That Short Little Race

While walking around the Netherlands isn't exactly the way to prep for ~330 miles of gravel, TransIowa doesn't wait and suddenly it looms this weekend.  

The bike is relatively clean, the gear is 38x16 and the mindset is to just tick off the miles and take it as it comes.  A few remaining details, such as putting my computer back on, and pinkie will be ready to roll.

As Butch pointed out, I just need to remember my jacket and things will be just fine.  (though the banana plastic does make a nice story.)

North American Scum

From the beginning of the Amstel Gold, I found myself wondering how Ryder Hesjedal was fairing.  The former mountain bike superstar turned road machine was near the front all day and went with what looked like a potential winning move near the end of the race.  That break didn't hold and he ended up around 35th on the day.

Apparently, Ryder also got the joy of peeing in a cup postrace.

The finish at the Amstel isn't all the way up the Cauberg so after crossing the line, the riders still have to climb another quarter mile to get to where their team buses are parked.  We saw Ryder shortly after he finished slowly spinning his way up toward his bus.  He looked completely tanked and that 'I just rode my ass off' expression marked his face.  Without any premeditation, I yelled out, "Good job, Ryder.  Way to work man!!"

Chalk it up to hearing North American English, but his head popped up and he looked over to give us a head nod and return my wave.  After weeks of what I would guess is hearing people yell in everything but his native tongue, it looked it he may have thought it nice just to hear something familiar.  

Italian SuperStar

One moment I wish I'd caught on video was when Damiano Cunego stepped from the Lampre team bus.  We were standing about 30 yards away, in the middle of a noisy throng of people, but the eruption when he stepped out turned everyone's heads.

About six people raised a banner high and shook it wildly as Damiano grabbed his bike and threw a leg over it to head to the sign-in.  As he got closer, I noticed he had a wry smile on his face that either said, "this is sorta silly" or "damn, it's good to be king."  Who knows.

No, I am not hiding this hair with a helmet until I absolutely have to

Just a second or two after I snapped the shot above and Italian fan came up and started screaming at Cunego in Italian.  He was about six foot three and just towered over the boy wonder pumping a fist and continuing to scream for what seem far too long.  Cunego's face never changed and he just wound his way through the crowd toward sign-in.  

Not only was the passion incredible, but the way you could stand right next to the rider's was a shock.  Cunego was obviously used to it, but I wasn't.  After Cunego rode past,the Italian fan turned and talked wildly with his friends.  They obviously were ready for a repeat victory from the Italian superstar, but unfortunately for them, he waited too long to jump and finished fifth.

Maastricht and the "Art Room"

And by art, I mean "art of love."

When we stepped off the train in Maastricht, I may have been sporting wood.  I was too excited to tell.  The Netherlands themselves were filled with a lot of well put together people taking care of their daily lives by bicycle.  Take this, along with the fact that Maastricht as a city tastefully combined an aged infrastructure with well-thought out modern architecture and I was hooked.

Train Station

We, and by we I mean I, decided to take a few laps around the block before searching for our accommodations, the Eden Design Hotel.  The city market was rolling between the streets and the one block walk I had decided upon quickly started becoming much more than that.

Here's where I should have stopped and bought some clothes

As luck would have it, Josh caught the fact that we were walking right by the entrance to our hotel.  "Well, let's go check in!"  Mrs. Snob had set the reservation and took care of us in spades.  If you don't like modern architecture, don't go.  The hotel was all angles, form and function.  As I chatted with the Dutch beauty at the desk, she got a small grin on her face and explained that we didn't have two beds as requested.  Josh and I were going to have to share.  "We're comfortable.  We slept against each other on the train."  But, as I smiled, she smiled back in a way that should have told me a surprise was coming.

Entry to the Art Room

After looking around for room 100, we realized that it was right in front of us, in the form of a large piece of art.  We took a few shots, read the inscription on the door and made our way in for a quick clean up before heading out for dinner and more views of the city.

Love... exciting and new

YES!!  I've already got the room reserved for Mrs. Snob and me.  That may be the only thing that would keep me from constantly wanting to roam around Maastricht.

London in 60 Minutes

Immediately following the end of my work obligations which took me across the Atlantic in the first place, my travel companion Josh Ferguson and I were in full Amazing Race mode with the goal of getting to Harwich International on England's east coast for the overnight ferry to Amsterdam.  Despite jumping on the wrong train momentarily in London's subway system, we ended up queued and ready for the train to Harwich with an hour to spare; an hour to run around London.

Josh.  Wondering why I am throwing gang signs when he snaps a picture.

After jumping out into the street and discovering that Starbucks does indeed cluster everywhere, we just started walking.  Frankly, I had no idea where we were in relation to anything Chevy Chase might have yelled back to his kids in European Vacation.  Big Ben, Parliament?  I had no idea.

Wait... Wait... Okay, subtract two... YES... We have time!

After spying Dirty Dick's across the street, we crossed and I started looking for narrow streets.  The logic: the more narrow the older and, likely, more scenic.  Yes, clueless.  I was just starting to think we should have just grabbed a beer at Dick's when we turned the corner and things got more interesting. 

Narrow Street Theory

Bikes Shops!  One had just closed as it was a bit past 6pm, but the second was open and, just as I started to go in, saw this opportunity to change career paths...

Too bad my attitude sucks.  What's a CV anyway? (Yes, that's sarcasm.)

After taking some time to explain a fixed gear and subsequently a fixed gear freestyler to Josh, along came Simon to sell us a bike.  (Insert "Hello my name is Simon" cracks here.)  Simon, however, was more than happy to chat about riding in London and our little excursion.  In fact, it turns out Simon is somewhere on the West coast this week having planned a Portland to LA trip himself.

This handsome lad is indeed Simon

After that teasingly too quick taste, it was back to the train station for a ferry ride over the English Channel and across the North Sea.  For the record, London is also in the midst of the fixed gear trend, but they wore it well, at least in the minute timeframe I was floating around the city.

Gold

Some times you need reminded to remember to live life out loud.  Stay tuned for the long version...

Twenty yards from the finish of the Amstel Gold

Waiting at the Finish/ da Cauberg

Along the Walk to the Finish

Watched lap one come thru and then started toward the finish.

Awaiting the Start

Team Saxo Bank's Bikes at the Ready

Team Car Parking

Hell Yeah!

Border Crossing

Step off the ferry in the Netherlands and at passport control, I am
asked, of course, "What will you be doing in the Netherlands?"
"Attending a bike race."
"Pardon?"
"Going to the Amstel Gold."
"Ahhhhh.". And with that, a big smile crossed his face and we were on
our way.

So far, I love this country.

No, It Never Ends

In London

My Kind of Name

"It's The Little Differences"

I wasted a lot of thought on this little trip to Europe.  Thought primarily around the idea of continuing to ride and workout while still staying disciplined regarding the fact that I am here for work first and foremost.  However, instead of posting pictures of the English countryside and laughing at myself for struggling with the fact the English drive on the opposite side of the road, it has only taken one "delayed" bag to turn all of that thought into nothing.

Once letting go of the fact that I would have just the clothes on my back for an unknown time, we made our way to Hatfield via 'tube' and train, then strolled through the confusing streets until we needed to ask for an assist and a man literally walked us to our destination.

Often, cliches are founded in fact and I've enjoyed the extra bit of politeness that seems to come from interacting with people here.  

I also watched Manchester United in a pub full of people last night.  It seemed like a wonderful display of self-abuse given that with soccer/football the scoring is so few and far between that you heard far more ewws and oohhhs than actual cheers.  Everything is a near miss and a wince.  However, after several rounds of Bulgers cider and a 1 - o MU victory, everyone went home happy.

According the the airline, my bag should arrive tomorrow, which will be nice considering we head to Amsterdam via ferry the following day.  I've been holding off buying clothes under the hope that my bag will arrive and I'll be covered.  We shall see.  Of course, in the back of my mind continues to sit the fact that I haven't ridden at all and will likely end up going well over a week without any saddle time.  Perfect prep for TI.

Maybe I'll just go find a McDonald's and order a Royal with cheese.  Hell, I may even go in a Burger King.

Mmmm. Cup of Corn

Wonderful

Not the way to start things off on arrival.

Packing for a Classic

I pack for business trips in the same fashion that I pack for races; lay it all out on the couch and then stare at it until I realize what's missing from the pile.

With a recorded Roubaix running in the background, it occurred to me that one item conspicuously but appropriately absent from my travel wardrobe was a superfan costume in which to run climbs during the Amstel Gold.  So, while I will take a pass on making an idiot of myself in such a highly particular fashion, it does seem to me the costumed superfan has to be a fairly easy field to break into.

Fat guys with syringes aside.  The superfan view from the States generally revolves around two guys.  The horned Upstart and classic (and consistently horned) Devil.

Downside:  You need a neck like Mike Tyson

The horned upstart has rolled a few Euro campaigned, but really stood out during the Tour of California this year.  He definitely has a unique schtick, which is key, but those multiple costumes require a lot of overhead.  Plus, let's face it, he's set up to hear comments like, "I wonder what's he's compensating for?" due to the size of his horns and it's probably not his VO2 Max.

Lack of vertical aside, he's the standard... but sandals?

The man they all look up to, the Devil.  Consistent costume, calm reserve (excepting the above) and able to place himself at key moments of a race as well as Armstrong places himself at the tete de la course, he is the pinnacle of superfandom.  (Yes, 'superfandom.'  I'll be brutalizing Dutch soon enough so I might as well start with my own language.)

Downside.  Ruler of Hades or not, he's not getting any younger.  The timing is right for a young upstart, new blood on the rise.  It's just not going to be me and, hopefully, none of the guys who tried out during the ToC.  

I think we have a reality TV show in the making.  See you from the road.