I’m still alive. And dumbstruck by this year’s TdF soap opera shennanigans. And reading books about Basque history, re-reading Paul Kimmage’s Rough Ride (after last plowing through it about 16 years ago), and reading about 100 pages of Paul Kimmage journalism from the past decade. But more on that in the near future…

Well, there’s always Superweek. I still think Vinokourov and Kashechkin should have rolled up to the prologue start house in their TT gear, with a couple of burly Kazakh soigneurs/hired-goons in tow, and made the UCI officials/ASO staff blow a gasket. Why not let them ride? They’ve got a bus, some bikes, some fitness, and nothing else to do in July–the minimum riders on the roster rule was just a cop-out to keep Astana-Wurth out of the race. I think Tour teams have finished in Paris with 2 riders, why not let Astana-Wurth separate the wheat from the chaff from the get-go and start their Kazakh giant slayers.

Things you don’t see everyday. Take a look at this photo. Take a long look. The orange-clad speed demon front-and-center is none other than Basque Inaki Isasi. The only thing perhaps more bizarro than a Euskaltel-Euskadi rider mixing it up with Boonen and Freire would be watching Magnus Backstedt and Pavel Padrnos sprinting it out for first atop L’Alpe-d’Huez.

“Serguei Gonchar? There’s a Mr. Vinokourov on the phone…” Any bets on whether T-Mobile implodes when the roads head skyward? We’re going to see a team split in half, just like the 1987 Carrera squad in the Giro, or the 1986 La Vie Claire squad in the Tour. T-Mobile has 3 Germans, 2 Italians, 1 Ukrainian, and 1 Australian. The Germans will stick together, the Italians and honorary Italian Gonchar will stick together, and Rogers is just screwed and will be riding by himself. I’m sure Gonchar is all too aware of what happens when non-Germans on T-Mobile try to “assert their author-i-ta” in le Tour.

Redneck Kryptonite. Just in case you didn’t already think Floyd Landis is the hardest man on the planet, here’s a choice Landis factoid from a July 3rd ESPN: The Magazine feature article:

“When Landis–who spends much of the racing season in Spain–churns out 100-mile (or more) training rides through the mountains near his home in Murrieta, Calif., he’s accompanied by his wife’s 18-year old brother, Max Basile. Max follows in a small SUV, and next to him sit the tools of his trade: a can of Mace and a stun gun. These are meant to protect Landis in case someone on these back roads, maybe a redneck type with spandex issues, messes with him. But wouldn’t just one weapon of mass deterrence suffice? ‘No,’ Landis says, as if the idea borders on blasphemy. ‘We need ‘em both. That way we can blind ‘em before we shock ‘em’.

The Curse lives! I’ve discussed the Performance Cover Curse not too long ago, and it seems that Bobby Julich is still unable to shake loose from its insidious grasp. Of course, from the comfort of my living room, it’s all too easy to second guess what went down in the TT (in addition to Julich himself), but here goes:

(1) Bobby, do you remember 1989? When you were the junior national cyclocross champion? You should have conjured up your best Todd Wells skills and bunny-hopped that pesky roundabout curb ensuring a guaranteed place in TdF lore and legend.

or…

(2) You should have flipped over onto your back and put that 5-gallon Camelbak(barely visible) under your skinsuit to use as a curb cushion. This move would likely not garner as much street cred as option #1, but you wouldn’t be in the hospital and have to placate a crying daughter.

No more race radios. Except for a gutsy move by Sylvain Calzati (whose victory may have been more indicative of age-old peloton payola), all of the Tour stages have been too formulaic. Break goes. Break gets 7 minutes. Break gets caught at 5km to go. I think if riders had to do more thinking about who’s up the road, and be a bit more attentive to what’s going on of their own devices, there’d be more drama on the open road. And all that talk about “Well, it helps the riders’ safety so they’ll know about road hazards” is quite simply a crock. Just look at how many riders hit the deck in this edition of the Tour alone from coming face-to-face with potholes and shoddy paving (talk to Erik Dekker, Chris Horner, or Fred Rodriguez for starters).

Giovanni Lombardi. Unfortunately, with the latest revelations from the Landis camp, Lombardi’s “Hardest Man in Cycling” moniker may not be entirely his alone. But who cares. Lombardi is riding his 5th consecutive Grand Tour and doing the work of a small army on his own. Says Chris Horner, “Discovery had five guys protecting Armstrong, but Lombardi does it by himself for Basso” (ed.-and now Sastre). Just look at the stage finishes most days so far. Lombardi is usually only a couple of places in front of Sastre, usually rolling in just behind the sprinting frenzy in about 30th-40th. And Lombardi out TTed a hapless Levi Leipheimer:

92. Giovanni Lombardi (Ita) Team CSC @5.55.78

96. Levi Leipheimer (USA) Gerolsteiner @6.05.46

Ouch. Beaten by a man who treated that stage as a rest day.

There’s a new player in the fantasy cycling realm…Test your Tour de France director sportif acumen at FantasyCycling.com and maybe walk away with a Ridley frameset. Or at least see if you’ve got more insider uber-knowledge than yours truly, fielding the eponymously monikered “Bobke Strut” squadra. Full disclosure: the people running this new cycling retail business/fantasy cycling league are friends and good people, and I provided consultation services regarding the design of the game. So you don’t have to worry about me walking away with the Ridley, even if my “all sprinters, all the time” strategy proves prescient. I’m ineligible and only playing for personal gloating privileges. You’ve got until 12:00am EST, July 1 to register…

I’ve also had my byline published for the first time on a site other than one I run. Check out my profile of the Raleigh, NC-based elite women’s BMW-Bianchi team over at PezCycling News. The BMW-Bianchi team are also good people and friends of mine. There’s still plenty of racing on their schedule for the 2006 season—stop by and say hello at a southeastern race destination near you. And for those of you who’ve arrived here at Bobke Strut for the first time due to reading the article, welcome.

Graham Watson photo

Come hell or high water, Alexandre Vinokourov will be rolling out of the TdF prologue start house this Saturday. And he won’t care if he’s the only man left on the Astana-Wurth roster legally able to compete in le Tour. In fact, he prefers to race that way. It’s not like he’s had any help from teammates in previous editions of the TdF.

It’s really a rather straightforward proposition: when the prime minister of Kazakhstan is #1 on your speed dial, when the prime minister of Kazakhstan is also the head of the cycling federation, when the prime minister of Kazakhstan counts certain “oil moguls” amongst his innermost circle of influence, when said Kazakh “oil moguls” bankroll the national sporting hero of Kazakhstan, there really isn’t too much to debate about whether Vino will race in France this year. I guarantee Christian Prudhomme has received a phone call or two from the steppes of Kazakhstan which has made his heart skip a beat. The team will likely only be dubbed “Astana” by Saturday, but no matter.

Here’s a peak into the inner workings of Vinokourov, facts that you may not be aware of:

1. How many Kazakhs does it take to fill out a ProTour roster?
AV: To answer said query: just one, if your name is Alexandre Vinokourov.

2. Don’t you need at least one teammate?
AV: I concede victory to your point. The victories in France, they shall flow freely like the crude of Kazakhstan. You’re right, count Andrey Kashechkin in too, Vino knows not the semantic means to gift stage wins to yourself having grown bored of victory itself. Besides, somebody will have to fetch my bidons. And bring honor to his mighty Kazakh national champion jersey already gifted his direction.

3. But aren’t there rules about a minimum roster size?
AV: There is only one rule…When Kazakh ‘oil moguls’ say jump, the ASO says “How high?” Vino laughs at your rules.

4. Aren’t you afraid of getting caught up on the Spanish Operación Puerto affair?
AV: Hear my words, Alexandre Vinokourov takes nothing of the drugs. Or blood. Or hormones. In fact, I give you exclusive tip. DNA testing will show that all of the blood on ice, all of the hormones in refrigerator, it is all mine. I am so pure, so powerful, so mighty, that the European peloton dopes from my body. Tyler? His gold medal is awash with my blood. The blood of Vino flows through Jan Ullrich. The Spanish peloton? My all-natural, 49.99999999% hematocrit Kazakh blood powers them all. I am quite literally, a cycling machine.

5. Do you know who blew the whistle on the lab’s program?
AV: That would be Vino. So much the the blood, hormone, testosterone delivery program. I grew weary. Right now there is one speed in the peloton: the speed of Vinokourov. Everyone rides the fuel, the essence of Vinokourov. We need two speeds again, the speed of Vino and the slow speed of those not of Kazakhstan.

6. I just read a Samuel Abt article which stated you’re a part of the Kazakh military? Any comment?
AV: I am Major in the Kazakh army. Indeed, I am the Kazakh army. When Kazakhstan deploys its fighting force, it sends forth Alexandre Vinokourov alone to conquer. Vino is being sent forthwith to conquer France. And all holders of ProTour license.

Photographer: Gerry McManus (URL)

Methinks the UCI has a roque Captain Queeg at the helm. Patrick McQuaid must be awash in Guinness, spewing forth drunken edicts from Switzerland to national federations, as the UCI and professional cycling as we know it spectacularly immolates in public on his watch. Or maybe it’s just that June 25th is the equivalent of April Fool’s Day in Great Britain. There is just no other earthly explanation for this statement (and above photo) from cyclingnews’s report concerning this past Sunday’s British National Championship Road Race:

“One a small end note, when the riders went to sign on for the race they were faced with a ban on overshoes and oversocks. The race organisers had received an official request from British Cycling to issue the instruction as the UCI had introduced a ban that morning.”

I can’t find any mention of this decision anywhere else but that particular article. I’m having flashbacks to the days of yore in the US when crazy clothing restrictions were the rule of the day. I actually remember some poor sap getting DQed from a podium position because his socks weren’t white. Of course, what prompted this outrageous miscarriage of justice was the incessant belligerence of your classic little league parent my father and I dubbed “The Screamer”. It never failed that post-race in upstate New York, any weekend of the year when “The Screamer” and his son showed up at a race, a violent confrontation would take place between “The Screamer” and the officials on duty. Since his son didn’t quite have what it took to win races on his own, “The Screamer” would invoke the rulebook afterwards. Loudly. Hence, the hapless schmoe relegated for violating the white sock clause. And let’s not get started on the complex calculus governing the size and placement of sponsor logos on your kit.

Or maybe this is just a ploy by shoe manufacturers to take away the timeless tactic of star riders using shoes other than the team issue dregs and forever training/racing with shoe covers to hide the subterfuge.

Image source: http://www.gonzostore.com

Perhaps it is time that I run for office. Like the President of the UCI. I’m reaching the breaking point with the sport I love, just as Hunter S. Thompson was motivated to run for sheriff of Aspen as a reaction to getting his ass kicked by Chicago cops at the 1968 Democratic Convention. While I haven’t exactly been roughed up by UCI hired-goons–enough is enough, it’s time to scare the bejeesus out of the home-office in Switzerland by running on the Freak Power ticket of yesteryear.

I’m still obsessed with Italy. While recently reading a book about Venice, The City of Fallen Angels by John Berendt (of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil fame), I came across this passage. It’s part of a conversation Berendt was having with an Italian who had made his fortune in the rat poison business:

“My little company became part of the famous economic boom in northern Italy. Did you know that here in northern Italy we have the highest concentration of businesses in the world? It’s true: There’s one company for every eight inhabitants. They’re mostly small, family-run companies. Like mine, and like Benetton, which is run by my old friend Luciano Benetton. Luciano was born and raised in Treviso, like me, and we both have our world headquarters in Treviso”.

This got me thinking about professional cycling, and I began to wonder what parts of Italy produced riders and cycling companies. I’m sure I’ve seen the city names numerous times before, but they may well have been telling me they’re on Mars. I’ve never made a conscientious effort to actually place the city names into a map, they’ve always been some abstract concept.

So I did some checking.

Here is a map of Italy broken down into its 20 regions:

Image source: http://www.big-italy-map.co.uk/

There are 85 Italians on ProTour teams. Here are the regions which produced this assortment of world-class cycling talent:

It’s pretty amazing, 65 of 85 ProTour Italians came from three northern regions. And if you include the 186 Italians riding for what was formerly known as Div II squads the breakdown basically remains the same.

And then look where the all the cycling companies are located which produce the goodies which continuously drain our wallets:

Lombardia: Bianchi, Carrera, Castelli, Cinelli, Ciocc, Colnago, De Rosa, Guerciotti, Santini, Stella Azzura, Vittoria.

Veneto: Campagnolo, Elite, Fondriest, Gaerne, ITM, Nalini, Pinarello, Scapin, Selle Italia, Selle Royal, Selle San Marco, Sidi, Wilier.

Liguria: Olmo.

Piemonte: Briko, TTT.

Toscana: Viner.

Trentino-Alto Adige: Moser.

And here are a few more fun facts about the industrial productivity of northern Italy: (1) 94 percent of the total amount of the Italian enterprises (more than 4 million) have less than ten employees; and (2) Lombardia as a region has the highest GDP of any region in the EU.

Last year, based on the UCI ProTour rankings, Italy as a nation destroyed the rest of the world in accumulating ProTour points. Two nations had more riders (Spain with 103 and France with 98) but they weren’t nearly as productive. France is particularly weak, considering how many ProTour riders they have. It seems that they produce the pack filler of the European peloton.

Now, I know absolutely nothing about soccer, but I’d be curious to see a breakdown of where in Italy their players come from who play at a world-class level. Is there an (un)balance similar to cycling, or is there a more equal spread nation-wide? One of the appeals of the World Cup on a sporting level is that there’s really nothing technology-driven about it and pretty much any nation could potentially produce talent.

06.16.2006. Nature Valley Grand Prix: Minneapolis Downtown Classic
The CliffsNotes version…A 60 minute crit shortened to 17 minutes by officials due to exceedingly inclement weather. Let’s see what cyclingnews.com had to say about it:

…Then the rain began to fall harder. Twelve minutes in, Jelly Belly’s Andrew Bajadali attacked with Fraser on his wheel, but it was quickly pulled back. Sensing the urgency as the weather began to worsen - with lightning directly above the course - Van Ulden then attacked and got a 5-second gap, which grew as he came around for a second solo lap.

By the next lap, though, Van Ulden was nowhere at the front as his back wheel succumbed to the rain slickened course.

“You could see his back tire just bouncing out of the corners,” Tilford said.

As they came around for the next lap, officials decided the weather was too much and rang the bell for last lap, much to the delight of many of the riders, including O’Neill who raised his hand to show one to the peloton and shook his head in agreement.

That is when Tilford saw his opportunity. A veteran bike racer a background in mountain biking and cyclocross, he attacked into the first corner and held it straight through. His lead was enough that 150 meters from the line, he sat up and began celebrating, with Henderson and Fraser cruising in behind for the bonus seconds.

Tilford said it wasn’t a calculated risk that he took, just a chance for the win. “You just don’t want to let everybody come up on the back of you,” he said, crediting both his skill and his tires for the win. “If I’m riding good, in the rain I can ride with anyone.”

Now, for a different take on things, is Jackson Stewart:

…There was a little crash about 15 minutes in which took out a few health net riders and we eased up a bit just out of respect. The next thing I know, as I am sitting in the top 5 and just passing the announcers booth, something is announced. I did hear it as we had already passed the booth but, all of a sudden some guy comes blazing really hot into the first turn, chops everyone, and everyone hits the breaks[sic] as he looked really uncomfortable in the turn. He got a good gap. A turn later I hear on the radio “this might be the last lap, it probably is”. Health net must not have got radioed yet as they were still just tempoing and probably preferred this random guy in red off the front so he wouldn’t chop them in the turns anymore. It was just passed probably 1/2 to go that Healthnet actually responded and realized it was one lap to go. The random dude held it to the line for the win.

This dude didn’t just win a bike race, he really rubbed it in with his celebration as he finished. From what I could see and others from the sidelines tell me, he was waving his hands all over the place and pointing back at the field as if he was Tom Boonen and just took 7 bike lengths out of a world class field and they all sucked. I guess the dude must of beenback far enough in the group to where he could actually hear the annoucer say it was one to go as he passed the start finish.

I still can’t get over the celebration this guy put on as he won a 20 minute criterium, it was crazy, maybe it was his first win? Who knows.

Now, I’d bet that at age 46 Steve Tilford is likely the oldest guy to win an NRC race. Tilford won his first elite national title in 1983 when Jackson Stewart was 3 years old and has likely won NRC caliber races every year that Jackson Stewart has been alive.

Congratulations! You found the new home of Bobke Strut before I even told anybody about it. Please bear with me as I figure out how Wordpress works. This is a work in progress for the moment. I promise to be up and running shortly with a look (hopefully) somewhat familiar to those familiar with the previous rendition http://www.unc.edu/~hymas/blogger.html

Thanks for reading!

Fact: If you want to wander around Italy and never be identified as an American by mere looks, grow some Elvis-esque sideburns. Evidently, a substantial set of lamb chops is routinely associated with the English. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that at multiple periods of my life I’ve been told “You have the map of Ireland on your face” which likely cements my Anglo/Irish identity and yields no clues about America until I open my mouth. It worked like a charm during my six month stint in Ireland way back when. Just check out the similar mugs of myself and AG2R’s lone Irishman, Mark Scanlon. Generations of fair-skinned, Irish pastiness are flowing unchecked and unabashed throughout our respective DNA structures. And what really throws people for a loop is when you bust out the La Gazzetta dello Sport to check out the daily 6+ pages of Giro d’Italia coverage.

Brace yourself: Italians don’t care too much about cycling. I know, words of such blasphemous magnitude have rarely been rendered here in print. I thought I was embarking on a magical voyage to a cycling Nirvanna, where each and every citizen is versed in the history, intricacies, and minutia of professional cycling. (That must be Belgium.) When we met my wife’s boss’s significant other (and family) native to Pescara, there were words of sheer astonishment about us driving to the summit of Passo Lanciano. “These Americans aren’t just idle spectators, they’re fanatics!” Pick up any edition of La Gazzetta dello Sport and it isn’t difficult to see what sport is king: calcio (or as we say here across the pond in the U.S. — “soccer”). If the trademark pink paper contains about 40 pages, then the first 30 or so pages deal with soccer. Amazing. Then comes Formula 1, fueled by the Schumacher/Ferrari firestorm. Then comes MotoGP motorcycle racing. I quickly became acquainted with young Italian phenom, Yamaha-sponsored Valentino Rossi. Still, tucked away near the back of a typical issue, the Giro garnered about 6 pages of coverage per day, which are about 6 more pages than American papers devote to the entire Giro d’Italia. There were multiple feature length articles dissecting the previous day’s stage, brief spotlights on one particular rider each day (usually someone out of the limelight), historical articles about Giro stages of yesteryear which traversed similar routes to the previous day’s stage, lots of photos (I was partial to the photo-essay sequence of shots dissecting finishing sprints or crashes, complete with superimposed arrows and running commentary to explain frame by frame just how Axel Merckx got schooled oh-so close to the finish line or the magic moment when Manuele Mori’s face made contact with a guardrail), daily commentary penned by Mario Cipollini, plus oodles of more cut-and-dried statistics which amass after each stage. Each day you could see each and every rider’s finishing order and GC position, find out daily and cumulative points accumulations for all the well-known and downright bewildering assortment of jersey and team competitions, and be provided with an entire start-list (complete with slash marks through riders’ names who have retired).

A little bit of Italian goes a long way to foster confusion…
This is how a typical conversation went while in Capri/Naples/Ercolano during our first week in Italy when we tried to ask random people involved in the tourist trade what was taking place in the Giro:

Me: Who won the Giro stage yesterday?
Befuddled Italian: ????????
Me: You know, the Giro?
B.I.: Giro???
Me: Yeah, the Giro d’Italia…
B.I.: (internally to himself, “Why is this Yank so insistent on talking about his tour of Italia? He’s mad…)
Me: (internally, “Oh shit, giro and Italia are magic words to Anglo cycling tifosi, but just benign words in Italian. I need to throw in something about cycling”)
Me: Giro d’Italia? Ciclismo? Petacchi? Di Luca? Savoldelli? Maglia rosa?
B.I.: Oh, si, si, si! The Giro d’Italia…Huh…You mean it already started?…What?…In Belgium????
B.I.: I prefer _______ (insert Formula 1, tennis, track & field, MotoGP, or soccer).

Fact: There are no sports bars in Italy. No Giro for you (in your best Soup Nazi voice) unless you’re at a home or luck into hotel rooms with televisions. While we were quizzing an employee at the tourist information office in Ercolano about the best venue nearby to grab some lunch and watch the Giro, we actually were invited to his home to watch the entire stage. We talked for some time about American pro cyclists, his love of watching stages in the mountains, how boring flat stages could be, and since he was leaving work for the day he kindly offered to bring us back to his house. Unfortunately, our schedule was action-packed for the rest of the day but we did convince the young men working in a nearby pizzeria to tune in the pre-stage Giro coverage while we gobbled down some pizza. We were able to watch lengthy interviews with numerous Italian stars (Basso, Bettini, Di Luca, Savoldelli, Cunego, and Simoni) who were just hanging out, biding their time in the rider VIP area, prior to putting in about 5 hours in the saddle that day.

No Madonna del Ghisallo for you…6 months! Denied. We could see the general location of the legendary chapel high on the ridge line above Lake Como, but unfortunately a general transit strike throughout the Lake District (wiping out ferry and bus travel) made our destination an impossibility. See, we were on the wrong side of the lake, in Varenna on the east shore of Lake Como, with no public transportation at our disposal. We were situated only about a 10 minute ferry ride from Bellagio, and then about another 15 minutes via rented scooters from Madonna del Ghisallo, but we were stranded on the eastern shore for the day. The only day we could see the chapel. And I didn’t feel like ponying up about 100 Euro for a taxi ride. My primal need to soak up the divine ambience of pro cycling’s Mecca nearly inspired me to become a triathlete for the day. I was fully prepared to swim across Lake Como, run around Bellagio until I found a sweet bike at a café with its Italian owner lost in thought, espresso, and sun-tanning, and steal (really…it’s more like borrowing…I had every intention to return the ride to its rightful owner) that machine and ride like a mofo up to the chapel. “Ride it like you stole it” said Lance Armstrong. Yes, indeedy.

The previous 2 entries of images were from my wee digital camera. Here are a few selections from the Giro summit finish at Passo Lanciano and the stage start at Francavilla al Mare taken with my wife’s 35mm camera.

May 14. Giro d’Italia Stage 8. Passo Lanciano summit finish.

Jacuzzi-sized ESTATHE’ containers make their way to the summit of Passo Lanciano.

A mountain-top chock full of Danilo Di Luca tifosi eagerly await his arrival.

A better photo of Gonchar and Pena 350 meters from the Passo Lanciano summit.

At 19:33 behind Ivan Basso, the first large gruppetto makes its way to the summit with Staf Scheirlinckx (Cofidis) resplendent in the Giro’s green climber’s jersey at the far right. Scheirlinckx would surrender the climber’s jersey to Basso at this stage’s conclusion. In fact, Basso may already have donned the jersey on the podium prior to Scheirlinckx’s arrival.

A super-sized Di Luca looms over Passo Lanciano via jumbo-tron.

Amidst the post-stage tifosi, I cast a glance at Danilo Di Luca’s Bianchi atop a Liquigas vehicle.

Bjarne Riis drives Ivan Basso (visible in the passenger seat) off Passo Lanciano.

The glorious life of a ProTour domestique. “It’s pissing down rain…My sneakers are buried god-knows-where beneath all this crap…I’m cold, I’m miserable…This car has no leg room…The mechanic has been and continues to chain smoke…Kill me now, please.”

May 15. Giro d’Italia Stage 9. Francavilla al Mare stage start.

Giovanni Lombardi signs-in at Francavilla al Mare.

Davitamon-Lotto Belgian Preben Van Hecke (who are you???) signs in at Francavilla al Mare.

Gilberto Simoni exits the sign-in stage. “Yeah, I’m not gonna win this Giro. But at least me and old man Piepoli are kicking the crap out of that punk Cunego.”

Paolo Savoldelli gestures to the tifosi amassed in Francavilla al Mare.

Pietro “Zelig” Hymasini signs-in at Francavilla al Mare. Don’t laugh too hard, I have a hunch quite a few 2007 ProTour squads will be looking to supplement their rosters. Like their entire rosters.

Everybody wants a piece of Paolo Savoldelli on his way to the start line.

Palms, Adriatic, and Giro d’Italia: A still life.

May 15, 2006: Giro d’Italia Stage 9
The start of the Giro’s stage 9 in Francavilla al Mare, a seaside town on the Adriatic, occurred only about a 15 minute drive away from where we were staying in Pescara (the city immediately to the north of Francavilla al Mare). I knew the stage started right on the water and stayed in close proximity to the Adriatic for quite a few kilometers as the Giro headed to its southern most point in Italy. Our hosts in Pescara dropped us off at the first sign of blocked streets and we strolled a couple of kilometers along the tree-lined seafront boulevard passing team buses, Giro staff cars, and the early gatherings of the promotional caravan. After a few hundred more meters the snow fencing began and we were forced off the streets since we didn’t have the magic pink Giro passes on lanyards around our necks. The announcer at the sign-in stage was already revving the crowd up as we arrived at Giro central about 2 hours prior to the stage’s 2:15pm commencement.

We got the lay of the land after wandering about for about 25 minutes. All of the prime viewing surrounding the sign-in stage was long since gone with autograph/photo seeking tifosi stacked about 5-deep. I figured out that the riders had to come in on the same road we walked along. The VIP/rider village was totally sealed except for one access corridor directly across from the sign-in paddock so I knew the riders couldn’t sneak in there. I figured it was highly unlikely if not impossible logistically for the riders to approach along the beachfront drive from the opposite direction of the race course. There was space along the barriers about 150 meters before the sign in arch and from here I staked out my turf. My plans for unfettered access to the riders dawdling along to sign in was all going according to plan until all the team vehicles rolled up and parked on my side of the street. Doh! The French Bouygues Telecom and Italian Selle Italia-Serramenti Diquigiovanni squads were directly in front of me, but there seemed to be just enough of a gap between their cars that a rider could pull up to the fence if he felt so inclined.

A lone Liquigas rider was the first to roll by on his way to sign in, soon followed by Bouygues Telecom’s giant Andy Flickinger, with most of AG2R arriving moments after Flickinger. My ultimate goal was to convince John Gadret, Mark Scanlon, Pat McCarty, Aaron Olson, Jason McCartney, Bobby Julich, Giovanni Lombardi, and Charlie Wegelius to stop for a photo. Here’s how it played out:

Charlie Wegelius: He came by relatively early and I belted out a booming “Charlie!” I think I caught him off guard and it appeared that he almost hopped out of his kit in shock. He immediately did a 180 and rolled right up to the fence to see what was up. We said hi, he posed for a photo, shook hands, and then rode off to sign in.

Mark Scanlon: Same modus operandi as Wegelius–booming “Mark!…Mark Scanlon!”. His head shot around, I held up my camera, he slowed down wondering what he should do, but then he continued pedalling around the corner to sign in. I thought that was the last I’d see of Scanlon. About a minute later I could hear the sign-in announcer in Italian, “AG2R…blah blah blah blah…Mark Scanlon…blah blah blah”. Amazingly, a couple of minutes after he signed in, I looked up to see him rolling back down the road looking for my position by the fence so he could pose for a photo. I was impressed, what a class act.

Aaron Olson and Pat McCarty: Those two came by together late, only about 10 minutes prior to the race starting. They posed together out in the middle of the street and wouldn’t get any closer to the fence. I even dropped the all powerful name of Joe Papp to Aaron Olson, maybe convincing him to roll up a bit closer, but no dice. He looked at me, kind of shrugged, then they split.

All of the non-native English speakers I shouted out to didn’t even look at me. I did get a smile out of Paolo Bettini, but that was about it. Henk Vogels did look back over his shoulder and smile, but he kept on rolling. Bobby Julich rolled by about 4 times but never cracked his race face. He must be pissed about dredging up his 1992 Performance cover shoot photo. I know you heard me, Bobby. In the words of Screaming Jay Hawkins, “Bobby, I put a spell on you”. Freaky John Gadret did slow down, smile, and wave, but he didn’t stop. He must have known I was coming and steered clear. I saw pretty much all of the riders up close, saw the start, and that was it. There was the same scrum for free crap 1 hour before the start. I talked briefly with an older Italian man who told us he lived in NYC many years ago and was sorry his English was rather rusty. It seemed fine to me, certainly a better option than my limited Italian.

The start was a pretty big prodution, very organized and efficient. There were perhaps about 10,000 people in attendence, not bad for a Monday afternoon. Within about an hour of the Giro leaving town there was virtually no trace that the race ever set foot in Francavilla al Mare. We strolled back down the street the way we walked in, had a beer at a small bar, and then headed off to the train station so we could make our way north to Venice. That’s the beauty of efficient public transportation: you can get a buzz on and still get around just fine since you don’t have to drive.

Francavilla al Mare photos:

The sight every rider fears in a Grand Tour: the broom wagon.

Trying to pilfer some Jolly Green Giant sized pasta from the promotional caravan.

A fiberglass rendition of Danilo Di Luca atop the Liquigas-mobile. In the background is another Liquigas truck with a gigantic broccoli on the roof, I think Liquigas’s attempt to convey their “green” power message.

Giro start line in Francavilla al Mare, about 2 hours before the scheduled departure.

The rider sign-in stage appears in the background. Not more than 200 meters behind the stage is the Adriatic Sea.

The promotional caravan arrives to dole out the goodies.

One of the Saunier Duval-Prodir ladies deemed a prostitute by more austere, elderly Italian women atop Passo Lanciano the day before.

The Bouygues Telecom team vehicles roll in from their hotels.

Columbian Jose Serpa’s bike atop the Selle Italia team vehicle.

The first rider to sign in, the Swiss Patrick Calcagni of Liquigas.

“I know you hear me, Andy. Come on, I’m 20′ behind you and you’re totally ignoring me? Who else but your immediate family has ever asked for a photo at a race?” It sure looks like he’s sizing up the weight of his bike, doing some mental calculus, and wondering how best to fling it at me with ninja quickness.

Selle Italia riders Raffaele Illiano (foreground) and Jose Rujano (obscured in the background to the right) mingle with staff members and people lucky enough to score VIP access.

Yours truly and Charlie Wegelius. Since he was gracious enough to stop by, I didn’t ask him to eat a sandwich. Although he could use one. Or five.

Liberty Seguros rider Giampaolo Caruso, who put in a good ride on the previous day’s Passo Lanciano stage. Maybe that will score him a new job. That is if he’s not in jail.

Selle Italia’s mystery man, Venezuelan Jose Rujano, strikes a pose.

Me and Mark Scanlon, equally fearful of that damned brilliant Italian sun scorching our Irish pastiness.

The only explanation for Pat McCarty’s mustache is that he’s supplementing his Phonak paycheck during the Giro by filming an adult feature film in his hotel room each evening. The working title is “Porno d’Italia: Riding Hard Day and Night”. Aaron Olson works the camera and supplies the Saunier Duval promo girl hottie talent.

Brad McGee signs in. Not a particularly stellar Giro for McGee…

In the background, Gonchar signs some autographs after signing in. In the foreground are FdJ’s Gustav Erik Larsson and Rabobank’s Marc De Maar. Some Pro Tour squads throw their young talent to the wolves in races they don’t care about too much.

Team Discovery’s Jose Luis Rubiera rolls around about 15 minutes before the start.

2005 Giro d’Italia champion Paolo Savoldelli rolls around about 15 minutes before the start.

Jan Ullrich, looking for some Tour de France fitness.

The long row of team cars waiting for the stage to start.

Compared to most of the Giro riders, Giovanni Lombardi is built like a Mack truck.

Lampre’s Polish rider Sylvester Szmyd.

Lampre pixie-men Damiano Cunego and Paolo Tiralongo pose for photos.

Ivan Basso is a man in motion and all my photos of him are blurry.

Gerolsteiner’s Davide Rebellin is having a pretty quiet Giro d’Italia.

Selle Italia’s boss man Gianni Savio. I dare you to ask him how that Jose Rujano situation is going…

It’s funny how certain moments of bike races seem to be alike anywhere on the planet. This could be any race I’ve ever done, but in reality it’s a Grand Tour about to roll out of Francavilla al Mare.

Another shot of the peloton ready to head south along the Adriatic. That’s AG2R’s John Gadret doing his best “Thinker” pose in the foreground just behind a French cyclocross nemesis, Bouygues Telecom’s Arnoud Labbe. He’s thinking about how much it would suck to break a collarbone and crash out of his first Grand Tour.

A deserted sign-in stage about 10 minutes after the race started. About 1 hour later there would be no trace of the Giro in Francavilla al Mare.

It’s not quite the Delta House’s “Death Mobile”.

The serene Adriatic Sea on a glorious May afternoon, just behind the sign-in stage.