have to switch their routine in the middle of a race.  More important, perhaps, this new arrangement allowed riders to make front shifts without interrupting their pedal strokes: a very important feature when beginning a sprint or a downhill.

"Suicide" front derailleur. From Dave Moulton's blog.

It just happened that Monsieur Souhart was Campagnolo's Paris distributor and thus had Signore Tullio's ear.  Apparently, Souhart as well as a number of racers convinced him of the bar-end shifter's superiority.  That may be the reason why the first Campagnolo Gran Sport gruppo included bar-end, but not downtube, shifters.

Interestingly, a few years later, Souhart created a front derailleur that more closely resembles modern mechanisms, in that the cage moved upward as it moved outward. (Older mechanisms, like the "suicide" derailleurs, moved straight across.)  He also made a "detented" (indexed) system of his bar-end lever to actuate the front derailleur.  Campagnolo would not adopt that new feature of his bar-end shifter, but it did incorporate his front-derailleur innovation into their lineup.

Bar-end shifters' popularity among road racers was short-lived, mainly because downtube shifters, with their shorter cables, were lighter and offered snappier, more precise shifting, especially with the kinds of derailleurs available in the 1950s.  But the fact that bar-ends allow cyclists to shift without removing their hands from the handlebars made them popular with cyclo-cross racers, who ride on rough terrain.  They also became the preferred shifters of some touring cyclists, especially after SunTour introduced its ratcheted "BarCon" and Shimano its spring-loaded levers during the 1970s.  In fact, some bikes designed for fully-loaded touring, such as Trek's original 720 (not to be confused with the later 720) came with BarCons as standard equipment, whether or not they were adorned  with SunTour derailleurs.

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.

Add caption

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? 

Can You Hold It?

Do you really need to blow your nose right now?

Chris Froome probably wishes he'd asked himself that question--and, more important, answered it with a firm "No!"

For unexplained reasons, he blew his nose during the time trial of the Criterium du Daphine last week.  He may have breathed (That's the first time I've ever used that verb in the conditional present perfect tense) easier, but only for a brief moment.  A very brief moment.

He crashed.  That left him with a fractured femur, elbow, neck and ribs and with two liters less blood than he had before he blew his nose.



The result:  Not only was he out of commission after the fourth stage of the race; he has also forefitted much of the remaining season.  At any rate, he won't get to ride in the Tour de France, which he's won four times.

That, of course, has led to more than a few conspiracy theories.  After all, the record for TdF victories is five.  And the four cyclists who share the record are Continentals: Eddy Mercx is Belgian, Miguel Indurain is Basque/Spanish and Bernard Hinault and Jacques Anquetil are French.

I mean, how would that look if a Brit entered that lofty company--just as his country was pulling out of the European Union.

Hmm...Could some anti-Brexiteer have dusted the air in front of him?

(I confess! ;-)

They Made US Cycling History

In less than a week, we've lost three people who, in different ways, helped to shape cycling culture in the US.

Perhaps the one closest to my, and many people's, hearts is Marty Epstein.  If you are not from the New York-New Jersey area, or don't ride in randonees, brevets or gran fondos, you might not have heard of him.  He did, however, start one of the first gran fondo rides here in the eastern US.  It turned Morristown, New Jersey into a cycling mecca.

The town also just happens to be the locale for his shop, Marty's Reliable Cycle, where you could be just as comfortable buying a steel bike of any kind as you could if you were in the market for a Trek Madone or S-Works--or a basic commuter bike, or something for your kid.  He once said his goal was to "change the world through bicycles."  At least he understood that such change would involve all types of bicycles and riders, not just one subculture or market subset.

He went to the Gran Fondo in the sky last Thursday, at age 69, less than a year after being diagnosed with prostate cancer.





How many people who haven't won the Tour de France get a funeral procession like that?

On Sunday, someone who, perhaps, helped to plant the seeds of cycling culture in America passed at age 93.  Unless you are a Schwinn historian or spend a lot of time looking at patent applications, you probably haven't heard of Frank Brilando.  He raced in the 1948 and 1952 Olympics, but his long tenure as a Schwinn engineer earned him his place in cycling history.  He, along with Al Fritz, created the Sting-Ray, Varsity and Continental bicycles during the 1960s.

You may think the Sting-Ray is an abomination only a 12-year-old boy could love, and you may turn up your nose at the Varsity and Continental.  Before Brilando and Fritz developed them, however, few Americans had ridden a bicycle with a derailleur.  Those Schwinns helped to popularize the multi-gear mechanisms and, arguably, paved the way for the Bike Boom of the '70s.  If nothing else, the Varsity and Continental probably got American adults to ride bikes for the first time in decades.

Frank Brilando

Brilando and Fritz also worked on the Airdyne full-body fan-resistance exercise bike.  Once, in a conference room in Taiwan, Schwinn's brain trust were trying to figure out the proper crossover pattern (the relationship between the rider's arm position on the handles and foot position on the pedals) when Brilando realized the best pattern would be reflected in the arm and leg coordination of a baby crawling on the floor.  "So Frank gets down on the floor and starts crawling like a baby," Fritz, who died in 2013, recalled.

Over the same weekend, Roland Della Santa, died at his Reno home, aged 72.  He began building bicycle frames in 1970.  One of his creations won the "best road frame" award at the 2009 North American Handbuilt Bicycle Show.  Like Brilando, Della Santa also raced, and sometimes the frames people ordered were delayed because he was training so much.  

Roland Della Santa with his award-winning frame at the 2009 NAHBS.

But a few frames of his in particular changed the course (pun intended) of American cycling.  He took a certain 16-year-old into his home and admonished the young man for wearing a yellow jersey to his first race.  "I didn't know you're only supposed to do that if you win the Tour de France," that rider recalls.  Della Santa taught the young man about racing, and the European scene in particular.   In fact, he inspired the youthful rider to plan a career in Europe.

Della Santa, of course, built frames for that young rider and became his first sponsor.  When that rider achieved fame and fortune, Della Santa built the first stock steel frames sold under that cyclist's name.

Here's a hint to that rider's identity:  He is the only rider from his country whose Tour de France victories haven't been vacated due to doping.

Yes, I am talking about Greg LeMond. You might say that Della Santa helped him to become what he became. 

A Cheater Or A Helper?

When I was writing for a local newspaper, I talked to police officers as well as their commanders.  One of the brass I saw regularly was, as it turned out, very well-read.  He told me his favorite novel was Les Miserables.

"It poses a question that we, in law enforcement, always deal with."  That question, he said, is this:  "Is redemption possible?"

Was Jean Valjean the thief and escaped convict Inspector Javert pursues from one end of France to another?  Or was he the industrious benefactor and kindly benefactor of Montreuil-sur-Mer who had to be coaxed into accepting its mayoralty but still declined the king's offer to make him a chevalier in the Legion d'honneur? 

There's a parallel, I think, in Floyd Landis' story.  He was stripped of his 2006 Tour de France victory after failing drug tests. Later, he was involved in a federal whistle-blower lawsuit against Lance Armstrong.  It was settled this past spring, and he is scheduled to receive about $1 million.

So, is he going to ride off into the sunset?  Or is he going to fund his business? (More about that later.)

No, he plans to fund his Floyd's of Leadville Pro Cycling Team with one of his former teammates, Gord Fraser.  He is seeking a UCI Pro Continental license for the team, which will be based in Canada.

His motivation, he explains, is that he likes the sport.  Referring to what he and his fellow riders did, he explains that it is "part of the reason" the bicycle racing "is at a low point now."  Though he "can't fix what happened in the past", he says, he wants "to help."

"I understand I hurt the cycling community," he admits.

He believes that starting a team is the thing to do because "teams are going away."  He was referring, no doubt, to the recent dissolution of two longtime US teams, Jelly Belly-Maxxis and UnitedHealthcare. 

Floyd's of Leadville is, as you've probably guessed, his business, based in the Colorado town where he lives. It offers soft gels, tinctures and creams for pain relief.  The common ingredient in all of them is...cannabis.

As you probably know by now, Colorado was one of the first US states to legalize marijuana for both medical and recreational purposes.  But, in most other states--and in the eyes of the Federal government-- it's still not legal for medical or recreational purposes. 

The irony of being a pot purveyor (well, all right, it's not quite as simple as that) doesn't seem to be lost on Landis.  His website points out that his business was borne of a "crossroads" when he realized he could no longer depend on opiods to relieve his pain.

So...Is Floyd the guy who tried to claim that the unusually high levels of testosterone found in his blood were "natural"?  Or the guy who helped to bring down a team and a generation of riders?  Or the man who, apparently, is trying to rebuild a sport--to be a benefactor, if you will?

And should we see him as someone who used some substances to gain an unfair advantage--or one who will use others to help young riders win, and more important, ride, in ways he never did?

French President Gets Danish Treatment

When it comes to cycling, one of the first cities that comes to mind is Copenhagen.  And one of the first countries is France.

So, when French President Emanuel Macron paid a state visit to Denmark, it made perfect sense that the country's Prime Minister, Lars Lokke Rasmussen, would take him on a bike tour through the streets of the Danish capital.



Rasmussen is known to be a fan of cycling.  Part of Macron's delegation included Christian Prudhomme, the Director of the Tour de France.

Oh, and Macron offered his host a yellow Tour de France leader's jersey, autographed by Geraint Thomas, who won this year's edition of the race.

You can guess what comes next:  Macron revealed that the Tour would open in the city bientot.  Turns out, Copenhagen is a candidate to host le grand depart in either 2020 or 2021.

How Many Ways Can He Say, "Everybody Else Did it?"

It was like being ready for a knife fight, but everybody had guns.

I have to admit, it's a pretty good turn of phrase.  Still, the intent of the person who uttered it is suspect, at least in my mind.

Lance Armstrong (You just knew it was him, didn't you?) was talking about embarking on his career as a professional racing cyclist.  Now, if he'd been talking about how his competition was much better than he'd imagined--something many an athlete, or person in any number of areas of endeavor, experiences upon becoming a professional--I'd've enjoyed the description.

Instead, it was a rationale for why he took drugs and did all of the other unsavory things he did en route to seven Tour de France victories.  He says, in essence, that he didn't start out with the intention of doping but soon discovered that just about everyone else in the peloton was "juicing".

Stephen Dubner, who interviewed him for the National Public Radio program "Freakonomics" asked him whether he could have won those Tours without the wonders of modern pharmacology.  "Well, it depends on the other 199 (Tour de France riders) were doing."  When Dubner pressed him further, he confessed, "Zero percent chance."

Now, Dubner admitted to his sympathies, which came through in the interview:  He was willing to give Lance the benefit of the doubt until he finally confessed.  Even then, Dubner wasn't ready to villify Lance completely:  For one thing, even the most ardent cycling fans have acknowledged, for decades, that riders were taking one thing or another to shave of seconds on a mountain climb.  Also, Dubner seems willing to cut Lance a break or two for his efforts to "move ahead."

Hear the interview here.

That's more or less how I feel.  I, too, bought into the cancer-survivor-hero narrative, and one of the high points of a 2001 tour I took through the Alps (and in which I pedaled up l'Alpe d'Huez and other Tour climbs) was leaning over the police line and snapping a photo of Lance climbing during the time trial on Chamrousse. (One day, perhaps, I will digitize and post it.) Whatever he might have ingested with his breakfast that day, his ride was awe-inspiring.

I must say, though, that something still bothers me about Lance.  At no time during the interview--or in the more than five years since he "confessed" to Oprah--did he express any sort of contrition for the careers and lives he ruined, not only through his doping, but from his threats and intimidation--which were not limited only to his rivals and teammates, but extended to their spouses and other family members.

A Thriller Or A Juicer?

My uncle, who was as much a card-carrying liberal on social issues as anyone I've known (Having spent much of my life involved in the arts and the academic world, that's saying something!) nonetheless refused to watch any movie in which Jane Fonda, a.k.a. "Hanoi Jane", appeared.  

The question of whether you can appreciate the work of anyone accomplished in his or her field--whether in the arts, sports, science or any other area of endeavor--knowing that the person did something immoral, unjust or simply out of line with your values, is certainly not new.  I know otherwise well-read people who will not touch Ezra Pound's Cantos because he was an anti-Semitic Fascist and refuse to have any truck with movies, TV shows, books or other creations from folks who are--or whom they believe to be--immoral or politically incorrect.

Likewise, there are erstwhile fans who gave up on bike racing because of the doping scandals.  This phenomenon was, I believe, most pronounced in the wake of Lance Armstrong's fall from grace.  With all due respect to Greg LeMond, Armstrong was probably the first modern "American hero" of cycling. At least, he was the reason why many Americans paid attention to the Tour de France, if not to bike racing as a whole.  But even Europeans admired and respected him, however grudgingly, if for no other reason than his "comeback" story.

It would be one thing if current and former fans directed their ire solely at him.  Since he was stripped of his titles, however, it seems that some have given up on the sport.  Many more, though, look at every victory, and every current and rising star, through a lens tinted with suspicion.  It's hard to blame them, though the problem of doping pervaded cycling--and sports generally--long before Lance seemed to spring from his death bed to the podium.

So, when Alberto Contador announced his retirement from racing a few months ago, fewer tears were shed than when Bernard Hinault, Eddy Mercx, Jacques Anquetil, Fausto Coppi or even Miguel Indurain called it quits.  That, even though, among those riders, Hinault is the only one besides Contador to have won all three Grand Tours --Tour de France, Giro d'Italia and Vuelta a Espana-- more than once. (Mercx and Anquetil each won the Vuelta once, while neither Coppi nor Indurain ever won it.) Even though nearly anyone who has followed the sport will say that he was one of the most talented riders of his generation, they are not as sorry to see him go as they were when previous winners of the maillot jaune and maglia rosa left the scene.

Contador in the 2005 Tour Down Under

Contador, though, wasn't just a cyclist who won races.  He pedaled with gusto, and raced with panache.  Probably the last cyclist who won with such style was Marco Pantani, winner of the 1998 Tour and Giro.  His "juicing" spiraled into abuse of other drugs, including cocaine, and led to his death five and a half years later. The way Contador rode was often described as a "dance", and he recently admitted that in his final Vuelta --which he won--he would "attack exactly when I felt like it" instead of "calculating everything".  You might say he had his reasons:  After all, he was riding his final race, and it was in his home country.

He was indeed thrilling to watch.  Should we remember him for that--or for the titles he lost and the ban he incurred from his drug use?   

A Rim, Maybe. A Whole Wheel...

Mavic introduced its alloy rims in 1920.  Until then, cyclists had two choices in rim material--steel or wood.  Most, of course, opted for the latter because it is much lighter.  

Interestingly, alloy rims were banned from the Tour de France until 1934, when Antonin Magne rode a pair of Mavics that were painted in wood colors.  His secret wasn't revealed, of course, until after he won the race.  Then, Mavic duraluminum rims became a staple of the peloton.  

As alloy rims became lighter and more durable, other riders, from road racers to tourists, used them because they worked better and lasted longer than wood rims when used with caliper brakes.  Track racers, however, don't use brakes and continued to ride wood rims until the 1950s, when they were banned because they tended to shatter--sending splinters flying hither and thither--when crashed.  Such mishaps were all the more likely on track wheels, which are tensioned tighter and ridden with the highest-pressure tires.

I have ridden wooden rims and enjoyed their resilient yet responsive ride.  I had to wonder, though, how much of that "feel" had to do with the tubular tires that were glued to the rims. (You pretty much have to ride tubulars if you ride wooden rims!)  I would never buy them, though, because just about all of my riding these days (even on my fixed gear) is done with brakes and because wooden rims have to be treated with more TLC than metal or carbon-fiber rims.

One thing I haven't seen is a whole wheel made of wood.  That is, until I came across this: