Not Epic, But Another Journey

You may have noticed that my last two posts were about epic journeys:  the Apollo 11 moon landing and Eddy Mercx's first Tour de France victory, in which he dominated as few riders (or athletes of any sport) ever have dominated.  

Well, I am on a journey. It's not epic, but it'll be interesting, at least for me.  I'll tell you more about it when I've arrived--or, more precisely, when I'm at the start of it.  I'll just say one thing about it:  Epics will be involved, sort of.

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? 

The Only Way You Can Pin Down A World-Class Rider

A few cyclists who are even more dedicated (to what, I don’t know) than I am, or are simply more Retro-grouchy than one of my favorite bloggers, has a pair of wheels with wooden rims.

Once upon a time, such wheels were de rigueur.  After all, wood is light (at least compared to metal), strong and resilient.  All racers used them until Mavic developed alloy rims.  While road riders embraced this new development, track racers used wooden rims until they were banned for competition during the 1950s.

Why were wooden rims banished from the velodrome?

Well, when an metal wheel is crashed, it bends or crumples.  But a wood rim is likely to shatter. That is made all the more likely because on track wheels, the spokes are tuned to a higher tension, and the tires are pumped to higher pressures, than on road bikes.  

The result of an “exlpoding” wooden rim was often a cloud of wooden shards that could shush-kebab riders or spectators.

Decades after the ban on wooden rims, many velodromes have wood surfaces. Nobody anticipated such hazards from them—until now.

Lorenzo Gobbo suffered a previously unheard-of mishap.  Apparently, when he went down, his pedal scraped up a half-meter length of the track that ended up in his back—and pierced  his  lung

He is expected to make a full recovery.  But  you have to wonder: how many other cyclists  have come out of a race looking as if they’d  been attacked by an  by an archer?

In Other Worlds, And Ages

Yesterday, on the 50th anniversary the first moonwalk, I wrote about Dr. Rhett Allain's wonderful article on what it would take to ride a bicycle to the moon.

If I live long enough to see all of that technology develop, and eat my vegetables and drink my milk (I do one of those things now!), I just might make it to the Sea of Tranquility.  

Now that I think about it, I wonder whether I'd want to take such a trip.  After all, if I could go to Paris and bump into someone I hadn't seen in twenty years, who knows who (or what) I might encounter in another world: