Tagesarchiv: 4. Oktober 2010

Bremen on Clenbuterol

„Summer of the old hags“ or in German „Altweibersommer“, that’s how we call a period of relative good weather at the end of summer or the start of autumn. Last Sunday surprised with temperatures up to 24 degree and blue skies. So I left my family in the chaos of our apartment, created by the arrival of a forty feet container from Japan with all our goodies and left to explore one more time the Bremen countryside.

Of course the ride was worth all trouble and hardship, especially when arriving back home again after the ride without proper announcement of the intended duration it took. But I felt mightily inspired by the feats of mighty Thor and with an equally mighty tailwind I made excellent progress in Northern direction along the river Wümme, the Bremian equivalent to the Tamagawa. As I didn’t need to concentrate on pushing the pedals, I let my mind wander and an unbelievable story I have heard back in town came creeping up in my conscience.

Probably most of you have heard the story of the „Town Musicians of Bremen„, a folktale recorded by the Grimm brothers in the last century. The town musicians, a donkey, a dog, a cat and a rooster have become world famous and act as a kind of symbol of the town of Bremen. However what most people do not know, that the original group of the town musicians consisted not of four, but of five animals. The fifth and actually most important animal was an elephant that was brought over from India by the owner of a circus. The elephant was however neither in possession of a proper visa, nor of a valid working permit and in order not to entice foreign animals to immigrate to Germany, the elephant was kept quiet bout. However the good people of Bremen built a monument in honor of the elephant which can be seen to this day quite close to the central station. For some reasons it is one of my favourite places in Bremen and I keep pointing out the elephant to my bored children every time we pass by. These are the thoughts of a cyclists that rides fast an aimlessly through the beautiful landscape North of Bremen.

After about 20 km I came to the small town of Ritterhude, where Ludwig has been trained as a paramilitaric (or was it a paramedic?) some twenty years ago. I was looking for a place called Pellen’s Park where a cyclo-cross race was supposed to be conducted on Sunday and just by chance I found Ludwigs old training ground on the left side of the road to the park. By pure coincidence this is almost the only place within a circle with 150 km diameter around Bremen that features some kind of hills. It is, so to say, Bremens landscape on Stereoids, or should I better write on Clenbuterol? It isn’t really hilly, but at least it seems that the landscape has been moved by geological forces somewhat in the last 5 million years. As opposed to the rest of the landscaped that has been cleared by a giant piece of blotting paper.

And then I saw the cyclo cross race. This was the first time I have ever been to a cylco cross race and anyway one of the first times I have been to a race that I didn’t attend myself. Not sure if I will ever join a cyclo cross race after what I have seen on Sunday. For those who don’t know I will highlight some of the important characteristics as I see them:

First, the season for cyclos cross races in Germany is not, as every normal human being would think, during the months of July and August, the only month in which one has a chance to occassionally glimse the sun and enjoy temperatures above 20 degress, but from

October to January. In other words the season where one stays at home and only the drunk and debile will ride on bicycles through muddy fields. Or stand there and watch others
ride through muddy fields.

Second, I have never come to terms with the idea of a road race the goes in circles. One arrives at the point where one has started, so what’s the big deal? Shouldn’t one uses it’s power to ride from A to B? With the exception of the Tokyo-Ítoigawa fast run all races I have attended finished at the starting line. Bloody stupid anyway. David and Jerome perfected this nonsense when they rode 400 km on the weekend, just to arrive back in the same spot after 24 hours.

Ok, this isn’t very logic. One would assume now that cyclo cross races are following the same weird logic. But they must be more „straight“, as whereas road races have to follow curvy lines in forms of roads, the cyclo crosser just goes a straight line and crosses fields, rivers, walls, barbed wire fences etc. that he will find in his way. That’s why he has a cyclo cross bike in the first place, right?

But no, cyclo cross track layout is even more stupid. Basically it is a patch of grassland, say 200 by 200 m of dimension and then the course ziczacs in all directions over the grassland. Not only that you are going nowwhere, from every point of the race you see other iders going in completely different directions, just guided by some red and white tape. The studidity that nobody is going nowhere is even more pronounced and visibale as for a road race.

And my last point is, that the raods in cyclo cross races are very bad. Some of them are even so bad, that they could be used for the grand prix Chantal Biya. But I am pretty sure that Chantal Biya will never attend a cyclo cross race.

OK, this was even a high class race, even with the world champion (German) attending. Does somebody remember this fantastic post about cyclo cross by James (Keyword: „Heckling – it is the aspect of the sport I’ve chosen to perfect„)? Well, even in Germany we have Hecklers at cyclo cross races and it was a great joy to listen to their hecklings. If I am not mistaken, one of the hecklers was the offical and probably even paid heckler of the world champion. He even ran alongside the track to increase the time intervalls of intensive heckling absuses to which his rider was subjected.

But I didn’t want to spend my whole Sunday standing in a muddy field and watching riders going nowhere so I jumped on my bike and continued in direction Farge on the river Weser where a pretty big U-boat bunker called „Valentin“ is still standing. A nasty thing indeed and not smelling after 4711 eau de cologne. Ok, this is a very complicated joke, which needs further information for those of you that are interested: One guy on the TCC blog wrote that the German perfume 4711, used to be a long time favourite among the crews of German WW2 u-boats. This is an interesting perspective, as my personal impression of 4711 was, that it was that smelly liquid that my grandmother and other older women used to use on festive occasions and funerals. I am not 100% sure if my grandmother ever was a member of an u-boat crew during the war, but I am 99,99999% sure that she wasn’t.

So after having seen this, I turned to the East and rode along the beautiful landscape of Schwanewede, Eggestedt and, my personal highlight Osterholz-Scharmbeck, being non-charming at all, a city with a name like a female German minster of justice from the FDP party.

Now the landcape became even more interesting.
This photo is showing the landscape just after leawing the town of Osterholz-Scharmbeck.

And this one is shortly before riding into Worpswede.


While this one is between Worpswede and Worpshausen.

And this one shortly before Quelkhorn.
Please notice that I am not at least envious of all the photos of Nokogiriyama, Nippara, Gunma and Chihibu recently posted on this blog.

And after Quelkhorn comes Fischerhude, where a nice house is on the side of the road that I can afford to buy with my income as university professor. Autumn has surely come and the farmers have put on proud displays of their fruits of works along the road. To my surprise, I saw a lot of pumpkins, a fruit I have never thought of being home in abudant quantities in Germany, but hey, the times they are a changing. And I like pumpkins as they grow more or less inthe official team color of Positivo Espresso.

By now I have rode against a strong headwind for the last 30 km and I was relieved that I could ride the last 20 km or so without doing too much work. One nasty climb was although still waiting for me: At the fabulous „Platzhirsch“ restaurant I had to cross the federal higway. I concentrated and put all what was left of my power into the pedals and barely made it with 30 km/hr over the top.

After 121 km and 4 1/2 hour of riding I was home again. I made no breaks except the one at Pellen’s park (OK, I made 1 or 2 minute breaks inbetween, I admit) so I remained the last 100 km and 3 1/2 hour in the saddle. This is really the nice thing here in Bremen, the average speed is high, there are no nice spots neither convenience stores which would require breaks and as the road is straight, one can take photos, one can eat, drink and possibly relieve oneself as well.

As I have relieved myself from all ththoughts in my head right now.

More pics to be uploaded tomorrow – on this PC it just take endless time.

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"My first race in France"

I found this amusing write-up on Joe Papp’s very good blog-site, Papillon (http://joepapp.blogspot.com). For those who do not know this site it is well worth reading. As a former pro cyclist who was caught doping and who came clean, he has some interesting insights to what is going on in the sport nowadays.
This is not quite Tim Krabbe’s book The Rider but is a good read.

„Ok, the first rule of racing in France: Never ever, ever, ever believe a Frenchman when he says the course is „almost completely flat“. To an Englishman flat is flat, with possibly a bit of a downhill finish. To a Frenchman, flat is at best „rolling“ with a „small“ climb of maybe 8% and, I swear I am not making this up, a finishing stretch of maybe 500m into the village along cobbles at 22%!!!! It also comes of the corner at the end of the circuit’s climb, just to really spice things up.

Le Grand Prix de [small French town]. Thankfully, I rode the circuit first, and thankfully they wouldn’t let me race Elite 1,2 and 3! Because I had only just registered with their association they made me ride 4 and 5. Police outriders at a local amateur race, a beautiful course, 10 laps making just fewer than 50k. Cat 4 and 5. Sounded do-able.

How did it go?

How can I put it?

Basically, I got raped. By 40 angry Frenchman. For an hour. Over and over again, whilst a new friend (the French cyclist who invited me to the race after giving me directions to go training earlier that week) laughed at my suffering. He said he hadn’t been that entertained all year.

On the rolling section the peloton averaged 50kmph. From kilometer 0. Seriously.

Some wad attacked on the first lap, got about 20 meters on the peloton, and then we groveled for a lap, trying to rein him in. And as soon as we had, someone else goes (actually it was mostly the original wad attacking again and getting others to do the same), we rein them in, then someone else, and so-on and so-forth. By about lap 4 (I really had forgone the ability to count by now) I felt the inevitable happening. I was slipping back through the peloton. Losing wheels each time every f*cker and his dog stepped on the gas at the top of the climb. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t the first to get dropped. Surely someone else couldn’t take this punishment for much longer too?

So as soon as I see the old boy next to me start to shake his head, I am onto him like a flash. My new best friend. Please Granddad, give it up. I’ll keep you company. It’ll be our own little grupetto. We can share our horror stories, tell each other about the injuries that have held us back today. Now I did say he was old, maybe mid 50s if I am being generous to myself, but f*ck he was stubborn. Every time I saw a gap ahead of him, I thought, „great we can relax now, and I can shake my head disapprovingly, point and blame you for being dropped“. But no, he would summon up something from his leathery, ox like thighs and back on we would get. More pain, more racing heart, more burning lungs, more f*cking lunacy. Why am I doing this? I am on holiday!

And then finally, it happens. He looks down at his gears (the eternal fail safe excuse for an impending crack), mutters something in French, shakes his head some more, and he’s gone. I am not going to come last! Well, not if I can beat him up those cobbles at the end, or knock him off at least. I then have a bit of a second wind, inspired by my „victory“ over a retired Frenchman, I manage to find a few more wheels for half a lap, a few more dropped, and then I am done. I wait for a nice stretch of road with no spectators, and I gratefully sit up and wait for the stragglers, and hope they haven’t got too much fight left in them.

But of course they do. And actually there are quite a few I hadn’t seen. About 12 of us. So I spend the rest of the race trying not to get dropped by some other losers, and suffering the indignity of the final police outrider laughing at my pain, and then finally we hear the bell. Should I go early? Hope to give myself a head start for the monster at the end? I give it a go. I fail. I give it another go. I fail again. F*ck it guys, we are racing for last! I am a tourist. Give me a break! So I sit in, try to save myself. And I needed to. Then end was brilliant. One of the funniest and craziest things I have seen in a bike race. Guys just stopping dead halfway up the finish. Guys walking. Guys running. Guys falling. Shouts of „putain“ and „merde“ filled the pretty little street on the lord’s day, accompanied by the childlike, joyful laughter of the spectators. There were still remnants of the main peloton struggling up it when i got there. I was in the 27″, took it easy and I thought to myself, If I don’t have to get off, I won’t come last.

And I didn’t.

As I coughed up what felt like the remnants of a lung, I flopped over the finish line, into the village square, received a kiss on both cheeks from a beautiful French girl as she put my finisher’s garland round my neck, and then found a nice corner to throw up in. It was f*cking brilliant. Insane but brilliant. I can never return to racing in the UK with any real enthusiasm now. I had forgotten how well the French do all this. Every weekend! I had spent too long away from it. Too long. When i got home, after a two hour „nap“, I began persuading my fiancée that we would be spending three months every year back in France so I could race „properly“ again. Thankfully she had found the whole experience so funny, she was easily persuaded.“

-contributed by a Pappillon reader

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Mighty Thor

The nice thing about the living in Germany is, that one can see a lot of bicycle races on television, i.e. Eurosport. Combined with a very easy to use hard disc recorder provided courtesy of German Telekom it is easy to record all programs that include the word „cycling“ and watch them later in the evening or during the weekend. I watched a lot of stages of the Tour de France. the Vuelta and the World Championship in Melbourne.
Perhaps I even spend more time before the tube than riding my bike.

I liked the course of the world championship with two hilly sections. All the races were exciting, however the women race on Saturday had the most exciting finish.

As a somewhat supporter of the Cervelo test team, I am delighted that a rider of the team managed to get a last, big victory before the team is defunct at the end of the season. This is a great guy and it is amazing that despite his stature and weight he is such a comparatively good climber and uphill sprinter. Of course the video here explains the source of his power in detail (please note the nice connection to the rainbow jersey of the world championship).

By the way, there is a dedicated page on cycling fans that shows which live resources including video live coverage is available for the bigger cycling events.

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Eingeordnet unter 2010, Mob