The Hope of the Tour

It seems that, barring a mishap, Chris Froome is going to win the Tour de France.  Just as Brits cheered his rival and fellow Engishman Bradley Wiggins last year, they—and cycling fans around the world—want to see Froome take the title this year.

Even more important, I believe, is another hope expressed by his admirers—and one in particular:  a guy named Stephen Roche.
 

He’s the Irish cyclist who won the “Triple Crown”—le Tour, Il Giro d’Italia and La Vuelta d’Espana—in 1987.  I am not the only fan who believes he could have had a career to rival the greats like Jacques Anquetil, Eddy Mercx, Bernard Hinault and Miguel Indurain were it not for a chronic knee problem.  Like them, he was a great overall rider who excelled in the mountains and on time trials.  Also, he was as conscientious about his training as any cyclist who ever lived.

The thing that true cycling fans loved about him, though, was his form.  In spite of his chronic injuries, very few cyclists have ever been as graceful and as powerful in the saddle as he was.  Whether he was on a hors categorie climb or riding against the clock, he always exhibited the same fluid, symmetrical pedaling motion.  And the rest of his body seemed to support it, in unison.

Stephen Roche in 1987

Near the end of his career, he faced accusations of doping that were never conclusively proved.  That was quickly forgotten and never seemed to cast a shadow over his reputation.  Plus, if you ever saw him ride, you'd know that he didn't need drugs to win.


 I think cycling fans always respected Roche because he won, or at least placed highly” In the “classics”—races like the Paris-Nice and Tour de Romandy.  In other words, he did not focus his attention entirely on le Tour, il GIro or la Vuelta and disregard the rest of the cycling season.  So, when Roche says that Froome is the "next great hope", or something to that effect, people listen.

He has expressed hope that Froome actually is, and will remain, the “clean” rider he so far seems to be.  Plus, from what I’ve read and heard, just about everybody who’s met Froome respects and likes him.  If he can win clean, he—as Roche points out—will be a great ambassador for the sport.

On The Dock Of Newtown Creek

So how did I spend the hottest afternoon of the year?  (High temperature:  100F or 38C)  Riding, of course.

At least I know I wasn't the only one.  At the bridge to the Rockaways, I met Hal Ruzal, Bicycle Habitat's mechanic and wheelbuilder par excellence (and a kick-ass musician).  And his girlfried, who looks a bit younger than me (and him) was also on her bike.  Was she showing true love to Hal, or to cycling? Or--well, all right, I won't ask any more unanswerable questions (not in this post, anyway!).

In any event, I sensed that they wanted to ride together, so I coasted down the Rockaway side of the bridge before them.  I stopped in Rockaway Beach, near the site of the old Playland, went for a dip in the ocean and paid tribute to the Ramones.  Somehow I think that if they were all still in this world, they'd've been there to buoy the post-Sandy spirit of the place.

Anyway, I bumped into Hal and his belle again in Riis Park, where the storm leveled the dunes.  From there, I rode down to Breezy Point, across the Bay to Brooklyn and Floyd Bennet FIeld and Coney Island.  Finally, at the end of the day, I crossed back into Queens from Greenpoint:

I'm not sure this is quite what Otis Redding had in mind when he sang, "Dock of the Bay" (one of my favorite songs of all time).  But, it was about as idyllic as one could get on Newtown Creek, which the EPA rates as the most polluted body of water in the US--except in those years when the Gowanus Canal "wins" that "honor."

You Know It's Hot When...

Today the temperature is expected to reach 100F (38C).

Whether or not we reach that meteorological milestone, I know it's hot, and that it's been hot since Sunday.

I know it's hot when I'm riding the streets of this city and hope to see a bunch of kids (or grown-ups) cavorting around an open fire hydrant.  I pretend that I'm Charlton Heston--I mean, Moses--at the Red Sea except, of course, that the plume of water doesn't part to me.  Of course, I don't want it to.

It's hot when I don't mind some teenager aiming the spray at me--although I have to wonder about any teenager who wants to see an old lady like me in a wet T-shirt!

If I were this woman, I don't know that I would merely stand in front of the fountain on a day like today:

Diane Randall.  Image from VeloJoy.