Beloki during his brief tenure at Sanuier-Duval

Over the five years I was editorial director at ROAD Magazine I went on some really amazing trips. I rode in the VIP car at Paris-Roubaix, and I’ve seen the Vuelta as well as the Giro. And then there were the product launches that were held all over the world. Often I would come home with a story that wasn’t suitable for the magazine and were best told over a few beers. These stories range from hanging out with pros and journalists and seeing what goes on when the stage is over, to staying out late at night and crawling back to the room, getting into a bar fight, rally racing rental cars, and just stupid stuff that goes on at the after-parties. When I told these stories to people they asked why didn’t I write about them. For one it would get me, and possibly the people I was with, in trouble. However, every once in awhile I’ll dig up a story from the past and post it. Like this one…

In 2004 I was a guest of the Saunier-Duval cycling team for the Vuelta. To be more exact, I was the guest of Scott Bicycles who were sponsoring the team. This was the beginning of Scott’s entry into ProTour cycling, so they were looking for some publicity and I was there to write a story about the team. Saunier-Duval, in a Hail Mary attempt for GC success, signed Joseba Beloki during the mid-season. He was attempting to come back from his horrific crash during the 2003 Tour de France. Clearly he was damaged goods and with hindsight his stage 9 crash in the Tour was a career ender, not to mention later being linked to Operation Puerto, which put his cycling career into a death spiral which he never pulled out from. But hey, that was Spanish cycling…

I was in the Saunier-Duval team car following Beloki during stage 15’s individual time trial. The course started off flat, but for only for a short distance, and then kicked up. In theory, Beloki could do well here. However theory is a lot different than practice. We clicked along at a reasonable pace, but the director was doing a lot of communicating with Beloki, which was surprising. I thought Beloki would be going too hard to carry on any type of conversation, but he obviously decided to make this a rolling rest day. As the hill steepened the directors yells of “Venga, venga!!” became less demanding to almost pleading. With my limited Spanish it became clear that Beloki wanted to drop out. At one point we pulled up along side him and the director told him to just finish the stage. We dropped behind Beloki as he begrudgingly continued.

The mood in the car became tense. I could only imagine the thoughts for the directors at that moment, “What the hell! We bring this guy onto the team and he can’t finish the time trial!” I decided to keep my mouth shut, not ask any questions or try to impress them with my limited Spanish. Up ahead I could see a Postal team rider. Beloki passed him and as we approached I could see that it was fellow Long Beach resident, Tony Cruz. As we passed him I leaned out the window and yelled at the top of my lungs, “Do it for Long Beach!” His head snapped toward me and he had a stunned look on his face like, “What the fuck?” Here he was, time trialing up this slope in the Vuelta, and out of the no where someone in the Saunier-Duval car is yelling in English something about Long Beach. I thought I had screwed up and had ruined his time trial concentration. We continued past Tony to the finish where, thankfully, Beloki finished. I found Tony the next day to apologize for yelling at him. Luckily, he didn’t care and he was just surprised to hear me yelling. For him the time trial was just something to get through.

The following day the mood was a little tense. Beloki kept hinting he wasn’t feeling good. I was back in the team car for stage 16 and about 30 miles into the stage Beloki coasted back to the car. There’s a lot of discussion going on between him and the director. I can’t understand any of it, but I know it isn’t good. He rides away and I think, “Okay, he’s going to continue.” Nope. He swings off to the side of the road and gets off his bike. We pull over, Beloki opens the car door and gets in beside me. It is awkward because what do you say at this point? “Hey, nice try.” At this level of racing there is no “nice try”. There was conversation between him and the directors in the front seat, but I’m just sitting next to him thinking, “Man, this was the guy who had Armstrong on the ropes last year at the Tour.” Then, out of the blue Beloki comments that he likes my white Nike running shoes. I didn’t know what to say other than, “Thanks.” I’m not sure if he said that to just break the silence in the car as we drive alongside the peloton. Riders look into the car and seem surprised. Beloki sheepishly waves to his fellow racers as we drive by. We drive ahead of the peloton and our car pulls over. Beloki transfers to another team car that was going to take him to the finish line hotel rather than being stuck in our car for the entire stage. I’m relieved. The tension was thick and no one was happy in that car. If I could have I would have sat in the trunk. Plus, he stank.

The next day Beloki was gone and the team continued like he had never been there. To pull the Vuelta out of the crapper for Saunier-Duval, Constantino Zaballa won stage 19. However for Beloki, that was it for him at Saunier-Duval. David Millar was the next big hope for the Saunier-Duval team and for Millar, Saunier-Duval was his entry back into professional cycling. Maybe my next post will be a Millar story.

I was also lucky to have my favorite metrosexual hairdresser Slover cut my hair before my upcoming trip.

To celebrate Vino’s win at the Vuelta only 750 of these gold helemts were produced . I got number 3.

In my normal non-cycling life I dress plainly. Jeans, a t-shirt and Keen shoes are my daily uniform. I don’t iron anything and I seldom shave. I have one suit that I wear for weddings, funerals and job interviews. Needless to say, I’m quite the catch. However, when I get cycling gear I metamorphous into a metrosexual.

A while back I received a pink retro style jersey from Rapha. My eyes lit up with joy when I saw myself in the mirror, resplendent in the bright pink jersey with Mortirolo across the chest. Naturally, my friends verbally abused me about wearing pink. I also received a very nice black riding jacket from Rapha. But it is so nice that I can’t bare to ride in it, but instead wear it when I go out. The inside lining is pink, which I think looks amazing. I wore that jacket to my team’s holiday party and again people made comments about the pink inside lining. But I didn’t care. Now recently I’ve received a gold Limited Edition Decibel helmet from Specialized as well as gold Limited Scott cycling shoes. I’m telling you, I couldn’t be happier. It was like Christmas had come early! Naturally, the guys at work immediately started to pile on the abuse, but their words are like water on a duck’s back.

Yesterday I kitted-up in my full metrosexual clothing and went for a ride. I was wearing my gold Decibel helmet, gold Oakley M-Frames, white and black jersey, black shorts and gold Scott shoes. Yep, I was looking good. I had to go to the post office and as expected there was a long line. I wheeled my bike into the post office, leaned it on an out of the way wall and got into line. My click-clack of my cleats announced my arrival. Post office patron’s heads swiveled to see what was making the noise. I could tell a few were thinking, “What the hell is that guy wearing?” But I stood there proud in my gold accented attire.

After my transaction I click-clacked back to my bike. Next to it was a postal worker filling P.O. boxes. He was an older gentleman and he gave me a hard look. “Those are pretty fancy shoes you got there.” he said.

“Yeah I just got them and I’m testing them out. What do you think of the color?”

He looked down at the shoes, looked up at me and scrunched his face up that could only be described as disgusted. That made me love the shoes even more.

I also like to wear my orange Specialized shoes

“Go!” and we were off. I tucked in behind a few racers and was fourth or fifth wheel. The course is run on a mix of grass, fire road and pavement road. With several 180 degree turns as well as a sand pit, this course was technical in nature. I stayed in this front group watching riders and just settling in. I hadn’t gotten a great warm-up so I figured I’d draft as much as possible and use some of my cyclocross skills to stay with the front group. Coming into one of the several 180 degree turns I saw my chance to move up a few spots. I dove hard into the apex of the grassy turn, hoping to cut off the rider in front of me. Unfortunately my front wheel had other plans. Suddenly I was in a heap on the grass as my front wheel washed out. So instead of moving up, I effectively lost a few places. No reason to panic yet, it was still the first lap. I chased back and got on the tail end of this small little group that had torn away from the rest of the field. “Okay just relax,” I told myself. After a loop through the grass, the course transitioned up onto a dirt road then zigged onto a dusty single track which took us out to the pavement. It was a little tricky, but using my patented “tripod” method I was able to maintain most of my speed through this tricky chicane. The riders in front of me were stepping on the gas and like a limpet, I attached myself to the rear wheel of a rider in front of me. As we rolled through the finish line the announcer said we were seventh and eighth place on the road. Okay, a win was out of the question as the top three were gone, but possibly a top five if I feel good and gas it on the last two laps. Another mistake.

Onto the dirt road I stayed glued to the rear wheel, but I knew the time had come to move on and attack him. His pace had slackened a bit and I could feel riders getting closer to us, so his usefulness as a draft was done. As we came down the slight down hill section of the dirt road I hatched a plan. I’d stay close as possible to him, carrying some speed speed, drop into the narrow single track chicane and pass him when we hit the asphalt. That didn’t quite work out. As we came into the single track I realized that I was about to hit a small concrete lip that marked the entrance to the technical section. For that half a second before impact I knew I was going to crash and I thought, “Did I fill out the emergency contact section on the entry form?” My front wheel hit the lip, jerking it savagely to the right which launched me like a scud missle to the left. I landed with a thud and instinctively I curled up like a cocktail shrimp, trying to make myself smaller. I fully anticipated that there were riders in full chase mode behind me and I’m about to be slashed with someone’s big chainring. And sure enough, I could hear the clatter of bikes bearing down on me. I quickly get up, grab my bike and start to run with it. Behind me there are yells of protest as I was I blocking the single track, but this is racing and I’m not here to make friends. They would have to slow down and wait. As I stumble out of this section, two riders pass me and I’m left to sort out the damage. The bike is fine, I’m covered in dust and unharmed. I remount and chase again, but there is not much power left in the legs. A buddy of mine happens to be spectating as I ride by. “Hey Neil! You’re looking dirty!” he yells.

I complete another lap and pass a rider who started out too fast and has blown. But I’m not doing so good either. My breathing is at a pace that would have a cardiologist concerned, I’ve got twin snot rivers running down my face, and it looks as if I’m foaming at the mouth. Yeah, I’m looking good. I complete the dirt road section for the third time and I’m about to drop onto the asphalt for the pavement section. As my front wheel hits the road, it washes out and I’m thrown to the floor for a third time in 40 minutes! This time it hurts. My left elbow is bleeding and I can see blood seeping through my shorts again on the left side. Great! I take a few running steps with the bike and remount. As I land on the saddle and put my weight on the bars, pain shoots through my left shoulder. Great! In this span of three seconds I completely reevaluate my race strategy. I need to complete one more lap and I need to stop crashing. There is no way I’m going to catch anyone and I think I got a big enough gap that no one is going to catch me. I’m just going to ride steady and finish this damn race. As I roll through the finish area the announcer calls out my name and place. I’m in 11^th on the road, I can live with that. Remarkably the bike is fine: the bars are still pointed straight ahead, the shift levers aren’t tweaked inward, and the derailleur is still shifting crisply. The bar tape isn’t even torn! Bonus!

I roll back to my car and wash some of the dirt out of my wounds. It isn’t so bad, but sleeping on my left side is going to be a pain in the ass, no pun intended. Monday morning quarterbacking my performance I know what I did wrong. In an attempt to eliminate pinch flats, I was running almost 60 pounds of pressure in the tires, which was too much. A more reasonable psi would have been in the upper 40’s. The SRAM Rival is still working great and now I’m seriously thinking about running tubulars.

Next race, Camp James in Irvine…

The damage

I racked my SRAM Rival equipped Scott ‘cross bike to the top of my Scion and headed to Orange County to ride the Fullerton Loop. My previous trip out to the Loop resulted in three flat tires. I don’t mind getting an occasional flat, but THREE in one ride! That was too much for me to stand. Because the 12-mile Fullerton Loop is great for ‘cross training and testing, I need to return. The Loop is comprised of dirt and street paths, short steep ascents, and not too technical descents. I need to go out there for two reasons; I’m still testing the Rival group and I also changed the front ring to a more reasonable 46 tooth from the 50 I was pushing. I raced last Sunday in Palos Verde and the 50 front ring was leaving me way too over geared. But for whatever reason I puncture every time I ride the Loop! And true to form, I puncture the front wheel about 20 minutes into the ride. God, I hate this Loop!! This time I’m a little more prepared and I’m carrying several spare inner-tubes. A quick change and I’m on the dirt again. The Rival group still takes a beating with shifts under pressure as well as riding some of the climbs with the chain in the big rear cassette and big front ring. On my BMC I honestly have never missed the ability to trim the front derailleur in the big ring, however on my ‘cross rig I have noticed some rubbing when I’m riding in the forbidden big/big gear ratio. The 46 front ring is working like a charm and I wish I’d been using it earlier in the season. The other piece of equipment I keep waffling on is my choice in tires. Do I ride with the knobby Hutchinsons I’ve been using these past few weeks, or with the Ritchey Tom Slicks, which has chevrons in the middle and knobbies positioned on the side? The course runs through a considerable amount of grass, a bit of concrete, hard packed dirt, and a sand pit. Maybe I’ll do a knobby up front and slick in the back?

I’m racing this Sunday in Glendale, so if you see me out there, please yell encouragement – I’ll need it!

I’ve had some bad riding days on the Fullerton Loop, but not as bad as this guy

Location: Palos Verde
Style of turning: Tripod – put most of your weight on the front tire, unclip a leg and let the back slide

Not quite sure what it means, but I like it…

I went mountain biking for the first time in about eight years and didn’t kill myself! I’m going to try and do a few XC races next year with fellow magazine editor Mark Jordan (decline) This is the trail we rode.

New Scott road shoes coming soon! Carbon soles …what else would you expect from the company that brings you the 890 gram Addict road frame.

Adrian Montgomery tried to “huck” the shopping cart with Kelli Emmett inside it. It seemed like a fun thing to do at the time…

I’ve been coast to coast participating in some really amazing cyclocross events. Starcrossed in Seattle is an epic race that reinvigorates your cyclocross soul. The Crankbrothers series is important in the quest for valuable UCI points. But without regional events we would not have discovered the Tim Johnson, Barry Wicks, or Ryan Trebons of cyclocross. These guys all started at the regional level and worked their way to the top. I was there at 6,000 elevation racing the Idaho Crosstober Fest and getting a flavor of the local action. And like a lot of regional events this one has a hook to lure spectators in, Octoberfest. With polka music interspersed with some techno-beats, large beer mugs filled with your favorite adult beverage, and spectators madly ringing cow bells, the atmosphere is alive. In addition to the sponsors booths, the live music inside the lodge and kids races, Crosstober Fest attracts the strongest riders from Idaho and Montana. This first day of racing included the masters world cyclocross champion, in addition to the strong local talent that is forged in the surrounding mountains. This hour of racing was sure to be full gas from the gun! And sure enough the field was quickly spread across the 2.3 mile loop. And when it looked certain that the reining masters world champ had the race in the bag, his chances were dashed by a mechanical dropping him to second. But that is cross. You are not only pushing yourself to the limit, but your equipment as well.

I lined up for the Category B race also looking to push myself and the equipment to the maximum. Tim and I had a busy week prior, as we were putting this issue together. When we are under deadline, we seldom get a chance to escape the office and get in a training ride. The week prior was no exception, as we got out and rode just once. While I knew I’d be pushed to my maximum, I knew that at least my equipment could handle it. I was racing the Scott CX Cross Team. I’ve had the Cross Team for a couple of months, so I knew its nuances, which is critical when you decision making skills are hampered by the lack of oxygen going to your brain. One skill I remembered was from Tim Johnson’’s cross clinic, move a little forward, placing my weight on the front wheel. I swear that technique kept me up on two wheels as other racers were washing out on the 180 degree gravel turns. After 45 minutes of pain, exhilaration and moments of self-doubt, I finished with all my skin attached. Once again racing cyclocross has cured me of the off season doldrums.

I line up again tomorrow, which is the state championships, so our field of 65 racers is sure to swell. Me, I’ll be lined up at the back of the starting grid and staying out of trouble.

Adrian “Marketing Man” Mongomery getting some shots in between schmoozing the crowd