This morning my friend Gary B at BikeRadar.com woke up my old memory banks with a shotgun blast of great old “flying V” victory salutes. Since this blast of photos was flying at me via Twitter, and I am competitive, I set out to find my favorite victory salute of all-time, made by Pol Verschuere. It is hard to see from this video (about a minute in) but Pol gives a defiant “Eff You” upon winning the first stage of the 1986 Tour de France. Being an insider in the European pro peloton back then afforded me some of the hot scoop – probably more than I needed, or wanted to know. Pol’s forearm under forearm, fist high gesture was directed at his Fagor team bosses, who’d cut him from their Tour de France roster just a few weeks before the race, only to bring him back onto the squad just a few days before the start, to replace a sick teammate.
“See guys, you shouldn’t have cut me from the squad in the first place. I just gave you a stage win. Take that!”
In the words of Arlo Guthrie, though, “but that’s not what I came here to talk about.” I didn’t come here to talk about victory salutes, but one of cycling’s old characters.
I didn’t know Verschuere very well at all, but he was always friendly toward me – even saved me in the final of a race in France once, when my team’s soigneurs forgot to find the feed zone. As with many of that era’s Belgian pros, the word “daffy” seems to apply really well to this guy. Pol was ever so slightly cross-eyed, and, whether or not this came from the fact that his eyes were not exactly on the same page, he sort of sat with his upper body facing left of his bike’s top tube. When I first rode next to the guy on his left side, I thought he was trying to get closer to my face so he could whisper something at me. What’s worse, even after figuring out that Verschuere just had some kind of funny riding position on his bike, I’d still almost always turn my head and grunt, “eh?” I was getting the neo-pro pranked by a guy who wasn’t even trying.
But is was Pol’s obsession with the orientation of his saddle that will continue to make me giggle, from time to time, until the day I die. In his defense, I have never met a pro road bike racer who did not suffer from some sort of compulsive behavior, and for most of us it begins with us trying to point saddles and stems straight, before it ventures into complete insanity. Even all these years since “retiring” from professional cycling, people who know me like to attribute some of my antics to J’OCD. Pol brought this affliction into the races too. Every couple of minutes or so he’d sit up, scoot back on his saddle and stare down at the tip of it. Apparently, over the course of the last couple of minutes or so, his saddle decided to point somewhere other than straight down the top tube, so he’d raise one hand up to about shoulder height and whack the tip of the saddle, hopefully centering it again. Shortly after “centering” the saddle, he’d be back, riding no handed, and would begin the ritual of sending the tip of his saddle back in the other direction.
What would ol’ Pol would do with all of these new, true north pointing seat masts?
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
Awesome.
Awesome.
Originally uploaded by BasilHayden
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Equal Standards
When the Internet started buzzing a few days back with reports that various anti-doping agencies, primarily the French Anti-Doping Agency (AFLD), was making claims against Lance Armstrong, my curiosity was tickled, to say the least. I stood by, waiting to see what the next bit of news would reveal. Upon reading that the Tour winner’s “behavior” was bad, I had a strong desire to fly to France and yell at some folks. With my interest still peaked, or at least awake, I stayed tuned in until reading Lance’s official statement. Unless the man is sanctioned for this somehow, I will officially tune out – as soon as I finish this rant, that is.
To set the record straight, I am not suggesting that Lance or any other professional cyclist – any athlete, for that matter, should be exempt from drug testing. When I hear stories of athletes complaining about doping controls, I feel only a little worse for them than I do for people who move in to house next to the airport and then complain about the noise. Were you not paying attention when you signed up for this stuff? However, if you are going to ask a cyclist or any other athlete for samples of their urine, blood, hair, skin, nails, food off their plate, beer out of their ‘fridge and whatever else they are asking for these days, it’s high time for the people testing to get their collective acts together.
Despite my lackluster palmares, I have been to the doping control more times than I care to remember. It seems that my knack for being the “random” selected rider far outweighs my ability to win the lottery. The more of these things you do, the more you grow to resent them. For me, the more resentful I got, the more I would scrutinize the doping control protocol. While it was often the joke on my teams, that the control would consist of the first three finishers, a random, and me, I don’t think I ever did more than about 20 controls in a year. Lance’s control in question is number 24, according to him, and there are plenty more to come.
In 1994, while riding for the Coors Light Cycling Team, I was selected as one of the 2 “randoms” after the Core States US PRO Cycling Championship in Philadelphia. The nice people at the Adolph Coors Company saw fit to make us a bunch of 10th anniversary US PRO Championship Silver Bullets. Since my job was done for the day, I saw absolutely no problem knocking back a couple of the special edition 16 ouncers. Okay, I had 6 before my chaperone found me and informed me of how I’d be spending the next half hour or so. In most cases I would have wanted a representative from my team on hand, but I was just lubricated enough to feel comfortable representing myself.
I rolled into the hotel where the control was being held and climbed off my bike, leaning it against a giant planter, housing some obnoxious plant. I made my way to the control room and walked through the open door. This is where things started going wrong. First, the control was being administered to International Olympic Committee standards, not those of the UCI. Second, the doctor’s assistant was his roughly 15 year-old daughter, who’d brought her friend along to hang out. Third, the door to the small hotel room was never closed, meaning there was no private room in which to do all of the paperwork, pouring of urine, etc. The last thing I can remember was the lack of any beverages – not that I needed any more fluid in my system at that point, but providing it for us was part of the protocol that should have been followed.
To make matters worse, one of the podium members tested positive for a banned stimulant, but because the UCI protocols weren’t followed, his only punishment was to receive no prize money. This story occurred a long time ago, and times have changed fairly dramatically, but some things seem to have remained the same, based upon what I read into Lance’s explanation. If riders are expected to be held to a higher standard than the rest of the population, the governing bodies that control racing and the anti-doping agencies should be held to an equally high standard.
To set the record straight, I am not suggesting that Lance or any other professional cyclist – any athlete, for that matter, should be exempt from drug testing. When I hear stories of athletes complaining about doping controls, I feel only a little worse for them than I do for people who move in to house next to the airport and then complain about the noise. Were you not paying attention when you signed up for this stuff? However, if you are going to ask a cyclist or any other athlete for samples of their urine, blood, hair, skin, nails, food off their plate, beer out of their ‘fridge and whatever else they are asking for these days, it’s high time for the people testing to get their collective acts together.
Despite my lackluster palmares, I have been to the doping control more times than I care to remember. It seems that my knack for being the “random” selected rider far outweighs my ability to win the lottery. The more of these things you do, the more you grow to resent them. For me, the more resentful I got, the more I would scrutinize the doping control protocol. While it was often the joke on my teams, that the control would consist of the first three finishers, a random, and me, I don’t think I ever did more than about 20 controls in a year. Lance’s control in question is number 24, according to him, and there are plenty more to come.
In 1994, while riding for the Coors Light Cycling Team, I was selected as one of the 2 “randoms” after the Core States US PRO Cycling Championship in Philadelphia. The nice people at the Adolph Coors Company saw fit to make us a bunch of 10th anniversary US PRO Championship Silver Bullets. Since my job was done for the day, I saw absolutely no problem knocking back a couple of the special edition 16 ouncers. Okay, I had 6 before my chaperone found me and informed me of how I’d be spending the next half hour or so. In most cases I would have wanted a representative from my team on hand, but I was just lubricated enough to feel comfortable representing myself.
I rolled into the hotel where the control was being held and climbed off my bike, leaning it against a giant planter, housing some obnoxious plant. I made my way to the control room and walked through the open door. This is where things started going wrong. First, the control was being administered to International Olympic Committee standards, not those of the UCI. Second, the doctor’s assistant was his roughly 15 year-old daughter, who’d brought her friend along to hang out. Third, the door to the small hotel room was never closed, meaning there was no private room in which to do all of the paperwork, pouring of urine, etc. The last thing I can remember was the lack of any beverages – not that I needed any more fluid in my system at that point, but providing it for us was part of the protocol that should have been followed.
To make matters worse, one of the podium members tested positive for a banned stimulant, but because the UCI protocols weren’t followed, his only punishment was to receive no prize money. This story occurred a long time ago, and times have changed fairly dramatically, but some things seem to have remained the same, based upon what I read into Lance’s explanation. If riders are expected to be held to a higher standard than the rest of the population, the governing bodies that control racing and the anti-doping agencies should be held to an equally high standard.
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