A collection of random bursts and noises
I appreciate my helmet. I treat it with respect. I never leave for a ride without it. I replace it after a crash or even after helplessly watching it bound down the stairwell like some kind of deformed styrofoam slinky-dink after allowing it to slip from my grasp. (This activity also typically involves some assertions questioning what it does in its spare time, its origins of birth, and things of that nature.) Community member @chaz also recently suggested that, in accordance with motorcycle tradition, we ceremoniously cut the strap on the helmet and hang it in the VVorkshop in deference to the purpose it served us.
Suffice to say, I’m grateful for the advances technology offers us when it comes to protective headgear, because staying alive is in alignment with my strategy. But progress is the slayer of ritual and tradition, and I can’t help but look back longingly to the days when helmets were rarely worn and if they were, they consisted of thin strips of leather that, assuming it stayed on, would do little more than keep your cranium from coming apart after cracking it to bits on a cobblestone or some such object.
The hairnet was the coolest cranial accouterment ever designed, with the insulated cycling cap that fit over it being a close second. The cycling cap on its own was, of course, also a class piece of kit to be worn forwards, sideways, or backwards – made cooler only by perching a set of cycling-specific shades on top of it. A helmetless head saw hair slicked back by the wind as a byproduct of The V as riders raised their arms in triumph over the finish line. The bare noggin on the high mountain passes was a beacon of Purified Awesome, allowing us to see in all their glory the suffering faces of the riders as they moved Sur La Plaque over the summit.
Take a moment, fellow Velominati, to honor the Useless Headgear of our past.
I've not got a lot else going for me when it comes to cycling talent except looking pro. I liked this quote:
The preference for knee warmers over tights distills down to one elemental fact: no matter how one might try to disguise them, tights are simply not an attractive garment. Not on cyclists. Not on skiers. Not on overweight women at the market. Not on fit women at the Yoga studio. Not on runners, not on swimmers. Not in a box, not on a fox.
Great annual wrap up of what to read if you love cycling.
Here’s a rundown of the books discussed in this week’s show. If you buy any of the books listed (or anything else) via the Amazon links below, a little something will go towards keeping The Bike Show rolling on in 2012, and it won’t cost you a penny.
Bicycle Technology – Rob Van Der Plas
Bicycle Design – Mike Burrows
Cyclepedia – Michael Embacher
Tomorrow, We Ride – Jean Bobet
Slaying the Badger – Richard Moore
On Bicycles – Amy Walker
Bike Snob – Eben Weiss
Pedalare! Pedalare! – John Foot
The Little Black Bottle – Gerry Moore
The Death of Marco Pantani – Matt Rendell
The Boy Who Biked the World – Alistair Humphreys
Two great books that were not mentioned but were featured on the show earlier in the year are Racing Through the Dark by David Millar and It’s All About the Bike by Rob Penn.
At Interbike, the question I’m invariably asked by everyone — besides, “Do you think my boss has to hear about this?” — is “What’s the coolest thing you’ve seen?” I’m not going to Interbike this year, because after twenty years in cycling journalism I deserve something for my trouble, so I’m going to answer the question right now.The coolest thing at cycling’s annual trade show is going to be a book called “The Jersey Project.”
The premise of this $28, coffee-table-worthy photo book is simple: Pictures of jerseys. The pay-off is boundless. The thick, four-color pages show from one to 12 jerseys each, some of them captioned with the name of the rider who wore the specific jersey photographed, some merely identified by team and nationality. Throughout, there are larger write-ups on significant riders. Some of the spotlights fall on stars you’d justifiably expect, such as Fausto Coppi or Raymond Poulidor, but some of the most satisfying finds are things like the full-page write-up on Herman Vanspringel’s 1968 Mann-Grundig jersey, or Gerben Karsten’s 1965 Televizier jersey — and the stories behind them.
Especially the landing at 2.20.
GUESTL’Eroica 2011 by Mark Reber
24 Oct 2011 | Categories: Events, Friends, Heritage, Monthly highlights, Stories
An incomparable vista. Riding the twisting, gravelly tracks of Chianti at L’Eroica. (Photo Dustin Nordhus, Cicli Berlinetta)
The dust has quite literally begun to settle once again in northern Italy, where a few weeks back Gaiole played host to a couple of thousand cyclists set on recreating the feel of a bike race entirely devoid of Carbon Fibre, Synthetic Isotonic Potions, System Pedals, or any other development conceived over the past thirty years to make a ride last less long.
Of course we’re talking about L’Eroica, and Brooks was once again a proud sponsor of the event. Shortly before this year’s instalment we managed to get in touch with our good friend Mark Reber, who was making the trip over from the United States. He kindly agreed to collect some of his impressions of the weekend and commit them to paper for us, while taking many fine photographs (MR), some of which are interspersed below with those of his friend Rodger Lynch (RL) and Dustin Nordhus (DN). Now read on…
Post Author Mark Reber (“Le Coq Sportif” is French for “Rooster, sporting”)
My eyes are making a circuit. First, the laptop screen. Next, the inky red wine from Greve in Chianti in a glass on the table. Then, to the window where autumn’s colors are beginning to come into full view. I take a sip of the Chianti and remember the bright sunshine filling the Piazza Marconi in Castelnuovo Berardenga. If I had a bit of cheese and some grapes right now, I might be able to relive that moment when L’Eroica 2011 was nearly complete for me save but a handful of kilometers of strade bianchi to go.
Hard to imagine that it was only a week ago that I sat in that piazza with my family who had met me for the tail end of one of the finest bicycle rides of my life. How fortunate to have them there, sharing the color, excitement, hospitality, and generosity of L’Eroica and Tuscany. All were on display in substantial measure that day.
Still smiling. This was obviously taken right at the start. (RL)
Of course, I am not alone in my observation or experience. I may have been one of only a handful of Americans in this one-day ride through the countryside and culture of Tuscany, but I joined 3,000 others who were absorbing the best of what Chianti offers. There is a certain magic in the ride, reflecting the area and culture. The premise itself, a ride on vintage bicycles over traditional roads where the great Italian champions raced is a prescription for at least a bit of nostalgia.
Long course riders start early to have a realistic chance of making it back in time for the festivities. (MR)As if to underscore the nostalgic nature of the area and the ride, the organizers start “lungo” riders in the dark. Under the lights in Piazza Ricasoli, Gaiole in Chianti, you sign-in, have your bike and lighting inspected, your carnet stamped, and off you go into a blur of dancing headlights behind you and red taillights in front of you.
The sort of view to which one is seldom privy during a spin class. (MR)
The first turn in the direction of Castello Brolio is illuminated by kerosene torches, a sort of dramatic set decoration worthy of a film set in the 16th century. As you enter Madonna a Brolio, torches light the gates leading up to Castello Brolio, a bookend to the ones you passed at the turn just five kilometers back. If you know anything about the route, you know that you will be climbing, first on concrete, then on stone. With candles lighting the path and the dawn barely showing, your fellow riders are quiet, keeping a light touch on the pedals as they assess their skills and preparation for the many more kilometers to follow.
L’Eroica hardly needs set decoration to reveal its other-worldly nature, or rather, the world that it inhabits. It seems every twist and turn of the route reveals another canvas painted by a Renaissance master.
Drafting a train is allowed, taking one is frowned upon. (MR)
After those first tentative efforts in low gear up the gravel ramps to Brolio and the even more cautious descent, riders shake off their nervousness and begin the pacing required to finish, regardless of their choice of route. Fresh legs and a lightened mood carry you downhill to the first major course deviation. All roads lead to Pianella, where the shorter routes turn north and the longer ones south.
If you’ve chosen a longer route, as I did, you ride along undulating hills that switch to gravel soon enough. Then, a turn takes you west, where early morning light on nearby Siena’s towers fairly defines the yellow-brown color that the mines around this Renaissance city produced. In not too many more kilometers of asphalt and strade bianchi, riders are delivered to the stark “Crete Senesi.” The contrast with the scenery where you started just 40 kilometers north is significant.
Wish you were here? Hobby photographer Dustin Nordhus of Cicli Berlinetta was. (DN)
Not only is the scenery more stark, but so is the riding. The more benign, rolling strade bianchi sectors to the north give way to brutally steep, long pitches of gravel that reach 15% grades. At this point, your traditional leather cycling shoes spend more time on the ground than the pedals.
Not a gravelly, merely a hilly stretch of the percorso. (MR)
No matter the choice of percorso, all riders experience a similar mix of beautiful, though different, countryside, breathtaking vistas, charming villages and towns, and certainly the best food breaks on any organized ride you have experienced. Every “ristoro” is staffed with open, hospitable Chiantians serving the same delicious food enjoyed throughout Tuscany. When was the last time on a century tour or randonnee where you were served ribollita from a cast iron pot hung over an oak fire? And, never mind the energy drinks. Your fruit, cheese, stew, and salami is washed down with the signature Chianti, though a humbler blend than Barone Ricasoli might serve.
Now that’s our idea of a feeding station. (MR)
It is probably a fool’s errand, or certainly a writer’s arrogance, to try to convey all that L’Eroica is in a blog post. What sets L’Eroica apart from the many great organized rides in Europe and elsewhere is its purpose: to draw attention to the old roads and rural traditions while remembering the champions that made their mark on them. That makes the many kilometers of sometimes very difficult riding seem so much more important than your average trip on the two-wheeler.
L’Eroica weekend at Gaiole is a good place to seek out vintage parts for your restoration project. (RL)
By now, most readers know that the minimal requirements to participate in L’Eroica are to register before the ride fills up and bring a bicycle that pre-dates 1987, or at least has the characteristics of one. True, the committed turn up with bicycles worthy of a ride by Bartali or Coppi or even earlier, greatly increasing the “heroic” factor regardless of the length of the chosen percorso.
What of the riding itself? I can only speak as a rookie, though a veteran of organized rides of all kinds in the past 35 years and a very brief exposure to racing. L’Eroica stands alone in my experience.
Brake cables up there. Check. Leather hairnet. Check. Tubes wrapped under oxters. Check. (MR)
Certainly, the strade bianchi, or white roads of gravel, and the numerous sectors of them make for a different kind of ride. For a newbie, apprehension gives way to acceptance that gives way to desire and possibly foolhardy belief that asphalt and gravel can be ridden alike.
L’Eroica riders often need to watch out for pigs whose owners have carelessly let them off the leash. (MR)
It only takes a single major turn at 30kmh to realize that your grip on the surface, and reality, may be tentative.
Though the routes are scenic, the food gastronomic, and the organization top-notch, the routes certainly go beyond bucolic. They are intended to give the rider a sense of the struggle, the “sforzo” or effort that ride organizer Giancarlo Brocci identifies as a key factor in bicycling. L’Eroica is within reach of almost any rider with a choice of four alternative routes. Regardless of the choice, from 38K to 205K, you will certainly understand Brocci’s comments. You will hope to hear the encouragement that I heard from my brother as I left Piazza Ricasoli. “Forze,” he said in a quiet, deliberate voice. Strength for the ride.
Team riding/vino quaffing has much to recommend it at L’Eroica. (RL)
Off the bike, there are distractions galore. Gaiole in Chianti leading up to and on the day of the ride is transformed from market town to vintage bicycle carnival with bicycles, vintage parts, bike clothing, food, wine, and all of the officialdom of any significant Gran Fondo. It is almost more than can be absorbed, even over 48-hours.
For a bicyclist and traveler, L’Eroica enriches the experience of a visit to Tuscany, even when you are not on the bicycle. Every hill and descent is more memorable. Every glass of wine is more satisfying. And, if even for a single day, you get the sense of being part of this land and its people in a way that goes beyond the transaction of your registration. You carry away a good bit of dust on your bike, sweat on your wool jersey, and the memories of traveling on two wheels over the same roads that Bartali and Coppi raced on, but that Chiantians still use every day.
Smiling through gritted teeth, Mark dutifully passes on our a commemorative saddle to Giancarlo Brocci, the event’s creator.
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