photodump

Posts are few and far between now that training is neverending and work is the only other thing I seem to do. Still no internet at home, so you'll just have to deal with the giant post on occasion.

So here we go.


Cliff diving is tough at Helen Hunt falls (did not make that name up).


Ping Pong had been working on his moustache for a couple of years, and brought it to Colorado to share it with the world.


I'm a competetive person, so I couldn't let an Asian with distinctly Aryan facial hair beat me in the stache-off.


I like this picture, because you can actually see the rays of hate that my cat is trying to shoot though Kacala's head.


Behold the new go-rocket.


This picture is all that could be recorded of what turned out to be a bit of a chaotic evening in the pursuit of "avoiding the bummer life." Eric from Ground Up cycles built a mini dirt velodrome on his front yard. It's 15 meters long, 14 inches tall and has a banking of almost 40 degrees. An average person on a 16 inch kids bike can do a lap in about 4 seconds. This track has become the centerpiece in a weekly barbeque/minidrome-cycleslaughterama. Never satisfied, Eric and co. has nearly completed a downhill course in his backyard which features some nasty switchbacks, a decent dropoff, a junkyard, a woodpile and a cactus field. Wheels bigger than 16 inches need not apply. Same goes for sissies. No sissies allowed.


On the ride home from the miniraces, we decided that finally, we really like it here.


Sharks with frickin laser beams on thier heads... Note the sweet Meshke bars. Still in the original poo brown.

And this is where I'll leave again for another stretch. Headed back to the track this afternoon to get chased down on a half lap start by the best starter in the country. I get a 10m gap, but we'll see how long that lasts.

DT

the pong is gone

So Eric spent last weekend sniffling and sneezing on my couch. Either he got some kind of asian bird flu in St. Louis, or just had a mean case of allergies and refused to admit it. Overall it was a good weekend. We ate (lots), we drank (lots), and we watch some really bad movies. The highlight was probably sitting on a rock at Garden of the Gods, watching rock climbers, heckling them amongst ourselves, wondering if they can hear us all the way up there and if they can, is it ruining their concentration and hurting their self-esteem. Some questions will never be answered.

Training-wise, I've run myself into the ground, and now I'm trying to get back up. I've slept somewhere between 12 and 15 hours a day in the last 3 days, and workouts got to the point where I was performing so poorly I was told to go home and not come back until I'd had a few days rest. Luckily this was the day before the Pong showed up, so I didn't spend his whole visit at the gym and track.

Nacho update: Jose Muldoon's nachos are on par with the Laurelwood's. Huge, chickeney, cheesey and not a soggy chip on the whole plate. A triumph in modern nacho-ing. If the salsa was any better, we'd be way ahead.

Project Leadville has hit a little stumbling block. So far we have a $10,800 4-inch travel full suspension race bike that weighs in at 20.7 pounds with pedals. The deal was "under 20 pounds no matter the cost." This guy will bring his own scale and weigh it before he picks it up. We've resorted to filing down the extra material off the custom titanium bolts we swapped out for all the steel ones, removing every decal and sticker in sight, cutting the post down to the absolute minimum length for his seat height, custom Stans ZTR Olympic wheels (each of which with tires and skewers weighs less than one of my training tires), a custom carbon shock, everything. Only options left are super-flimsy aluminum brake rotors and grinding off extra material from the seat. On the flipside, despite all the stress this causes, it beats selling hybrids for a living...

DT

plyos are bad for you

So about 3 weeks ago I'm doing box jumps with Blatchford. From the ground up to a platform 64 inches off the ground. Kinda like jumping onto someone's head. Even if your vertical leap is pretty high, it still takes a lot of effort, some luck and a smallish brain to jump that high repeatedly for a workout. So anyway, long story short on my third jump I drove my hand into the box with all my might and probably broke my thumb. At the time I was hoping it was a sprain (despite the grapefruit-size swelling and black and blue coloring), but 3 weeks on and I still can't do power cleans or anything that requires controlling a bar with weight on it. Riding's no problem, it's just a limiter in the gym. So more frustrating than anything. Fortunately my strength coach Mike figured out all the lifts I can do (like squats) and is punishing me for my lack of durability.

Ping Pong makes his grand entrance in T-minus 5 days. The couch is ready, I've got a couple days off and some mountain bike rides figured out.

Did some work on the truck the other day. Think it's coming along nicely.

on one hand; i'm progressing faster than ever, getting bigger than ever and loving the mountain biking and general outdoorsiness...

on the other handl; i miss good restaurants, good art, all my friends, happy hour at the laurelwood, cheap movies at the mission, culture, music, good espresso, and portland people...

DT

hey so anyway

What I was doing on:
Tuesday 6:00pm: Sitting on a patio in shorts and a t-shirt, enjoying the 70degree sunshine.

Wednesday 6:00pm: Trudging through 4 inches of fresh snow

Thursday 11:00am: Walking around in a t-shirt, enjoying the sun, wondering where all the snow went.

Current project at work: Create a sub 20 lb mountain bike with 4 inches of travel front and rear that's capable of surviving the Leadville 100mile XC race. Starting with a Cannondale Scalpel at 22 lbs, stripping her down, ordering a bunch of parts from Stans and some unpronouncable German companies and hoping the guy has a pretty high credit limit. His actual words were "if you can do it, I'll buy it no matter what it costs," so I doubt we'll have many problems with payment.

Headed out to the SRAM R&D building shortly to pick up a bike for a friend and get a sweet tour of thier suspension design department from an engineer dude I met out here. Should be cool in a super-geek kinda way.

Ping Pong called last night with travel plans for my neck of the woods. Bring it on.

DT

visualize me

This is what I feel like today

snow ridin

The weather took a turn for the cold yesterday and hasn't let up. Snow yesterday, snow today. Nothing sticking, just cold and windy. No, wait. Now the sun is out. Snow is gone. Consistency is not the name of the game.

Dave's been taunting me with this.

Yeah, it's cool. I'll just keep riding the aluminum one though. I know I'm not as fast as Dave, so he should naturally get the cool bike right?

Whatever. Went into the gym for the first time Wednesday with Blatchford. Haven't been to the gym for a good three weeks, so everything stayed pretty light. It's a strange feeling having tourists stare at you through plate glass when you know you're not working that hard (in my head: It's not always like this, I promise! Come back next week, really). Even so, today I'm feeling the seize. I'm walking like an oversized and not so cool G.I. Joe. Plastic joints, plastic muscle.

Track should be dry in 20 minutes or so, and I've got some motorpacing to do. Kilo efforts are the stuff dreams are made of.

fotoblahggin

Garden of the Gods. And Dave, Jenny says your hat is very comfortable.


Rocks


Tammy the Travelling Unicorn and Matt Hofman, taking in the sights.


Weather changes quickly around here.


This is our extremely photogenic back door. Classy.


Jenny likes snow. 24 hours after this picture was taken it was 65 and sunny. Wouldn't want to be a weatherguy in these parts.


This is what the entirety of my commute to work looks like. All bike path, all the way. I cross one street in 6 miles. Glorious.

Speaking of work, I'm now slinging wheels at Criterium Bicycles. Sweet shop. Reminds me alot of the Hollywood BG. Same size, good people, but one location instead of 6. I'm starting on Wednesday. Meanwhile, Jenny's working at a cool chick-stuff shop called Terra Verde in downtown CSprings. Her commute is a whopping 8 blocks, so naturally we're in the market for a new Hummer.

Workouts have begun, Blatchy's stupid fast, Kacala's stupid big and Des's hair is reaching new fro-tastic heights. I'm finally back into the gym at the Center tommorow, and not looking forward to the aftermath.

I'm trying to put together an all-star all-Springs sprinter group to bring with me to the AVC. Just need some gas money and a couple more host houses and we're there.

We're all out of Stumptown. I'm scared.

DT

nice people creep me out...

Altitude is one thing. Sun is one thing. New cities are one thing. However, random people being nice is something a longtime portlander has a bit of trouble getting used to. Couple of days ago, we're walking down the street, minding our own business, and this guy sees my chrome bag and says "hey, you going to critical mass?" uhm, wasn't planning on it. "oh man, you should because bla bla bla my name's aj, bla bla bla welcome to Colorado, bla bla bla yea portland's pretty cool, bla bla bla bla bla." Jenny and I are a little taken aback, so we seek shelter in that great homebase of all anti-socials: the bar. Granted this is a wine bar, but still, a bar. We fend off the nice waiter and get our drinks. and not 5 minutes later another random is going "bla bla bla, yeah welcome to colorado, bla bla bla, i love bikes, bla bla bla isn't wine just the greatest? bla bla bla bla bla bla."

Can't seem to get away from it. The baristas are nice, the waiters are nice, the shop clerks are nice, and everyone just wants to say hi and check on how your day is going. Like a bunch of happy white folks with great tans skipping around like idiots. What. The. Hell.

I guess sun deprivation really does make portlanders a little more surly than everyone else. Although LA boasts just as many self-important weiners as PDX and they get plenty of sun... So maybe it's the air? Maybe there's something in the water? Maybe we're just really, really good looking? Idunno.

DT

we're here, and yes, they have whiskey on tap

So we made it to sunny Colorado Springs, cat in tow. Still trying to unpack our lives from the boxes covering our apartment floor, so we've been avoiding it almost entirely by "getting to know the area." Turns out we're 3 blocks from a sweet coffee shop 4 blocks from a great bar, and 5 blocks from everything else you could possibly need. Our back yard is the CSprings version of the Springwater corridor. Exept ours is 42 miles long, goes through the center and way out of town from north to south, and you never have to cross a street. I know. Sweet. Still looking for jobs, still trying to figure everything out. Fortunately everyone from the OTC is at Track Worlds, so I've got a bit of time before the big hurt starts.

Altitude sucks. I feel old and fat.

DT

pre-drive panic

So we're headed off to CSprings on Saturday and it seems like nothing is done. Mostly because we don't have much stuff, aside from clothes and bikes, so seems like we've been packing alot less than we should. Safe to say that moving sucks the big one. Hate, hate, hate.

Jenny and I are both sick. The sucky thing about having great friends is every night another group wants to take you out and celebrate one last time late into the night.

Anyone seen my iPod? I haven't. I'm this close to tears. THIS close.

one for my homies...

Found this little nugget of history on FGG.

From behind the iron curtain, an original Takhion:

Apparently found its way to an apartment in Boston.


Konstantin Khrabtsov, Champion of USSR on the freakmobile.

I had heard that a couple of these hack jobs still existed, but this is the first one I've ever seen. Bars welded to the top of the fork crown. Only kilo riders and team pursuiters could ever be dumb enough to ride something like this. Totally mental. Super ergo.

linkgasm

enjoy

BIKERFOX!

Malkovich, malkovich, malkovich!

Anyone want to mess with Svein Tuft?

I don't. He looks like a certain actor's meaner big brother...

Looks like the best glasses on this great green planet earth are no longer made by Nike. Now they are made by Oakley. Initially I was bummed when Nike announced the Vision department was getting dumped in the scrap heap, but now not so much. I've been hounding Norrene for years to get Oakleys for the team and I finally get my wish. They're stepping up in a big way to help us out, and I'm psyched. Why? Because I can finally get Asian Fit glasses. I think this makes me more charming and better at math, right ping pong? Or maybe I just like nachos more? I don't know. Stay tuned.

Speaking of Oakley...

This is David Zabriskie's mustache from last week times five. This turns it up to eleven. First person who gets me a pair of these is my new best friend. I know that's not really very inticing, but seriously. DO it.

Been a bit of a long week(s). Beers anyone?

DT

context is for suckers

This pile rolled into the shop yesterday, falling apart the day after it was purchased.

And yes, it says "god save the queen" on the chainstay.

Are the white belt and ironic t-shirts included, or do you have to get that separate?

And hey, if London's not your bag, that's cool cause you can also get the New York track-bike freestyler-esque Dart-mobile.


In the words of BSNYC, take a last drag and swing your leg over the fashion express! DT

climb into the hurt box and have a look around

O face of the day goes to Meatball. Once again, making us all look stupid, Friedman spent all day in the break at Het Volk and finished 12th. That's right. 12th. Het Volk. Friedman. Taste the future.

DT

a Slow farewell

Some places are hard to say goodbye to. We're down to 3 weeks and counting before we ship off, so the due farewells are piling up. Jenny and I are (sometimes overly) nostalgic when it comes to the places we eat and drink. Portland is pretty spoiled in the bar/restaurant department, and since we've lived here we've tried to experience as much of it as we could afford. Like anything, there are hits and misses. One place we've been dreading leaving is Slow Bar.

You know how you have those conversations with your friends that go "man, if I owned a bar it would be all like bla bla bla bla bla?" I've had lots of those, and this place is as close as it gets to my ideal bar. It's small, has bare brick walls, high-backed leather booths, stiff drinks, dim lighting, and probably the best jukebox ever. Lots of 70s and 80s punk wierdness. To top it off, the food is awesome. All fresh, delicious, cheap. It's the kind of place you could see Hemingway hunched into a booth with a tumbler of whiskey, scribbling stuff into a notebook. If Hemingway were alive in Portland on the eastside. Anyway. Point is, Jenny and I frequent this place. So we decide to go in last night for one last meal and a pint.

Jenny is a creature of habit. She finds things she likes and sticks to them. At Slow Bar, she likes a particular sandwich they have, orders it nearly every time. So we sit down, order some drinks and check out the menu. The sandwich is gone. She freaks. When the stoned/drunk/bored waiter guy meanders over she asks about it. "yep, discontinued, but hang on" he manages to get out. He wanders back to the kitchen. Comes back a couple of minutes later, "yeaaah we're not doing that anymore, but the guys have enough stuff to make just one more."

I'm not into too much mystical stuff, but to me this was wierd. To Mrs. Tracy, it was sublime. Sandwich in hand, smile on face, drink nearby, she was in a blissful state. As we walked out we agreed that Slow Bar was saying goodbye in its own way.

As long as PBR or coffee doesn't get discontinued in the next couple weeks, I'll be safe.

DT

home base

Secured the new home base in CSprings today. Sweet apartment in a converted mansion downtown. No turning back.

Tuckerman's arriving on the sunny beaches of Portland in a couple of hours. If you've never met this lad, perhaps you'd like to join him on the pot for a chat about burritos and stuff? Click on the link, then scroll down to Meet The Kiwi. Pot Chat? Toilet Talk? Porcelainversation?

DT?

nice jerk-mobile, jerkface

Engage transportation rant... NOW.

I fear for people sometimes. Usually when I'm driving. The blatant disregard for the safety of others that people show when they climb behind the wheel of thier SUVs, minivans and hybrids amazes me to no end. Seems like people lock themselves into thier metal safety bubbles and suddenly don't give a shit about anyone else but themselves and whoever's on the other end of the cell phone strapped to thier faces.
I can understand a mistake here and there. I turned the wrong way on a one way downtown once. When I was 16. The first time I went downtown. The thing is, I wasn't a 40 year old in a LexusHummerFord who should know better. I could barely operate a clutch at that point. But I see people who've had plenty of practice do it every day.
Maybe it's not that people don't care. I think a lot of people just have no perspective. Say you climb into your average car, drive down the street, don't check the bike lane and turn right into a cyclist tooling along, minding his own business in the bike lane. What happens to the driver? Zip. Nothing. You feel no after effects. The dent in your audi or toyota is not a broken bone. The cops won't even write you a simple ticket (even if the person on the other side of the sheetmetal doesn't get up). You'll just be sent on your merry, oblivious way.
I don't know. Maybe commuter bikes should come with holsters for giant monkey wrenches and ben-hur spikes on the wheels. But probably not.
ehhh.
End rant.
DT

TOC update

I'm gonna call the results early (CNN Election Coverage '08 style). Tour of California has been won by David Zabriskie.
Here's why:

Look at that. Just look at it. Looks like the guy should be rolling up to the start riding bareback on a wild stallion while shooting a six-gun in the air and hollering something no one can understand. Seriously, check out how fine of a point the sides come to! That's no accident. He could alternately show up in the back of a horse-drawn carriage with velvet curtains, wearing a top hat and speaking in a foppish British accent. But given that the race is in California and is already full of prissy Europeans, I'm sticking with the Wild West David Zabriskie over the Hat Doffing Englishman David Zabriskie.

DT

taste the future

Roller races are for chumps. Trini knows how to rollWorld Cup podium style. When I last saw Trini, I was rooming with him in CSprings and described him on this here big green me-fest as a "drunk, male Miss Cleo after smoking a couple gallons of PCP." Now add "World Cup medalist, Arnand Tournant-smashing monster" to that sentence somewhere. Maybe at the start.

DT

rollerface deathrace

Hey boss, howyafeelin?


Mr. Hurtface


Mr. Seriousface


Eye of the tiger? Eye of the naked mole rat?



It's important to hydrate regularly


I got you this grapefruit, but I'm taking it back.


all pics from HEATHERVANSCHNOOVER

DT

taste the good times

aahhhrrggg. Climbed into the hurt box last night, shut the lid and still haven't found my way out. The Rapha gallery was at full capacity not 10 minutes after opening for the roller-deth-o-rama. People 6 deep, racers, builders, enthusiasts, messengers, pearl dwellers; all screaming bloody murder at 4 riders on stage. Stupid loud, two inches of beer on the floor, 140 degrees, 4 kegs of beer and the English version of a kick-ass soundtrack. Bian, Dirty Dave and I represented the glorious Laurelwood brewery in the winner take all rounds. Up for grabs on the night: Custom Ira Ryan frame, Krietler rollers and some sweet Rapha shwag.

Long story short, the racing was effing hard. 20 Seconds of max effort at 200rpm. For 5 rounds. By the 4th round, it was looking like the fastest times were being put up by myself, Beardsley, Captain Underpants (SanFran messenger guy) and one of the young River Cityers. I guess in the interest of having a Portland Racers Vs. San Fran messenger final, SuperStevie and I met in the semis. The crowd was charged on rocket fuel at this point. You could barely hear Jon Walrod and Brian Witty's hilarious commentary. I ended up beating the Gentlest of Lovers and on to the Portland VS. SanFrancisco superfinal.

The Gentle Lovers stuffed unicorn mascot found it's way to my handlebars, and I knew I'd need some Unicorn Power when they announced the final would be double the distance. At this point, I'm not walking so good. I lost my dinner hours ago. I can't hear anything and I'm seeing wierd stuff. Bets are being made. Suddenly I have 60 bucks in wet twentys stuffed into my waistband. And we go. I get out to a good lead, hold it, fade hard, the volume in the room triples, so much screaming, so many cameras, and I win by a tenth of a second. Boo-ya. Captain underpants and I congradulate each other, I spray a bunch of champagne around, fall off the stage and go collapse in the corner and think about my new Ira Ryan.

You know how when you're about to hurl, and you start hearing your breath in your ears? You feel cold sweat all over your forhead? You panic? All that was happening when Walrod announced the re-ride. I don't remember much after that. I remember Zak and the Team Beer guys (and eventually the rest of the Portland crew) chanting "Bullsh!t" in unison. I remember Slaven freaking out. Everyone was freaking out. The Rapha guys looked none too happy. But hey, if the big cheese wants a re-match, he gets a rematch. Which I lost. I could barely stand under my own power before we started, let alone do another race. Either way, they announced us both as winners. Looks like Ira's building two bikes. I wonder when they'll tell him?

Pro-est looking team of the evening: Bike Gallery. Between Ping Pong's aero helmet and Shannon's white sheepskin gloves, there really was no team pro-er. Ping Pong even brought the wood and sent the Dirtiest of Daves back to the peanut gallery twice in a row.

The Sweetest Move award goes to Tony Kic. No big surprise there. Three words, one hyphen: Tear-away suit.

Super Steveo gets the Smile For Me Baby award for being the most serious man of the night. Dude took the gameface to a new level.

The Metal-est Move award goes to ZAK. See Tony Kic's suit was built with Velcro. Zak just straight up tore the shirt right off his back. Hulk Style. Mad points.


Pictures later. Maybe.
DT

Roller-death-o-rama

Come one, come all, bring your drinkin shoes and best verbal abuse to the Rapha Roller Races next Saturday night. If you've never seen a roller race, the fine folks at Rollapaluza have been reviving this lost art in England for a while now. Rapha has been promoting races across the ditch and next weekend they're bringing it here. Come cheer on your favorite team of fat track racers (like me, brian and casey) or just come see some sweet artwork, or maybe have a beer or four.

Saturday, Feb 9th
Doors open at 8pm, Racing starts at 8:30pm
Admission is $10
21+

Rapha Gallery
Crane Building
710 NW 14th Street
Portland, Oregon 97209

Once your hangover has subsided on Sunday, roll down to theHandmade Bike Show. My Prediction: Signal Cycles wins Best In Bro.

In other news, some border agent fell asleep at his desk and let Skeletor back in the country a couple days ago. He's riding around somewhere in Southern California (lost, no doubt) with a pocket full of Jelly Beans and a bad habit of saying whatever comes through his brain. Let's hope he survives. At least until his death, which by my count should happen somewhere on stage 3 of the Tour of California. If by some miracle he survives that death-march through America's most worthless state, he'll be back to the Dirtiest of Couves somewhere around the end of February.

so's your mom

So Shannon has a new blog. I know. Exciting isn't it? If you don't have enough cats, Lost, Kozy Shack, cross, cross dressing or cats in your life (all narrated in a curiously asian accent), head on over to BikeBlogSnobDotBlogspotDotCom.

And Shannon, if you're reading this right now, so's your face.

DT

It's Friday night. Do you feel alright?



Get to it.

DT

pull through, or else

Grandma's in the klink.

homegrounds. sort of?

Back on friendly shores again. It's been a good return. I've eased back into daily life and once again find myself working in a unfamiliar place. The shop in Lake Oswego needed a few people to cover shifts, I have nothing better to do, so here I am. Back in the nether-suburbs, looking for a cup of coffee.

People here have never seen a pedestrian. That's the only rational explanation I can gather for the 20 times I nearly died while attempting to cross the street. Seems like a simple task, right? You wait at the crosswalk, hit the button a few hundred times, wait for the little white walking guy to light up, cars stop and away you go. Right? Wrong. Apparently this is intensely confusing when you climb behind the wheel of a Land Rover and strap a Blackberry to your face.

Eventually I made my way back to the shop unscathed and only a little on edge. Safe to say this is the last time I will voluntarily spend any time in Lake SuperEgo.

It's 34 degrees, work hours and a weekday, so the shop is dead. Empty. The only calls are coming fromfamily and friends. We're all getting some quality YouTubing done. I have no complaints.

DT

decent days and nights

The weather's turned sour for my final stand in new zealand. Clouds are easing me back into Portland winter. Raining so hard it's like being at the bottom of a lake. I'm too tired to piece together coherent sentences, paragraphs, all that nonsense, so some bullet points for you:

-Australian youth are stuck in a time vortex which keeps them pinned securely in 1984. So much neon and asymmetrical hair, it's what I imagine it would be like to be at a Wham! concert.

-Tasmania is the roadkill capital of the world.

-When you watch the news in Australia, you will hear more about the Iowa and New Hampshire primaries than you do at home. Same for New Zealand. Wall to wall coverage. Hillary Clinton is inescapable.

-Australia is brown. New Zealand is green.

-No one in Australia says "G'day." They don't throw shrimps on the barbie.

-Cricket is more important than baseball, basketball and apple pie.

-Australia has 4 weeks of national holiday. Everyone gets paid time off work. It's a tough life.

-Australian athletic development programs are 10 years ahead of ours. In the US, the cycling federations will give you support IF you can medal at a world cup. In Australia, thier federation will give you support at an early stage to MAKE SURE you can medal at a world cup. Makes sense, no?

-The minimum wage in New Zealand is $12 an hour. Healthcare is free. Gas is three times as expensive but cars are much smaller and most are diesels. I haven't seen any Escalades or Suburbans here...

-We drove 1800k in 8 days in Tasmania

-We drove 600k in 2 days at the lake last weekend

DT

camera dump

I still can't get over how many people would come out and pay 15-20 bucks a pop to watch us race. Organizers claimed that 35,000 people came out in total for the carnivals. And we freak out about having a few hundred come out to watch AVC...

The kids in Burnie are fiends for hi-fives. They completely surround the rail, begging for fives from everyone. Doesn't matter if you're a national hero or a first time geek, they're mclovin'.

Penguin lookout just down the road from the track in Burnie. The turret looking thing is a hideout so people won't spook the birds. No penguins this time of day though, so we came up nil.

lake rotoiti. things could be worse.

searching for a pirate flag, floating towards destiny....


DT

the road to redonkulous

Kelyn and I used our day off during the carnivals to drive around, take pictures and make fun of things that are different.


This is a crap picture, but I felt it was my duty to show this to the world. Apparently there is a large campaign against tiredness on this side of the planet. They are not kidding.




Tasmanian beaches are the stuff dreams are made of.

have you experienced the trout experience?

DT

wtf?

Let's play a game called "Which 4 of these are not like the others?"

TOYOTA - UNITED PRO CYCLING TEAM
Director: Len Pettyjohn

(USA) BALDWIN, Chris
(USA) BARCZEWSKI, Ben
(USA) BETCHER, Derrek
(NZL) BLACKGROVE, Heath
(AUS) CLARKE, Hilton
(AUS) CLARKE, Jonathan
(AUS) DAY, Benjamin
(CUB) DOMINGUEZ, Ivan
(USA) ENGLAND, Justin
(USA) FERGUSON, Walker
(MEX) GARCIA PONCE, Jose Manuel
(USA) GILLESPIE, Stu
(USA) LAKATOSH, Andy
(AUS) MANION, Caleb
(USA) NELMAN, Ryan
(USA) RIFFLE, Duncan
(CAN) ROLLIN, Dominique
(USA) SELKER, Kevin
(USA) SHANBHAG, Sanjay
(SCG) STEVIC, Ivan
(AUS) SULLIVAN, Sean
(AUS) VOGELS, Henk
(USA) WHERRY, Chris

the sunny side of the world; round 1

You'd need a panoramic camera to catch all the starters in a 2k wheelrace on a 580m track. these are just the scratchmen through the guys off 40m. This race started with people all the way up to 285m from scratch. The whiteshirts are all pushers, the guys with the most dangerous job out there. They have to push the riders far enough to not get confronted after the race, and then have to make a hard left or right turn to get out of the way before the riders from behind come barreling right over them. When it's riders vs. pushers, riders always win.


This is the chaos in the final turn when the scrathcmen catch the frontmarkers. This frame has one Aussie olympic team pursuiter (leading), one continental track pro (second), a Malaysian match sprinter (sixth) and aussie olympic team sprinter (sixth), a few juniors (7th and 9th) and the rest are local or mainland club riders. Little bit of everything, everyone killing it to get there first. No one's racing for 10th.


Inside the Launceston Silverdome. Motocrossers uncluded.


Latrobe. Flat, bumpy, red and surrounded by 5,000 cycling-crazy tasmanians.


Corners here aren't exactly tricky.







part 2 coming soon.
DT

just in time; done and dusted again

The Basslink Christmas Carnival series is officially over, and I'm now officially adrift at Melbourne International, officially a bit pissed that I'm stuck here for another 6 hours or so. Tried to sit and watch the Aussies and the Indians duke it out in the cricket match at the quiet bar, but inexplicably the bar filled with screaming kids and I was out the door before you could say "wicket."

New Year's was quite the scene. The barbie at the hostel was a massive affair for just 10 people. So much food you couldn't stand without loosening the belt buckle after it was all gone. Turned out to be a great idea, because all the small talk and "what's your name" and "where you from" and "what you doin" were taken care of well before the night began in earnest. Actually there was no jumping off point (no shots, no riotous march into town), just a steady escalation into the kind of party you wish you'd taken pictures of. No dancing, no craziness or destruction. Just 10 people spread out on couches and chairs on a huge second story outdoor balcony on top of the hostel. Beers, poker, music and the endless babble of Manchester cockney, deep western Aussie, eastern Aussie, Scottish, Tasmanian, American and Italian accents. All time Top Five lists were traded, iPod libraries were inspected and critiqued, music cranked over the whole thing and for a couple of hours life was perfect and effortless. Fireworks blasted off. I went to bed at 2 pretty sober but buzzing from something else. Something non-chemical and momentary.

The next day is Burnie. I'm tired but feeling pretty chipper, Kelyn's not showing his loss at Drinking Poker, and overall we're better off than I expected. The 150k drive to Burnie takes a while, and I browse the paper and find the article about us ("Inexperience Is No Handicap") complete with full color photo of me looking sickly and weird, Kelyn looking a bit like a gay superhero, Eugene with the 10 year-old stare and Des in the background looking vaguely unimpressed. My travel partner is
not happy. At least the words are kind. Not sure what I was expecting, but Burnie turns out to be a pretty cool little beach town built on a hill. The track is essentially on the beach, just out of reach of the tide. Lots of noise was made before the Carnival's arrival, as the city of Burnie had just dumped $50,000 on a new track surface for the outdoor 500m oval which had been delayed and delayed to the point where it was still unfinished at Christmas. I see my golden opportunity and claim the new surface for America by rolling out a first lap before anyone else can get their chamois on. Thought about peeing on it as well for good measure, but I was still a bit dehydrated from the previous night.

First words out of my mouth on my first lap: "What the f%@!, am I going uphill?"
Answer: Yes.
Remember how I said that the city was built on a hill? So is the track. It's a slight slope, but pretty noticeable on the bike as you grind through corner 1 and 2 and spin out through the downhill 3 and 4.

I'm finally feeling healed and well, and it all starts coming together for the 1k wheelrace. I start off 55 meters from scratch with the furthest rider at 175m. Gun goes off, I pull a big start and reach the frontmarkers within the first lap. Bell rings at the bottom of the hill, I make a big jump waaaaay too early and take the lead only to get passed on the line. No worries, 3 go through to the final and I end up third with a gap to fourth, so I'm a happy man. Last day and the first final of the series. Kelyn hauls off and wins his heat pretty convincingly and all of a sudden we've gone from sitting on the sidelines in Latrob with our heads smashed in thinking "what the?" after our heats to ending up 2 strong in the final. We both start the final on 55m. Kelyn's been finishing stronger and I've been starting faster, so I lead the first 500m out. BANG the gun goes and we're immediately blowing by the riders off 75, then 110, then through a big group of sketchy traffic off 140, then we're on the back straight, the bell rang 200m ago but I'm too redlined to notice, leading the whole group with Kelyn and everybody else on my wheel with 400m to go. I start to run out of steam, Kelyn panics and goes over the top a hair too early, leads until the final meter and gets pipped by two people on the line. Bastards. Either way, I'm happy. Our race clocked at 1.05 for a kilo. Ouch. We get a podium, some gas and food money and immediately feel better about this week.

As difficult and trying as it's been, we both have improved a tremendous amount. Later in the night, I end up 4th in my feature 3k heat (3 go through) but Kelyn makes it into the big money final. It's a huge hammerfest and he understandably throws in the towel when the group blasts by him with 1 to go and we pack up and get the hell out of Tasmania.

DT