Somewhere under the rainbow

Rainbows mean different things to different people - pots of gold, fortune in health, better weather - in Australia the aborigines of many clans believe the rainbow is one of two totemic spirits under which you are born, maybe for Aussie pro cyclist Cadel Evans 2010 under the rainbow jersey will be his attitudinal and personal rebirth.

Honestly, I can't say he is my favorite cyclists, in fact, he is one of my least favorite; every time I see that whiny face I want to heave my GU. On a ride yesterday with a couple of friends I mentioned the Worlds and they didn't even want to talk about it they were so disappointed Evans won; I think that is a fairly universal feeling.

Evans won the Worlds last Sunday by doing the very thing that everyone has so long complained about him lacking - how to attack with intelligence. Watching him over the past few years I could never fault the man from downunder for not giving it his all when he attacked, it's just that his attacks ended up about as pathetic as an attack could be timed, launched, and/or executed. After the inevitable failure they were usually followed by a post-race whining session or tirade.

The other miracle this rainbow might help create is happiness. One can only pray this rainbow casts its spell on Mr. Evan. He is notorious for being the biggest whiner in the peloton - hell, it's rumor that even many of his own Silence Lotto teammates this year didn't like riding with him; and something was certainly amiss in the Vuelta when he needed team support; maybe he was lucky even to be there, as it was Evans himself that said he was on the chopping block the last day of the Tour de France after a milk toast 30th place - but maybe it was his 'oh woe is me' attitude, when he wasn't berating and assaulting the media.

Somewhere under this new rainbow, earned with an intelligent attack we have not previously seen, maybe the saddest little boy in the peloton will find some happiness in 2010. Maybe next time he wins he will feel enough happiness to salute the fans. Let's pray on the miracle of rainbows.

"Nothing sexier than a Schleck chest"

Those are not my sentiments, but the tongue-in-cheek comment by my friend Jenn, as we watched the flapping open jerseys of the "men" in the peloton in their vain attempts to adjust to the 37 C (100F in old money as Phil would say) temps in Spain. Just a plane ride and 24 hours earlier they were coursing through a typhoon of leftover Belgian Spring Classic weather and praying to remain upright in a stage that saw repeated crashes and one final catastrophe that made NASCAR look childish; and one fatal to poor Chris Horner's hope of simply finshing the bloody season upright - truly Chris, my heart and all the Curad Hold Tite I have go out to you. (Maybe it's just the Astana curse?)

(Speaking of crashing - if you want a nice look inside the pros-eye-view check out David Millar's recap of the crash stained run-in to Liege, over on CyclingNews The insider's guide to crashes)

But back to those Schleck chests. For the brothers Andy and Frank, and many others in the peloton, those gaping jerseys revealed how long the season has been - you could nearly grate parmessean on those ribs they're so pronounced - for some of these guys the season has been a very long one. During a break in Universal Sports' coverage (mucho gracias) I departed to esponge a bit more of the flu breaking up in my chest, when I looked in the mirror and thought, yes, I am pretty skinny, how do those guys survive this late in the season?

I've been sick for a week now, part of the slow fight and delayed recovery is I have no reserves, so I ask, how do those guys survive this late in the season? Worst, today I had to admit there will be no Everest Challenge for me in 2009 - it really sucks! I was really psyched for this one - no race for a victory podium - just looking forward to a wonderful two days of suffering on high eastern Sierra mountain passes with a bunch of like-minded small gear pain junkies.

The long-season snaked its way through the peloton again today; we saw it in Tyler Farrar's legs, or lack of them, come the final 100 meters. Maybe you can say the Vacansoleil beast Bozic is just a fine sprinter, no doubt, but faster than Farrar? Okay, I'll admit I'm a touch of a homer here, the kid does come from just up the road in Wenatchee, WA, but still, c'mon? Columbia HTC has won 74 races this season and I'd venture to guess whether it was Cavendish, Greipel, Henderson or Renshaw, it was also Garmin's Farrar just behind one of them; sooner or later the body says uncle.

This week mine said uncle and I don't put it through a fraction of what these guys do (of course they could be my kids). It's time to embrace the coming fall, cooler mornings have arrived, and enjoy long lazy 100 mile rides with no finishlines, cut-off times, feedzone fights, or eating food you can't remember what it tatsted like. And finally time to gain back a couple pounds and think about cross season. Ah, pubs, cafes and baguettes! To Andy and Frank, enjoy the Vuelta and remember the Worlds are only a few weeks away, after wards you too will then be back to pubs, cafes and baguettes. And that brings me full circle - there's just "Nothing sexier than a Schleck chest"

Ten Reasons to watch the Vuelta

1. No LA
2. No mention of LA (so far)
3. No reference to how it was when Lance won this race (although he did finish 4th in 1998... see, he is not just a one-trick pony)
4. No commercials for Lance (although after September 1st Radioshack, I mean The Shack, I mean... well what ever they call themselves, may have bought commercial spots since they are UCI compliant and the secret is out of the bag, oh btw, did you hear Levi also signed with RS.)
5. You get to see Belgium in some other season but the cold and rain of the Spring Classics (it does look greener in the warm and rain of August)
6. No soap opera stars to distract from bike racing* - Conti, LA and Levi are all missing
7. Somebody will win a sprint besides Cavendish - even if they do ride for Columbia HTC
8. You get an Aussie commentator (who does know a fair thing or two about pro cycling) which enables you to learn colourful bits like:
   
   • "looking fairly handy"
   • "all gone pear-shaped"
   • "tell mum he buggered that one up"
     
9. We and the UCI finally get to see the "Teflon man", Alejandro Valverde, since they can't seem to stick him for any of the million and one doping connections they reportedly have tried to ban him for
10. And finally, we hope, we get to see American Chris Horner, in the best shape of his life, at least finish, if not contest, a Grand Tour without a ... Ah crap! NO! results just in from Stage 4... and... Horner is out, a crash! Dang it!

* sorry, Vino is back

Seriously, Universal Sports (the guys who gratefully brought us the Giro d'Italia at the last minute) just penned a four-year deal for the Vuelta as well as Milan San Remo, the Worlds, and a handful of races we would never otherwise get to see, so it's worth tuning in - online or on the old technology, television.

No Phil, No Paul - Tour de France Withdrawals

Sleep-in 'till 6, listen to NPR Morning Edition, return emails, just reconnect with the world, but no --- instead I wake at 5 AM and lay there, my brain says rise, stagger to the remote and say good morning to Phil (Liggett) and Paul (Sherwin). As they get settled, telling me what I have heard a dozen times, but somehow I feel hooked like a cycloaddict needing to hear it said one more time, maybe somewhere inside I know I have limited time for a fix, I fill the water pot to boil and get my cuppa Earl Grey tea started. But it's Day 24 of the Tour's 23. It's the morning after. It's the coming down, going cold turkey, slamming on the breaks. It's like dropping a chain a 15% climb, all forward progress ceases, your brain sends a warning - "clip out NOW!" It's Tour de France withdrawals.

Sadly, this has been going on for years, you think I would learn, I would adapt, for God's-sake species go extinct for less flexibility. Has 4 million years of cranial evolution not prepared me for this one Monday morning each late July?

I think what makes it harder is the general death valley of cycling that August is, or historically has been. In the past the Tour of Germany gave me brief reprieve with the mono-a-mono hilly battles between Levi Leipheimer and effervescent road warrior Jens Voigt. Perhaps this year will be different, I hope, I pray, but staring into my cuppa EG I'm doubtful. I'm not alone. On the Tour's final Sunday I heard Phil say, lamentingly, resolutely, "tomorrow I have no job", and while the pro race calender has a couple of things for Phil (and Paul) to do - a reborn Tour of Ireland, Vuelta Espana, World Championships, and the most poetic, graceful finish of the season in any sport, "the Race of the Falling Leaves" - Giro di Lombardia.

The cuppa EG stares back...

It's like an annual death in the family - and the family is already squabbling; Maillot jaune victor Contidor is dissing Lance, "My relationship with Lance Armstrong is zero," (careful skinny-legged little boy, don't pull the tiger's tail); LA shrugs when asked about Conti, too busy forming a new team - USPS v4.0; Sastre still complains of no respect and trying to figure out why his Tour went "all pair-shaped" (Conti please take another note: TdF requires a team, yours is upgrading without you to LAv4.0), Cadel sits in the corner pouting; Menchov is still trying to reverse the Invisible-man Giro potion he swallowed in May; but these brats are my family of wheeled wonders and I love them one-n-all. The thought of waiting another year for this family reunion is killing me.

The final obit is written later in the morning when I return the box to Comcast - still set on Versus where it began 23 days earlier when the tech guy installed; I only awaken the tv-beast for the three weeks of the Tour, otherwise it's my December through January DVD training partner. The Comcast clerk doesn't even ask why it's coming back, there must be a note on my file, "don't ask".

Phil, good luck on the resume, despite getting older, with your experience there will be openings, otherwise swing by for a cuppa.