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
Sexy Selfies
11 years ago
Saturday, March 01, 2008
Friday, February 29, 2008
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
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
Monday, February 25, 2008
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?
Thursday, February 21, 2008
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
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
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
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
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
Sunday, February 17, 2008
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
DT
Monday, February 11, 2008
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
Sunday, February 10, 2008
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
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
Friday, February 01, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
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
And Shannon, if you're reading this right now, so's your face.
DT
Friday, January 25, 2008
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
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
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
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
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
-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
Monday, January 07, 2008
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
Sunday, January 06, 2008
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
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
Saturday, January 05, 2008
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
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
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
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
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
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
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
Sunday, December 30, 2007
blurs of the Basslink
sit tight and strap in, this one's a doozy.
The 2007 Basslink Christmas Carnivals are one day from their end. It's all been quite the experience so far. Seems like I've been wide-eyed or too tired to focus for most of it. Des, Eugene and Viktor (Eugene's dad) left this morning, so Kelyn and I have transferred from the posh Tasmanian Country Club to a downtown Launceston hostel. Huge, hundred year old building complete with hundred year old furniture and hundred year old maids. We managed to score a room with two beds and just enough room to fit all the bikes and bike cases and bike accessories and bike minutia for a wickedly cheap rate. We could stay here for 2 weeks and still come out ahead of what most people are paying at the Country Club for a single night. Magic. Tonight's New Years Eve and the question of what's happening is all anyone wants to talk about. All over the building, all over the cafes in town it's all "what you up to" and "where you headed tonight?" Word has it a big barbecue's happening at the hostel (which is allowing beer on the premises for this day only) then a big group's heading into town for some traditional Australian revelry (read: drinking beer until you fall over). We may not race till 2pm tomorrow, but a race is a race and this one's boasting some good cash up for grabs, so we're imposing a strict 50 beers per person limit tonight. No attempting the century with racing the next day... Actually I'll take it easy on the liver (gotta get it rested for a weekend at the lake in NZ with a certain Scott Allen), but I'm sure as sh!t not sitting in the room on New Year's Eve.
The Launceston carnival was quite nuts. I guess they're all a bit crazy, but that one seemed a bit further off the rails then the rest so far. The Silverdome is an indoor board track, which is nothing new if you've ridden LA. The new part was the freestyle motocross on the infield, the woodchopping, the Aboriginal war drumming and the 4000 boozed up Tasmanians in the stands all the way around the track. Wheelraces are already a chaotic affair in my book, and cutting the distance and width of the track in half doesn't make things any smoother. I wasn't too worried until the last lap of the feature wheelrace heat. Myself and 3 others were catching the leading group with the bell ringing and the scratchmen breathing down our necks. Just as we're about to swing up and around the group riders start diving off thier bikes at the rail, guys from my group are smacking into downed riders and faceplanting all around me and I dive onto the apron to keep from losing my front wheel. I make it through clean just in time to realize that I'm on the painted concrete apron heading into a sharp corner, which is about the point that my front tire gives up and I come crashing down, hipcheck the cement, knee into the top tube and grind to a stop. Des helps me up, tells me the bikes okay and sends me to the first aid stand to get scrubbed out.
Devonport was better in that I did not end up laying on the track or in an hospital bed. The best way to sum up the day actually comes from the front page of the local paper, which just printed a picture of riders splayed out on the shallow bank and a line of ambulances headed toward the track with the headline "CARNIVAL CARNAGE. Four in the hospital and one in Intensive Care as the Christmas Carnivals take a bloody turn." Fortunately none of the US riders were involved in any of that business, but it made me feel pretty lucky about sitting the day out with a swollen, sore hip (which kind of looked like I was trying to steak a grapefruit by hiding it in my pocket.) Two separate crashes prompted hospital trips, and one ended with a rider flying over the railing at the top of the track and colliding with a light post. The last update we heard from the organizers was tough to hear. Broken ribs, punctured lung, broken wrist, broken collarbone and a head injury which landed him in a medically induced coma. Most of the racing was cancelled for the night, and a visible funk settled over all of the riders and spectators alike.
Devonport's a two day affair, and the second day proceeded as scheduled. Collections were passed around for the rider in the hospital. By the end of the day they had collected just over $15,000 from personal donations (including $1000 from Stewart O'Grady, who was apparently in the stands) and a large amount of riders donating their winnings. On the racing front, I was not allowed to start the wheelraces or the kierins, as my joint pain had gone away and been replaced with paralyzing cramps through my left side hip flexors. I assured my coach that I'd be fine for a first lap in the Olympic sprint, and so we lined up against the Australian Institute of Sport B team. The last time we had done a team sprint in Latrobe we finished 6th of 6th. This time I blasted off from the line, got the team up to speed, pulled off and nearly fell off the bike as my leg started to seize. Eugene kept the speed up, Kelyn finished strong and we beat the AIS team by almost 4 tenths, to grab 4th place. We were 2 tenths from third and Des was a happy man.
Feeling much better today after some good food and good rest, so hopefully by tommorow I'll be at 100%. Enough typing for now. I need a coffee..
DT
The 2007 Basslink Christmas Carnivals are one day from their end. It's all been quite the experience so far. Seems like I've been wide-eyed or too tired to focus for most of it. Des, Eugene and Viktor (Eugene's dad) left this morning, so Kelyn and I have transferred from the posh Tasmanian Country Club to a downtown Launceston hostel. Huge, hundred year old building complete with hundred year old furniture and hundred year old maids. We managed to score a room with two beds and just enough room to fit all the bikes and bike cases and bike accessories and bike minutia for a wickedly cheap rate. We could stay here for 2 weeks and still come out ahead of what most people are paying at the Country Club for a single night. Magic. Tonight's New Years Eve and the question of what's happening is all anyone wants to talk about. All over the building, all over the cafes in town it's all "what you up to" and "where you headed tonight?" Word has it a big barbecue's happening at the hostel (which is allowing beer on the premises for this day only) then a big group's heading into town for some traditional Australian revelry (read: drinking beer until you fall over). We may not race till 2pm tomorrow, but a race is a race and this one's boasting some good cash up for grabs, so we're imposing a strict 50 beers per person limit tonight. No attempting the century with racing the next day... Actually I'll take it easy on the liver (gotta get it rested for a weekend at the lake in NZ with a certain Scott Allen), but I'm sure as sh!t not sitting in the room on New Year's Eve.
The Launceston carnival was quite nuts. I guess they're all a bit crazy, but that one seemed a bit further off the rails then the rest so far. The Silverdome is an indoor board track, which is nothing new if you've ridden LA. The new part was the freestyle motocross on the infield, the woodchopping, the Aboriginal war drumming and the 4000 boozed up Tasmanians in the stands all the way around the track. Wheelraces are already a chaotic affair in my book, and cutting the distance and width of the track in half doesn't make things any smoother. I wasn't too worried until the last lap of the feature wheelrace heat. Myself and 3 others were catching the leading group with the bell ringing and the scratchmen breathing down our necks. Just as we're about to swing up and around the group riders start diving off thier bikes at the rail, guys from my group are smacking into downed riders and faceplanting all around me and I dive onto the apron to keep from losing my front wheel. I make it through clean just in time to realize that I'm on the painted concrete apron heading into a sharp corner, which is about the point that my front tire gives up and I come crashing down, hipcheck the cement, knee into the top tube and grind to a stop. Des helps me up, tells me the bikes okay and sends me to the first aid stand to get scrubbed out.
Devonport was better in that I did not end up laying on the track or in an hospital bed. The best way to sum up the day actually comes from the front page of the local paper, which just printed a picture of riders splayed out on the shallow bank and a line of ambulances headed toward the track with the headline "CARNIVAL CARNAGE. Four in the hospital and one in Intensive Care as the Christmas Carnivals take a bloody turn." Fortunately none of the US riders were involved in any of that business, but it made me feel pretty lucky about sitting the day out with a swollen, sore hip (which kind of looked like I was trying to steak a grapefruit by hiding it in my pocket.) Two separate crashes prompted hospital trips, and one ended with a rider flying over the railing at the top of the track and colliding with a light post. The last update we heard from the organizers was tough to hear. Broken ribs, punctured lung, broken wrist, broken collarbone and a head injury which landed him in a medically induced coma. Most of the racing was cancelled for the night, and a visible funk settled over all of the riders and spectators alike.
Devonport's a two day affair, and the second day proceeded as scheduled. Collections were passed around for the rider in the hospital. By the end of the day they had collected just over $15,000 from personal donations (including $1000 from Stewart O'Grady, who was apparently in the stands) and a large amount of riders donating their winnings. On the racing front, I was not allowed to start the wheelraces or the kierins, as my joint pain had gone away and been replaced with paralyzing cramps through my left side hip flexors. I assured my coach that I'd be fine for a first lap in the Olympic sprint, and so we lined up against the Australian Institute of Sport B team. The last time we had done a team sprint in Latrobe we finished 6th of 6th. This time I blasted off from the line, got the team up to speed, pulled off and nearly fell off the bike as my leg started to seize. Eugene kept the speed up, Kelyn finished strong and we beat the AIS team by almost 4 tenths, to grab 4th place. We were 2 tenths from third and Des was a happy man.
Feeling much better today after some good food and good rest, so hopefully by tommorow I'll be at 100%. Enough typing for now. I need a coffee..
DT
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