Cycling Inquisition

Politely fighting for victories, both public and personal. Sky's Sergio Henao.

2012-02-13T02:52:00.010-05:00

Levi Leipheimer admitted that he didn't know who the young Colombian rider was. Like others, he had to look him up online. The press didn’t know what to make of him either, incorrectly calling his ride at the Tour of Utah last year, a “breakout performance.”

This shortsighted view of Sergio Henao’s riding in Utah ignored (or was unaware of) the fact that he had signed a deal with Sky almost six months earlier, after numerous victories over the past two seasons. But Henao’s story is richer than a contract with Sky, bigger than his wins or any results that you’ll find through a quick search on the internet.

He's one of several Colombian riders who will be racing at the highest level in Europe this season. And thanks to his upbringing, he’s poised to take the opportunity and make the most of it. Even if he politely says “please” and “thank you” as he does so.

2010, Medellín
Henao smiled shyly as his teammates embraced him. Friends and fans alike joined those teammates, as they suddenly started chanting, “Champion! Champion! Champion!” at the top of their lungs. Henao, whose youthful face and braces make him look half his age, suddenly looked even younger as he accepted everyone’s congratulations.

He thanked his teammates, and timidly turned around to speak to the press. Once he faced the cameras and numerous microphones, Henao spoke confidently, but did so in an overly proper manner. It’s the way that Colombian children are taught to speak to adults, and Henao behaved accordingly. He politely referred to journalists as “sir,” and thanked them all for their interest and time, his hands respectfully folded behind his back as he spoke.

But Heano’s quiet demeanor, and his seemingly timid personality hid something: an indomitable fighting spirit. The then-22 year old had just won the 2010 Vuelta a Colombia—a grueling, climb-filled, two-week stage race—in spectacular fashion. Henao’s win had not come easily. Tiny climbing specialist Jose Rujano aimed to take his second Vuelta title that year, and attacked relentlessly on every one of its lengthy climbs. An even bigger challenge had come from Henao’s own teammate, Oscar Sevilla, who had proven to be his greatest adversary while holding on to the leader’s jersey for nearly half the race.

Once Henao took the lead from his teammate on stage eight, he worked diligently to distance himself from Sevilla and the others in the general classification, conquering Colombia’s premiere cycling race.

That victory (and the difficult circumstances under which it transpired) put on display what riders in Europe may soon learn as Henao makes his debut with Sky in 2012. The young rider’s shy smile and quiet demeanor should never be mistaken for weakness. Henao’s respectful (almost reverential) manner of speaking, which I experienced first-hand, is merely a reflection of his Colombian upbringing. But so is his insatiable appetite for success.

Henao celebrates with a garland made of arepas

Beginnings
Sergio Luis Henao was born in Rio Abajo, Antioquia. Rio Abajo is not so much a town, as it is a grouping of homes so small that it seldom appears in maps. It was there that a young Henao first raced his bike uphill, on a dare, against his cousins. That victory came at a time when Sergio was beginning to give up on his dreams of becoming the one thing that he equated with success, due to his rural upbringing. Sergio dreamed of being a farmer. He’d often speak about his goal of owning a potato farm and had gone as far as planting several potato plants behind his family’s house.

The plants yielded only a handful of diminutive potatoes. Barely enough for his mother to make soup. So after his first harvest failed, and he managed to beat his cousins in that impromptu bike race, Henao decided to pursue a career as a professional cyclist. It was a dream that his father Ómar had pursued as a young man, but had given up on long ago.

In order to feed his family, Ómar Henao had taken a job as a night watchman at a local farm. The long and unusual hours kept him from training, so his dream of riding professionally slowly slipped away. Sergio was keenly aware of how difficult his father’s schedule was, and how it had caused him to give up on his dream of becoming a professional cyclist. So as he rose through the ranks of Colombian cycling, he told Ómar why he had chosen to become a cyclist himself. It was not to fulfill his father’s dream, or because of the fame that might come his way. Henao told his father that his reason for training and racing was “so that one day you don’t have to work such long hours during the overnight shift. I promise you that you won’t have to work those hours anymore.” With that promise in mind, Sergio Henao continued to train in Antioquia's mountainous terrain.

Henao with his family

Like playing for Real Madrid
As 2011 came to a close, Henao enjoyed the last few months that he'd be able to spend living with his parents and young sister. When I spoke with him, he was preparing to move to Spain in order to join Rigoberto Urán.

Henao is now the second Colombian on Sky’s roster. Although Sergio considered offers from Movistar and Geox more than a year ago, it was Sky that got the young Colombian’s attention.

“They’re an amazing team, incredibly organized, and very good at what they do. To me, signing with Sky is like being asked to play for the Real Madrid of cycling. It’s a huge opportunity.”

As Henao says this, I can’t help but wonder how this young man from a rural Colombian town will handle racing for an English-speaking team, and living in Europe. But the 24 year old seems unfazed by the changes he’ll experience during the upcoming season.

I ask if Urán already being with Sky played a role in his reason for signing with the British team. In response, he casually acknowledges that having a fellow Colombian on the team will be helpful to him.

“Rigoberto is a great rider,” he says. “One with lots of experience, and someone who has given Colombia a great reputation in this sport. I’m glad to have him there for me, because he’ll be able to help me in many ways when I need it.”

Henao has known Urán for many years, and clearly respects him and his accomplishments. He speaks fondly of him on a personal and professional level. At the same time, Henao’s tone leads me to believe that he’s ready for the move to Sky and that he could handle it without any help from a fellow Colombian.

Santiago Botero

The Director: Santiago Botero
Speaking with Henao’s last team director (and former time trial world champion) Santiago Botero, I realize that my take on the young Colombian’s demeanor is accurate. Botero is quick to point out just how serious and fearless Henao is.

“Like most other riders in our team [Gobernacion De Antioquia-Indeportes Antioquia], Sergio comes from a rural family of very meager means,” Botero says. “He appears to be shy at first, maybe even vulnerable. But he’s not. When you get to know him, you see why he’s been so successful. He’s extremely ambitious, determined, and insanely disciplined, even by cycling standards. He’s fearless.”

During our conversation, it also becomes clear that Botero’s advice to Henao goes well beyond the race tactics that directors commonly discuss with riders through race radios. Botero’s experience as a Colombian who raced in Europe at the highest level is invaluable. This has also helped ease Henao’s concerns about racing abroad.

Henao gets a drink in Colorado

“I’ve spoken with him at great length about his move, to help him prepare for what’s in store,” Botero told me. “Luckily, he’s going to Sky already as a fully-formed cyclist. When I went to Europe, I still had so much to learn. Sergio’s case is different. He’s raced at a high level already, and experienced riders have surrounded him. He’s had time to take in information about racing and living as a professional over there.”

When I ask Botero what specific conversations he’s had with Henao in this regard, he’s quick to answer.

“Some of these things sound simple, but are sometimes hard to keep in mind when you are there at first, and completely disorientated. He needs to live in a place that has good training loops. He needs to live by the mountains, in order to ensure that he can do all his training there. A big mistake that some riders in his position make is that they keep coming back to Colombia in order to train. That’s usually not the smartest thing to do, in part because it keeps the rider mentally tied to Colombia in a negative way. He needs to make his life there [in Europe], to make friends there, in order to focus on his job. But he needs to feel at home in Europe, so that he’s not counting down the days until he can come back to Colombia.”

Upon hearing this, I can’t help but picture young Colombian cyclists scratching out days in a calendar, or marking days on a concrete wall, as a prisoner would while he awaits the day of his release.

Botero thinks likewise: “It’s hard to do your job, and train properly, when all you’re thinking about is going back home. Sergio will learn, and he’ll realize that the hardships inherent in this move are not sacrifices, but opportunities to learn that he must take advantage of.”

Henao too brings up his willingness to learn, though he admits that some difficulties lay ahead. He’s been thinking about the language barrier that he’ll face within Sky. He admits that it’ll be difficult to learn English, but he’s eager to tackle the task.

Note the Rabobank/Giant frame. The team uses these frames, since they simply buy whatever frames are available from the Colombian importer. They also buy smaller items like handlebar tape, which is carefully rationed throughout the season.

“School was hard for me, I wasn’t a great student,” he says. “But learning English will be very important for me. Where I went to school, they didn’t really teach other languages, but I’ll be studying whenever I can now, because I know how important it will be for my future.”

It’s with that attitude, and for that reason, that Sergio Henao is taking on this, as well as other challenges. He knows how important meeting them is to his future, and in turn how important they are for the future of his entire family.

It’s something that Giovanni Jimenez, the first Colombian cyclist to ever turn professional back in 1968, also realized.

“When a young Colombian rider becomes a professional, it’s not just him who’s earning a salary,” Jimenez said. “Because these riders come from such poor families, it’s actually a whole extended family who benefits financially. He’s riding for many people back home. It’s an unusual aspect of Colombian professionals, particularly when compared to riders from most other countries.”

Although the world view of Colombians has changed overtime, some things stay the same. In this video , Henao discusses his inability to attend Sky training camps due to visa issues. During the interview, he explains how Rigoberto Uran is having the same problems, and pleads for someone to help them out and clear their visas. This is a common occurrence for Colombians, since we are largely unwanted by many countries. This means that visas can take as much as a year or more to clear...although sometimes you're simply not approved to enter a country at all due to your place of birth. This was the case for Victor Hugo Peña the year that he wore the yellow jersey at the Tour.

Calculated dreams
Speaking with Henao, it’s easy to sense his excitement as he relays details about the challenges that lay ahead. He’s also looking forward to new obstacles—ones that he’s only now starting to realize may be possible for him to take on.

But he doesn’t speak as a wide-eyed dreamer might. To the contrary, his thought process is that of a very calculated and committed individual.

As we speak about his climbing abilities, and his slight build, I ask what races he’s looking forward to competing in while in Europe. He will be the latest Colombian climber to demonstrate his skills across famed mountain passes in a continent other than his own.

But as I ask about several mountainous stage races, I hear Henao take a deep breath. “I very much want to race Paris-Roubaix. I’ve seen the race, and it seems so different, and so difficult that it strikes me as the most beautiful one in the calendar. It’s completely foreign to me, and to everything I’ve grown up with, but I dream of racing it … and clearly I dream of winning it.”

Henao’s sober tone stands in contrast to his use of the word “dream.” He knows how hard he’ll have to work to get there, and how incredibly difficult the race is. But I wonder if he’s aware of the historical significance that his dream carries.

In 1983, when the Tour de France first allowed an amateur Colombian team into the race, the pavé in early stages completely shattered the small riders who lacked experience on such terrain. Most of them retired, never getting far enough into the race to see their beloved mountains.

Later, in 1985, the cobbles would once again hurt the chances of Colombians at the Tour. On that occasion it was Lucho Herrera who lost massive amounts of time to Laurent Fignon because of the pavé. Not used to the cobbles (much less the crosswinds), riders like Herrera conceded twenty minutes or more to their European rivals. Such has been the luck of Colombians while racing on cobblestones.

But as Sergio Henao speaks about Paris-Roubaix, those distant memories of past Colombian attempts to conquer the cobbles fade into the background, though he stays firmly planted in reality. He’s not dreaming. He knows that a race like Paris-Roubaix demands tenacity and respect from those who take it on. Luckily for Henao, his Colombian upbringing has given him plenty of both.

The biggest victory
In a season that may see as many as four new Colombian riders enter the highest level of the sport, Henao will likely remain the focus of the Colombian media. The young man from Rio Abajo has already accomplished so much, that his potential to do even more seems obvious.

But while dreams of far-off places like Paris-Roubaix swirl around his head, Henao’s biggest dream is much closer to home. Regardless of how he performs during the next season, regardless of whether or not he ever makes it to the velodrome in Roubaix (or even the starting line in Compiègne), his biggest objective is already about to become a reality.

His father Ómar is set to retire from his job as a night watchman, thanks in great part to his son. Henao is proud of this victory, and he knows it’s one that will never come up in his palmarès, no matter how long any of his adversaries look for it on the internet.

Originally printed in Road Magazine

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Suggested reading:

Choosing to Forego Revenge, and Looking to the Future Instead. An Interview with Rigoberto Urán.

Sharing bikes, and getting by with very little. An interview with Santiago Botero, director of Gobernacion De Antioquia-Indeportes Antioquia.

Missing friends, family, and mom's cooking. An interview with Andres Diaz and Carlos Alzate of Team Exergy

To worship at the altar of martyrdom.

2012-02-10T06:01:00.010-05:00

Quote taken from this interview with Andy

Through its tumultuous past, and its extreme interpretation of Catholic iconography and beliefs (both of which are highly informed by native tradition), Colombians developed an insatiable taste for martyrdom and spectacle early on. An appreciation and understanding of pain and suffering on a grand scale is very much a part of the Colombian psyche, and as such, the nation has always understood and loved cycling.

Other sports have come and gone in Colombia, largely driven by the success of one of our own in that discipline. But those sports have been too refined. Too beautiful. Too graceful. Cycling, on the other hand, has always resonated with the Colombian public because of the near-monopoly that it holds on martyrdom in sport. The lone rider, struggling uphill, bloodied and seemingly near death. It's an exhibition of pain and sheer will that was almost tailor-made for Colombian sensibilities. This is something that the Colombian press recognized, particularly as Lucho Herrera arrived bloodied into St Etienne in the 1985 Tour de France.

The nation's response to those images was euphoric (people connected to that stage victory are still regularly interviewed by the media, including the soigneur who stitched him up, and reporters who saw him at the finish line) . The similarity between Herrera's bloody face and the gruesome images of a fallen Christ throughout Colombia's churches, was too obvious for the press to pass up. The newspaper El Tiempo referred to stage win that day as his Via Crucis, using the Latin term for the Stations of the Cross. People at home, watching the live TV feed, instantly made the same connection.

This was not just a martyr. He was our martyr. And even in a deeply Catholic nation (90% Catholic by most counts), no one considered it a blasphemous stretch to suggest that maybe, just maybe, because he was representing Colombia on the world stage, he suffering on our behalf.

Then there were the disparaging comments made by the foreign press. The taunts by European riders, the comments about their dark skin. The elbows and fists that were thrown in an attempt to make riders like Martin Ramirez crash. But these hardships only helped elevate the riders in our eyes. They were mythical figures...biblical actually. They endured what we as Colombians did within the greater context of the world. In the 1980s, we too endured hardship, we too felt beaten down and taunted. We saw ourselves in them.

But as we elevated them, we lost sight of their humanity. And we knew this, but were too stubborn to let this notion go.

And that too, I would argue, is the Colombian way. Reality and sanity be damned. We wanted to be enveloped by euphoric joy. We didn't care how foolish or insane or even blasphemous any of it seemed. We wanted to worship at the altar of martyrdom. So we did.

An umbrella in Alpe d'Huez: A change in how cycling can be portrayed

2012-02-06T04:17:00.002-05:00

Graham Watson

You've seen this picture before. You know what it signifies. That Tour, and that day were both filled with meaning. The image can't help but be iconic, because of what it depicts. In fact, a whole book has been written about the events surrounding that day. But you know all this, so let me tell you about something else: the moment when the picture above was taken.

I'm now going to try to defend myself preemptively, and attempt to prove that I didn't go to YouTube, in search for clips of that stage, so I could find the exact moment when the iconic picture was taken. I'm a bit obsessive at times, but that would be too much...even for me.

But perhaps the way it happened makes me sound even weirder. I had the video of that stage playing, while I tended to some work on my computer (fan mail doesn't read itself you know). Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the video, and noticed a folded up, black umbrella in the background. I remembered seeing that same umbrella in the Graham Watson image. I knew instantly that it was on that switchback that the picture was taken.

So perhaps in my attempt to make myself look less obsessive and sad, I've only made matters worse.

Here's the very moment when the picture was taken:

If you want, you can see it in the video below. They go into that hairpin at around 2:04

But really, there are other things that we can talk about within the realm of photography. For example, the pictures below. They are from a book that I came across recently, which you can see here. These are not pictures of cycling, but rather of football/soccer in Argentina. Although the topic may not interest some of you, the sentiment these images convey is very much in line with the passion that many have for cycling. Actually, it far outweighs it, since Argentines have been known to take their love of the sport to unimaginable extremes.

I share the link to these images because regardless of what you make of football (and its fans), I believe this particular photographer has managed to capture the essence of football in Argentina (the few photos I'm posting here don't do the book justice), something that many cycling photographers fail to do for the sport they document.

You see, a few years ago, I was able to see Boca Juniors play their arch-rivals River Plate in the famed Bombonera stadium in Buenos Aires. I've been unable to explain what I felt and saw that day, but these images begin to capture what I've tried to convey to people over lengthy conversations. The mood in the stadium that day was insane, beautiful, scary and unlike anything I'd ever experienced in the context of sport. These pictures start to get the message across. And I'm left hoping that more pictures of cycling did the same.

Luckily, there are some photographers who are beginning to capture the real mood of the sport, its fans, and perhaps even the reasons why we love and follow cycling. I must admit that I don't know the names of many of these photographers, although Tim Kölln's work, and the Manual For Speed project certainly come to mind (a commenter also suggests the work of Stefan Vanfleteren). Surely you've seen these pictures.

When you look at this type of photography, you instantly recognize parts of why you were first drawn to cycling. Those images also fill in the blanks, since they depict scenes you are not familiar with, or always wondered about. In some cases, they're the type of images that you could show to someone who doesn't know anything cycling, to help them understand what attracts you to it. It explains a bit of what you know and understand about it.

Cancellara by Tim Kölln

By comparison, the work of many photographers from the Graham Watson era seems dated and detached. Almost clinical. Yes they took some great pictures too, but they sometimes leave a bit to be desired. Perhaps those photographers came from a strict photojournalism background. Perhaps they only cared about documenting the one thing they were supposed to keep their eye on, the race. Perhaps their work will have lasting power, and the current trend in photography is nothing more than that, a trend. Perhaps that's why some of the great images I'm referring to are found on sites like Flickr, and less often in magazines and books.

Perhaps I'm way out of my element too, since I'm by no means knowledgeable about photography. But not knowing about a subject has never stopped me from writing about it. I mean, I have a blog about cycling after all.

But while I may not really know anything about photography, I know when an image captures an emotion, and when it doesn't. A photo can be beautiful, well composed...but still fail to tell a story, and the drama behind it. We fill in the blanks with our knowledge, not the other way around. But photography can actually do all these things at once.

Paris-Roubaix by Jared Gruber

Could the same be said for writing? Do any writers convey parts of why you love cycling? Do any news stories, articles, interviews or fiction speak to what you love about riding a bike, or watching others ride a bike? The number of writers who can do this is amazingly small. How can it be that a sport that takes place in some of the most beautiful places, one that is replete with incredible plot lines, and features suffering on a grand scale has so little great writing done about it? The same could be said for the personal act of riding a bike.

As with photography, however, there are some writers who are leading the charge. They are telling personal stories, choosing to look inward for inspiration and answers. Is this part of what we might call the post-Lance era? Are some cycling fans and writers choosing to look inward, rather than outward, for inspiration and to figure out and express how they feel about the sport? Perhaps I'm connecting dots that don't exist, or don't need to be connected

Manual For Speed

In writing, blogs have certainly helped expand the notion of what is possible when writing about bikes and cycling. Yes, there are way too many blogs that are bad (as is often the case when we, the people, are given free reign over the means of production), but the good ones usually rise to the top. While the point of view given by people like Bikesnob may seem almost commonplace now, the radical departure they represent is substantial, as is their value. The same could be said of blogs like All Hail The Black Market, which at times dabble in Gonzo-style journalism, while looking away from the action of big-name cyclists.

Then there's books like A Dog In A Hat. How could a book about a professional who never broke into the most upper echelon of cycling paint give such a complete and compelling picture of the sport? Perhaps that's exactly why it does. Even a book like Lance Armstrong's War, which at first appears to be only about a superstar, can turn out to be revelatory, because it gives unbelievable details about the things we don't normally see in cycling...and in the end has nothing to do with Armstrong himself. The writer sees the world of professional cycling as an outisder, noticing the surreal aspects that we as observers would fixate on...but ones that jaded journalists would likely ignore.

Similarly, Matt Rendell's writing excels in its thoroughness, while exhibiting the author's passion for the subject. Even in his book about Marco Pantani, which is largely an investigative affair untangling the life of the Italian rider, Rendell's closing chapter details the struggle of today's cycling fan in a manner that no one has before or since. It's personal, and tries to make sense of the current state of sport in a way that no one else has managed to. Most importantly, it does so from the point of view of the observer. Are there other examples? Even better ones? Perhaps, as I'm sure I'm forgetting a good few.

As I see it, great writing doesn't always have to answer big questions. It doesn't always need to be irreverent, contrarian, or feature professional athletes to convey a compelling story. I say this merely as a reader, not any kind of expert or connoisseur since I'm neither. But consider Bill Strickland's recent piece titled How To Own A Bike. It's the kind of writing that showcases a simple idea in a way that makes you wish you'd thought of it. It's personal, and certainly in the "turning inward" model I mentioned earlier. It's not about the epic struggle of a professional fighting his way through Alps. It's not about Contador's ban, or Armstrong either. It's better than all those things. It's about a guy, and the relationship he has with a bike. Can you get to a more fundamental, basic concept? The sport of professional cycling can burn to the ground, it can rise and fall. It can do whatever it wants...but you still have your bike, and Bill's writing does a marvelous job of detailing one part of that relationship. It helps settle our gaze back on our own relationships, and our own lives.

In photography, it appears as though the strategy of turning inward, can also be aided by turning away from the action. Instead of focusing on the race, for example, a photographer can look around at everything else. What are the fans like? What are the places that a race goes through, the ones we only get to see from helicopter shots like? What are riders up to before and after the race? What is it like to ride a bike when you don't race, and will never race? What was it like when a professional trained through the winter? The seemingly mundane becomes sublime in the hands of a a talented photographer or writer. But we need more of it (something I've written about before).

Juan Antonio Flecha by Tim Kölln

And to think that some of these unusual images and vantage points probably came about due to some photographer's inability to shot from the back of a motorcycle mid-race, or a writer not having access to professionals for an interview after a decisive stage at the Tour.

There will always be a need for simple race photos. There's certainly a place for them, as there is with simple day-by-day accounts of Grand Tours, but both of these are often as dry as a baseball box score (for those outside the United States, this is what a baseball box score looks like. It's as boring as any Excel document you've ever seen. And keep in mind that the box score I linked to is for a "perfect game", a rare and exciting event in baseball).

So while basic race images are needed, they can be better (though I know "better" is largely subjective). Cycling is a personal pursuit. The riders struggle on their own, even when surrounded by teammates. That struggle is full of beauty, pain, and numerous other clichés that you've heard millions of times along with words like "epic". As silly as those words are, however, they are fairly accurate. So shouldn't they be expressed more readily? I think so. And I hope that more quality photos, videos, interviews, articles and stories keep popping up online. If not, I'll be left to look for folded up umbrellas in Alpe d'Huez switchbacks.

Are there photographers or writers whose work you enjoy? Feel free to tell everyone in the comments section. Remember, sharing is caring.

Name changes, helmets designed by Lando Calrissian, and adult braces in the peloton

2012-02-02T05:44:00.002-05:00

As a man of scant height, I will always support fellow short men and women. It's for this reason that I would never mock someone for their height, or lack thereof. Having said that, I must admit that seeing Levi Leipheimer hoist a wine glass at the Tour de San Luis made me fearful for him, as he will surely be crushed soon, if given a wine bottle during a podium celebration.

And while early-season races like the Tour de San Luis can keep us entertained, this is also an ideal time of year to go back and re-watch old races, particularly the ones where you don't remember who won. It was while watching one such race (a late 90s edition of Liege-Bastogne-Liege I believe) that I was reminded of a simpler time in cycling. A time when Lando Calrissian worked as a design adviser for Rudy Project.

Amazing helmets with rearward facing visors aside, I wanted to share a video with you because of my post two weeks ago, regarding nicknames in Colombian cycling. In that post, I mentioned that cycling legend Cochise Rodriguez is known in Colombia exclusively by his nickname, not his given name (Martin Emilio). Not surprisingly, it turns out that only a few days ago, Cochise legally changed his name to Cochise. The video below announces this bit of breaking news (which I've subtitled). It's worth noting that the velodrome in the background is named after him (its official name is: Velodromo Martin Cochise Rodriguez).

Lastly, the video below is one I share with you in the spirit of cultural exchange. You see, years ago, as I was flipping through TV channels I stopped for a second and watched a bit of Sabado Gigante. As I watched this long-running variety show in Spanish, my lovely American wife commented that she never understood why shows from Spanish-speaking countries so often featured puppets, and adults dressed as children or clowns. At first, I thought she was crazy...but I slowly started to realize she was correct.

Quico, a character in the Mexican children's show Chavo Del 8. The show was largely made up of adults dressed up as children. Quico was alway dressed in a sailor's outfit, and a cycling cap (in Colombian colors no less). If you want to see some of Quico's greatest moments, you can watch them here.

The video below, which I didn't translate because of its length and because it didn't really warrant it, features a man dressed as a hobo clown. His guest is none other than Cochise Rodriguez. I'll spare you the details of their conversation, but will tell you that Cochise has a good sense of humor, and manages to say a couple of things that are actually funnier than the weird hobo clown.

If you can't watch much of it, I can't blame you. Watching someone like Cochise ride a stationary bike along with a hobo clown is unsettling to say the least.

And as if the videos above weren't enough, here's one of the Colombia-Coldeportes team training. Notice that their bus has the words "Inspired by Climbing" written on the side. It's the team's slogan. Forget Leopard's "True Racing". Forget Sky's inspirational bit about excellence and the "the line". These guys are not looking to be all-arounders, or do well in team time trials. They're just inspired by climbing.

Chavez, Forero and Henao

If you watch the video closely, you'll also notice that Esteban Chavez (winner of last year's Tour de l'Avenir) can be spotted wearing braces. Another rider in the team, Juan Pablo Forero, is sporting adult braces as well. Along with Sergio Henao, who will also have adult braces at Sky this year, I'm happy to be in good company...as I too am a Colombian adult with a mouth full of metal bits.

With Colombian riders in Movistar, Lampre, Liquigas, Acqua & Sapone and Sky (not to mention the Colombia-Coldeportes team), this will be a landmark year for Colombian cycling.

But more importantly, it will be a landmark year for us Colombians with adult braces.

You can watch another video of the team here, and you can see their Facebook page here.

Still on the road. From racing bikes and battling opponents, to driving taxis and fighting traffic.

2012-01-30T06:01:00.013-05:00

In my post about nicknames two weeks ago, I forgot to mention a Colombian rider whose nickname was obvious to all those who saw him race. No, Genaro Soler wasn't known as the The Pirate. His nickname was "Tuerto", a single word in Spanish meaning one-eyed. It's one of many words in Spanish that don't have an equivalent in English (something I've written about before).

When Genaro was only 17, he was watching a man cut wood with an ax. A piece of wood flew away from the log, striking him the eye. Along with his right eye, Genaro lost all depth perception, though he always proudly proclaimed that he never had an accident on his bike while training or riding. He came to the forefront of Colombian cycling in 1984, after his amazing performance in the Clasica a Buenaventura. He raced in the Vuelta a Colombian several times, and eventually became the director of several professional teams in Colombia. In 2001, he Genaro Soler quit his job as a team director, ending his career in the world of cycling.

Still on the road
Today, Soler makes a living the same way that many other prominent Colombian cyclists who are now retired do: he drives a taxi in the streets of Bogotá. Along with Soler, track record-holder Efraín Domínguez and Vuelta a Colombia winner Cristóbal Pérez (who raced with Teka, and participated in the Tour twice) can also be found behind the wheel of one of the many yellow taxis that crowd Bogotá's busy streets. In a city where privately owned vehicles can only be driven during peak hours every other day, taxis are a crucial part of how Bogotános get around.

Perhaps the most prestigious Colombian cyclist to drive a cab is Patrocinio Jimenez, winner of the Coors Classic, Vuelta a Colombia, and Clasico RCN, who was in the top ten at the Vuelta a España, and was in the top twenty at the Tour de France twice. In the hearts of Colombian cycling fans, Patrocinio remains a giant, and he's often sought out by the press in order to comment on races. He's opinionated, and has never shied away from speaking out about the way that Colombian riders were mistreated by the European peloton. It's perhaps this no-nonsense, tough attitude that has made him an ideal taxi driver in Colombia, where men and women behind the wheel of these yellow vehicles speak their mind, and never think twice about swinging a tire iron if that's what matters come down to.

If a huge and often unruly city like Bogotá is tough, its taxi drivers have to be even tougher.

Riders like Patrocinio and Genaro admit that they're often recognized by their passengers, many of whom can't believe that the government (who they often raced for, since there were no professionals in Colombia before 1984) never helped them with any kind of pension. Still, they are happy to be making an honest living, and don't mind the tough hours.

Once a year, Bogotá has its Car Free Day, during which no privately owned cars are allowed to drive in the city's streets. Only buses, taxis and bikes are seen throughout the suddenly desolate-seeming city of 11 million.

The work ethic they acquired while riding is helpful these days. Taxi drivers like Patrocinio and Genaro work twelve hour days (usually 5am to 5pm), six or seven days a week. They make far less money than cab drivers in other countries, but their work is steady, and there's as much of it as they wish to take on. During these twelve hours shifts, they interact with the many unusual characters that inhabit cities as large as Bogotá and Medellin. Not even Gabriel Garcia Marquez could come up with such colorful characters.

Overtime, certain trends in passengers appear. Genaro, for example, has driven countless angry wives around, who pay him to follow their husbands to see if they are cheating on them. Many times he's been there the moment that these women see their husbands cheating on them. He sits in the car as the women wail in agony. He tries his best to give them advice, and helps them put their lives in perspective.

Efraín Domínguez on the track.

Similarly, Efraín Domínguez has had memorable experiences while driving a taxi in Medellin. In his case, however, they were even worse. He's been robbed three times, each time having all his money, watch and his wedding band taken. Luckily, he says, they never thought to take the car...his only source of income. One time, the man who robbed him even recognized him as "the cyclist who beat all those records".

Pablo Wilches, winner of the 1987 Vuelta a Colombia, who won a stage at the Coors Classic and competed in all three grand Tours also drives a taxi in Bogotá. Argemiro "El Polaco" Bohorquez, who rode in the Tour for both Cafe De Colombia and Fagor drives a buseta (a small bus) in Bogotá, and continues to ride as well as coach fellow cyclists.

Pablo Wilches today, still riding and racing. His son (also named Pablo Wilches), has raced for British, Croatian and South African teams. He now races for the Bogotá IDRD team, and won a stage at the Vuelta a Colombia last year.

Hector Emilio Castaño, a powerful climber who many in the Colombian peloton feared in the 1970s, also drives a taxi in the streets of Medellin. Even Ramon Hoyos, one of the greatest Colombian cyclists of all time, owned and operated a small chiva bus until recently. His bus had his likeness and palmares painted on it.

Team car

Considering that such a relationship exists between public transportation and cycling in Colombia, it should come as no surprise that some taxi drivers install bike racks on their cars, allowing them to be hired by riders who need to get to races far away. On occasion, taxis can also be hired by teams to operate as teams cars during races, something I saw in Medellin a couple of years ago. It was also there that I saw a chiva, like the one that Ramon Hoyos owned, function as a team bus (something you can read about here.)

A quick interview with a taxi driver in Bogotá, in which he explains his love for cycling, and shows off his impressive collection of autographs from riders like Hinault, Vicente Belda and Jose Beyaert.

Greatness
In the past, I've spoken about my affection for Colombian taxi drivers. They are, put simply, about the greatest people on earth that you could ever speak to. They have the uncanny ability to simplify any political issue into a single sentence. They are knowledgeable about life, travel, sports, and they know every single crevasse of the city that you'd ever want to know about...as well as many that you'd rather forget about. I found this to be the case last year, as a driver in Medellin pointed out several gruesome sites linked to Colombia's most violent years, and then highlighted what type of crime each neighborhood had been known for during the 1980s. He then pointed out the childhood homes of several notorious criminals, information that was validated by those who walked by.

Patrocinio Jimenez

While some drivers are reserved, I've dealt with many who were willing to share many aspects of their personal lives. Such was the case with one man in Medellin, who talked to me at great length about his son having been murdered outside a billiards club in 1989.

"I knew who did it, I saw him. I gave the cops his name, and they said if they arrested that man, their families would be murdered as a result. So they did nothing. He's still out there, and I still see that motherf_cker about once a month...right by the club where he killed my son."

As tough as taxi drivers are (and they are plenty tough), they can also be extremely personable, kind and helpful. I've had taxi drivers give me life advice. I've had them recommend eateries, and clothing stores, as well as picks for that night's soccer match. I even had one tell me the best place to get a steel bike frame painted in Bogotá. Their expertise knows no bounds, so it should come as no surprise that many of them are highly opinionated in all matters having to do with cycling. This is something that Bill Blake from Winning magazine reported on as far back as 1991, when he visited Colombia. In an article about the Clasico RCN (which was kindly sent to me by Mike from Gage + Desoto), Blake noted the following about Colombia:

Taxi cab drivers are experts on cycling. Girls in coffee shops giggle about their heroes, Lucho Herrera and Alvaro Mejia. Old ladies dressed in black can quote the exact year Fabio Parra took third at the Tour de France.

It's worth noting that the year Blake wrote that article about the Clasico RCN, the race itself was won by a future cab driver, Pablo Wilches. This is something you should keep in mind if you find yourself in the backseat of a taxi in Bogotá or Medellin. Make sure you read the name posted on the driver's license carefully. You may very well be in the presence of cycling greatness, and should act accordingly.

Even if you don't recognize the name on the license, and the drivers tells you he doesn't have an opinion on the Bartali/Coppi rivalry, you're still bound to hear some great stories, and perhaps even get some helpful life advice.

So remember to tip accordingly.

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Two more things:

First, remember to email me by this Friday (February 3rd) if you want to be in on the new order of black jerseys.

Second, if you are a podcast type of person, go listen to the new episode of the Speed Metal Podcast. In that episode, I reveal the contents of today's post ("it's all about the connection between taxis and professional cycling in Colombia"), much to the disbelief of everyone involved. So while topics like Alberto Contador's case, the start of a new season and disc brakes are all the rage in the legitimate cycling press, I find myself writing about taxis in Colombia. Way to stay relevant.

Dominance

2012-01-26T04:59:00.004-05:00

Cochise Rodriguez (Photo: Horacio Gil Ochoa)

If a rider has plenty of time to zip up his jersey before crossing the finish line first, he was better than others on that day.

If a rider has time to do a full-blown radio interview in the middle of a stage, that shows his complete and utter dominance over the others. Cochise Rodriguez could afford to do such interviews.

__________________________________________________________
Other matters:

Watch the trailer for the movie Peloton below, and try not to pull a muscle from cringing so hard. For those of you who live in the US, please note that the actor who appears 20 seconds in, is the guy from the My Clean PC commercials that air on TV during every single show known to man. If you doubt my assessment, the moment you hear his voice you'll realize I'm right.

To suffer in peace

2012-01-23T04:15:00.005-05:00

It's one of the few iconic moments in professional cycling that doesn't completely lose its value after you've seen it happen several times. Men who were gliding along elegantly on their bikes only moments before are suddenly reduced to walking awkwardly up one of the famed climbs at the Tour of Flanders. Their cleats and shoe covers make it impossible to complete the task graciously, as photographers move in to capture the moment they already knew was coming. The Tour de France may have fields of sunflowers, but Flanders has riders walking up narrow cobbled roads. Pictures of this yearly occurrence serve as an iconic reminder of the race's difficulty.

Luckily, during last year's race, I was able to see an unusual, though perhaps more iconic moment in the race.

Seeing the Tour of Flanders go by at several places along the route can be a difficult thing to do. If you want to see it in significant locations, you have to know where to park, how to get to the next location, and what route to take, since nearly every car in Belgium is will be involved in a race to get to the next climb. This requires knowing a significant amount about local roads, traffic patterns on race day, and (at least in our case) the willingness to break several laws, and get tickets for breaking said laws.

Last year, I was lucky enough to be with people from Ridley for the Tour of Flanders. They took pride in knowing the best routes to take in order to get from one ideal viewing spot to the next. At one point, we left a crowded area with numerous cars which were all headed in one direction. All the cars came to a complete stop, but we headed in the opposite direction. Clearly we knew a shortcut the others didn't know about. We drove down a desolate two-lane road, cutting through small Belgian towns, in order to catch the race one last time before the finish. I stared ahead, and saw no cars for miles upon miles. For the first time that day, there was no traffic, no crowd noise, just the hum of the road. Suddenly, I saw something unusual up ahead. Someone was on the road.

We were nowhere near the race, and yet what I saw was a skinny, orange-clad man on a bike. It was a rider from Euskaltel-Euskadi. He was riding quickly, but his pedal strokes seem forced. As we approached him, I could see that he was covered in dust, while his Tour of Flanders race number and jersey pockets were ripped, and unceremoniously flapping in the wind. We slowed down as we passed him, and could now see that his face was covered in caked-on dust. He looked disoriented. His team issue bike, bottles, helmet and glasses looked oddly out of place all of a sudden. Why was he there, miles away from the race, aimlessly riding through the Belgian countryside? Had he been left behind by the caravan after a crash? Had he been told to cut through using this road in order to meet up with the team bus or a team car? We signaled through the car window that we could give him a lift. He waved us off angrily. He looked like an animal going to the slaughterhouse. It was disconcerting to say the least.

To look exhausted and defeated on the course of the Tour of Flanders as you walk up a climb could be seen as picturesque, or indicative of how hard the race is.

To look exhausted as you win, or at least finish the race, is similarly worthy of a picture that shows the tenacity required to race at that level.

But too look that way as you ride through a random Belgian town, far away from the race with no hope of winning (or even finishing), made the difficulty of the race much clearer. The race had broken him, but he rode on, miles away from the course. It made no sense at all.

As we moved away from him, I reached for my camera. I thought about taking a picture, but couldn't bring myself to do it. I thought it was best to let him suffer in peace. We sped away.

Bradley Wiggins' mullet, Whitney Houston's inability to know, and not backing down

2012-01-20T07:39:00.005-05:00

Not long ago, I was lucky enough to stand by the starting line at Paris-Roubaix. It was a glorious moment for me, having grown up as a fan of watching young men ride around in tight pantaloons. As I stood there, watching professional riders having trouble clipping in, I suddenly realized something...and it wasn't just my fascination with the fact that professionals were fumbling around with their pedals like hapless commuters. It was deeper than that.

As I saw Bradley Wiggins' and his Paul Weller-inspired mullet ride by me (while Whitney Houston's "How Will I Know" played loudly through the ASO's loudspeaker system), I realized that music and cycling don't often mix well. Furthermore, I realized that we should all stop our Caligula-like impulse to take everything we enjoy in at once. Some things, it turns out, are better when kept separate (like human beings and Paul Weller mullets).

As clear and insanely inspired as my realization was that day, I'm aware of the fact that not everyone has reached my level of enlightenment. Such is the life of a trailblazer. Always ahead of the pack, just as I was in the seventh grade, when I wondered why other kids didn't wear gold chains and use massive amounts of cologne. Their loss. At any rate, today I want to share with you two videos that combine music and cycling, in order to show you exactly what I realized that fateful day at Paris-Roubaix.

First up we have Green Edge singing their official team anthem, a cover of Tom Petty's "Won't Back Down", featuring back-up vocals by the riders, which were recorded in a fun "We Are The World"-like studio environment.

Next up we have the official anthem of the Vuelta A Chile, which just took place (oddly enough) in Chile a few weeks ago. This song serves as further proof of the differences that exist between us Latin-American folk and the rest of the world. Luckily, it also shows that people all around the world share the ability to make bad decisions, which lead to recording songs about cycling. (Link courtesy of my brother).

Lastly, here are two more videos which I've posted before. The first is the anthem for the Willems-Accent cycling team (not to be confused with the Wilson Phillips cycling team), a song that largely deals with the subject of the riders being clean, clever and competitive.

And in closing, a miraculous video from the 7-Eleven team about the seldom-discussed topic of hammering it out.

The lost art of the nickname

2012-01-16T09:08:00.013-05:00

Perhaps I'm wrong, but the days when nearly every professional cyclist had a nickname appear to be long gone. Sure, a few riders have nicknames, but they're seldom used by fans, and when used by the media they seem rather forced. Even in the throes of Lance-mania, no one really called him Mellow Johnny, even though we're now told that was his nickname.

Sure, there's the God of Thunder, Spartacus and other similarly unused nicknames today, which writers use in print as a way of not having to say "Cancellara" or "Hushovd" over and over again. We also see them in custom paints jobs on frames, but I have yet to hear anyone say "Wow, did you see the God of Thunder win that stage today?"

What's rather strange is that many riders are simply begging for proper nicknames and have yet to get one. Andy Schleck's bird-like looks have yet to inspire anyone in the media to come up with a proper nickname for him. Similarly, Philippe Gilbert's face, which looks like it caught on fire and was subsequently put out with soccer cleats, has yet to garner a single nickname (at least in English).

Things weren't always like this. Moreover, in Colombia, almost every rider continues to have a nickname. These are readily used by fans and the press instead of the rider's proper name. They aren't simply used by sponsors on custom saddles that reveal nicknames none of us really knew existed (Tommy D, I'm looking in your general direction).

So you've heard people talk about the good ol' days of steel frames, as they moan about carbon fiber. You've heard some others complain about the fact that drivetrains ever went past seven, eight, nine, or ten speeds. Well, I'm far worse than any of those people. I'm here to mourn the death of the nickname.

Consider Roberto "Pajarito" Buitrago (pictured above) whose nickname ("Little Bird") came about as a result of his ability to fly away from competitors during climbs. Not only did Buitrago have a nickname, his team truck did as well. It was called La Jaula, The Birdcage. You can see it's name written faintly along the back of the truck. The nickname came about due to Buitrago's nickname, but also because of the truck's cage-like rear deck, where his brothers would ride along, hosing him down, passing him food, and fixing his bikes after crashes.

Pajarito Buitrago today

For the record, it's also worth mentioning that Buitrago's greatest rival was Rubèn Darìo Gòmez, was known throughout Colombia as "El Tigrillo De Pereira" (The Oncilla or Ocelot of Pereira). But many others had and still have nicknames. As I said earlier, many of these are used instead of someone's proper name. "Cochise", for example (one of the first Colombian professionals, holder of the hour-record, and Giro stage winner), is never referred to by his real name, Martín Emilio Rodríguez. Even cycling fans in Colombia won't know who you are referring to at first. He's simply Cochise.

Here are just a few, which I've tried to translate and/or explain when possible:

Luis "El Jardinerito" Herrera
(The Little Gardner, as a result of Herrera working in a farm near his native Fusagasuga)

Edgar "Condorito" Corredor
(Little Condor, based on this popular comic strip)

Antonio "Tomate" Agudelo
(Tomato, as a result of his round head and rather rosy appearance)

Rogelio "El Carnicero" Arango
(The Butcher)

Martín Emilio "Cochise" Rodríguez
(Due to his affinity for Western movies and TV shows. Rogriguez admired Cochise as a figure in native american culture)

Henry "Cebollita" Cardenas
(Little Onion, as a result of his....well, rather onion-like head)

Alvaro "Corazon De Fantasia" Lozano
(Heart Full of Fantasy/Wonder, as a result of his diagnosed heart condition)

Hernan "El Cabrito De Barichara" Buenahora
(The Goat from Barichara)

Efrain "Indominable Zipa" Forero
(The Indominable Chief, a reference to a chief among native tribes in pre-conquest Colombia)

Argemiero "El Polaco" Bohorquez
(Pole or Polish, due to his unusually European-looking complection and hair color.)

Ruben Dario "El Diablo" Beltran
(The Devil)

Carlos Emiro "La Hormiguita" Gutierrez
(The Little Ant)

Julio Ernesto "El Hermano" Bernal
(Brother, because of the fact that he was a member of a religious order)

Israel "Pinocho" Corredor
(Pinocchio, obviously because of straight and long nose )

Javier Ignacio "La Pantera" Montoya
(The Panther)

Manuel "Jumbo" Cardenas
(Jumbo, like a 747 Jumbo Jet)

Luis "La Bala" Diaz
(The Bullet)

Edgar "El Gato" Arias
(The Cat)

Victor "Chicharra" Niño
(It's literally means cicada, but can also mean someone who talks a lot, makes a lot of noise.)

Alvaro "El Condor de Cundinamarca" Pachon
(The Condor of Cundinamarca, the department where Bogota is located. Pachon's nose is decidedly condor-like, as was his ability to soar over mountain passes)

Miguel "Don Coraje" Samaca
(Mister Courage)

Jose Luis "Mayordomo" Venegas
(Butler/Foreman)

Alvaro "El Cometa" Mejia
(The Comet)

Javier "El Milagroso" Zapata
(The Miraculous)

Hector Ivan "El Mono" Palacio
(In Colombia, the word "mono" means either monkey, or blondie)

Armando "El Tanguero" Moreno
(The Tango Dancer)

Nestor "La Pulga" Bernal
(The Flea)

Carlos Humberto "Orejita" Cabrera
(Tiny Ear, because of his not-so-tiny ears)

Felix "El Gato" Cardenas
(The Cat, as in Felix The Cat)

Humberto "Eriso" Hernandez
(The Hedgehog)

Jose "El Leon de Bucaramanga" Serpa
(The lion of Bucaramanga, his city of birth. Oddly enough, there's actually been reports of a lion sightings in suburban Bucaramanga recently. Perhaps Jose was out training)

Eduardo "El Guerrero Del Camino" Guerrero
(The Warrior of the Road)

Victor Hugo "El Tiburon" Peña
(The Shark, in part because Victor Hugo excelled at swimming and held numerous national records before he started cycling)

Patrocinio "Viejo Patro" Jimenez
(Old Patro, based on his first name)

Omar "El Zorro" Hernandez
(The Fox)

Alberto "El Toro" Camargo
(The Bull)

Jose "Chepe" Gonzalez
(Chepe is a shortened version of several names, no real way to translate it. Watch Chepe win a stage at the Tour here)

Nelson "Cacaito" Rodriguez
(Term of endearment derived from the cocoa bean)

Miguel Angel "El Raton" Sanabria
(The mouse)

Roberto "El Sastre de Envigado" Cano
(The tailor from Envigado)

Carlos "El Ladron De Corazones" Orejuela
(He who steals hearts)

Juan Esteban "Pantalla" Montoya
(Movie Screen, due to his large forehead)

Arturo "Peluca" Lopez
(Wig, due to his hair)

If anyone knows of any Colombian nicknames I've missed, feel free to share them. If you have a favorite nickname (for a rider from any country), or you'd like to make one up, share them in the comments section. Let the fun begin.

In Colombia, visiting dignitaries are treasured, and showered with flower petals

2012-01-12T05:00:00.002-05:00

Photo by Horacio Gil Ochoa

Meanwhile, where I live now, I've had snowballs thrown at me twice while riding a bike. To be fair, I've also been cheered on by kind elderly women.

But it's hard to forget those snowballs.

Yesterday's leftovers, today's empanadas. A tale of pillows, cycling folklore and motorhomes.

2012-01-09T06:24:00.006-05:00

Every nationality has one: a dish that is largely intended as a culinary catch-all, one that allows you to mindlessly throw in leftovers, and make them into something new and suddenly edible. In my house growing up, that dish was empanadas. In today's post, I originally intended to share a freshly made Colombian empanada with each and every reader...but then I remembered that Blogger doesn't support an acceptable teletransportation plug-in right now. Yet another reason why I should have started this blog in WordPress. At any rate, due to my inability to circumvent even the most basic principles that dictate how matter operates (and thus how empanadas cannot be teletransported), I hereby offer this humble post instead. In a way, it's also made from leftovers, and random items that I thought I should share with you, so it's almost like an internet empanada.

Sleepy
Quick, how do you know that it's January if you don't have a calendar, or one of those digital watches from Sky Mall that magically aligns itself with an atomic clock? Easy, just wait for images of riders from team Quickstep (or its latest variant) posing with pillows from their sponsor Innergetic. These images are released every January, and are thus far more accurate than any watch you could ever buy from SkyMall (and more entertaining than the Cruzin Cruiser that is also offered by that quality catalog).

This year's version of the image features Levi Leipheimer, who clearly used his high-powered agent to negotiate the coveted front spot in the line. While this may not seem like a big deal at first, it most certainly is when you consider that he basically got the first spot in the cycling world's Human Centipide. This pillow photo shoot is actually more horrendous than a human centipide, but if you must be a part of it due to contractual obligations, you really want to be first in line.

Which brings us to Tom Boonen, who is happily smiling, despite the fact that he's last in line. He smiles because he still has a job, and because being the last in a human centipide means that he at least gets to eat something more palatable than the sizable portions of humble pie he's grown used to over the last two seasons.

Notice that in last year's picture, Gert Steegmans was last in line, and he's no longer even in the shot. One more year of crap results, and Boonen will forever be banished into the same isolated storage facility in Siberia where the team keeps Steegmans these days. See, for team director Patrick Lefevre, this yearly photshoot serves as a quiet but powerful way to let his riders know where they stand within the team. It also serves as a fun way to torture Tom Boonen.

But pictures of riders with pillows are not the only way to know it's January. There's another popular method that I strongly believe in, which is to look for images of Rabobank's Michael Matthews' new haircut for the season, which in turn helps me determine which contestant of the TV show Project Runway he's trying to look like now. Much like a groundhog looks for its shadow to determine if winter will last much longer, I look for evidence of Matthews' haircut to see when the Tour Down Under will start.

Critical thinking
Next up, we have the Schleck brothers, who have proven that they are unable to keep their teammates private cell phone numbers off national television, while also not knowing how to spell said teammates' first or last name s. Not only are the Schleck's great spellers, they are also very insightful when it comes to the following impressive list of topics: diet, the affect of said diet on individuals, cycling history, gender identity and questionable cycling folklore.

Don't believe me? Watch the short video below, and be amazed by their ability to work together (as always) to prove how unbelievably bright they are, and how their critical thinking skills have become sharper with time. I hereby present you with Deep Thoughts, with Frank and Andy Schleck.

Ahhh, if only they worked that seamlessly together at the Tour...or at Liege-Bastogne-Liege...or at spelling Jakob Fuglsang's name...or at keeping Jakob Fuglsang's phone number off of national television.

Hopeless
Another sign that it's January, is that the cyclocross U.S. National Championships were contested this past weekend, after having been moved in the calendar. It was while watching coverage of said race that I chuckled a bit, when I saw someone holding a homemade Dirk Hofman Motorhomes sign. The moment I tried to explain why this was even mildly amusing to my wife, I instantly realized how hopelessly enveloped in cycling I am.

"The guy is holding a sign for a motorhome rental business in Europe...only it's not really for that business, because that company has no presence in the United States. He's merely doing it as a joke, because people hold up those signs European races."

She didn't see the humor in it, and I suddenly realized that I was enjoying what amounted to European motorhome humor. It's a pretty small subgenre of motorhome humor, which is otherwise a vast sea of endless jokes that delight young and old alike. As such, I stand by my chuckle upon seeing the sign. Having said that, if any if you ever see me as much as smile because someone in the United States is getting an American rider to sign on of those cheap Skoda hats that the Tour caravan gives out, please shoot me and put me out of my misery.

Steep
Lastly, here's a video that I thought you would enjoy. It has nothing to do with the rest of this post, and I don't have much to say about it. It's just people racing, riding and falling on a cobbled street that is in terrible disrepair, and boasts a 37% grade. If I were ranked among the top ten (or top twenty, or top thirty) cycling bloggers in the world, I would have something funny or insightful to say about this video. But I'm not, so I'll merely share it with you, since I don't have the mental ability to come up with anything to say about it. Remember, I'm the guy who chuckled about someone holding a sign for a motorhome rental company that doesn't exist in the United States. That means that in the grand scheme of things, I'm not far behind the Schleck brothers and their spelling abilities. Scary.

Dirty Dozen Race 2011-Canton Ave from Matt Dayak on Vimeo.

The excitement of hearing the TV helicopter approaching

2012-01-05T06:18:00.000-05:00

I'm not a photographer, nor do I claim to be one. My little digital camera is rather pathetic, as are the pictures I take with it. But sometimes, by sheer luck, a few of the pictures I take turn out to be pretty acceptable (at least I think so). That was the case at this year's Tour of Flanders.

About the pictures:
Since I was in Flanders, I was required by law to take pictures the local flag, shiny legs, riders looking exhausted, middle aged women trying to get into someone else picture of Tom Boonen, young girls admiring Ted King, and a washing machine full of cycling pantaloons. You know, the standard Belgian vistas that everyone admires when visiting that part of the world.

Notice the fact that there are no pictures of the actual race. There's a reason for this, and let me explain it. As I hear the TV helicopter approach at races, my palms start to sweat a bit. I'm overcome with excitement, and the five year old in me can't believe I'm actually standing on the side of the road in Europe, watching a race of this caliber.

Actually, even the adult version of me can't believe it either.

For the most part, I'm simply unable to take pictures as the race goes by, because I fear I'll miss a real moment for the sake of capturing it in a not-so-great picture that I'll end up deleting anyway. I'm overcome with this excitement every time I know the race is coming, despite the fact that I aim to see races go by as many as six or seven times.

Perhaps one day I'll be able to take some pictures during a race. Perhaps a couple of them will be pretty good. If that ever happens, I'll be happy. But I hope I never stop getting excited when I hear the TV helicopter approaching.

And lastly, two unrelated pictures that I didn't take, but go well together. Ruben Dario Gomez on a breakaway at the Vuelta a Colombia in the early 1960s (which I posted not long ago, and was taken by Horacio Gil Ochoa), and Rigoberto Uran training in his native department of Antioquia in 2010.

Les Colombiens: The reason why a whole nation cried uncontrollably

2012-01-02T09:25:00.008-05:00

The cultural significance of the Varta/Colombia team riding the Tour de France in 1984 is something I'm simply unable to explain. The social and political milieu that enveloped that event, and thus produced the outsized response from Colombia's population is as complex as it is painful to relay.

But my inability to fully explain this hasn't stopped me from trying...or from having a blog almost entirely devoted to that pursuit. So it's in that spirit that I share the video below with you. It's easily one of my favorite internet finds in some time.

The video is from French television (1984), and details the rise of Colombia's "exotic" riders at the Tour de France. Aside from being a wonderful time capsule of sorts (which thus includes the prevailing attitudes regarding Colombian riders at the time), the video is of interest to me for several other reasons, which I've listed below the video.

Watch and enjoy:

Details, background information, and where are they now?

1:03
José Beyaert, who was traveling with Colombian radio weighs in. If you don't know who Beyaert was, I urge you to go read this interview with Matt Rendell, which details his unbelievable past in the cycling (and in Colombia). Matt wrote Beyart's biography.

It's worth mentioning that it was in this Tour (1984), that Beyeart "threatened to break Laurent Fignon's jaw on one occasion ...due to Fignon swearing about them [Colombians]" according to Matt Rendell. Beyaert loved Colombia, and decided to stay and live there as a result.

2:00
That Colombians were blamed for crashes on this video doesn't surprise me. Cycling in the 1980s was notoriously closed-off, and whoever the "new guys" were always got the blame. At the Piccolo Giro in 1974, "The Colombians" were blamed, as detailed by Alvaro Pachon. Americans got the same treatment later, as Andy Hampsten mentioned in this interview.

2:37
Jose Clopatofsky is shown (who happens to look a bit like American Ted King), a reporter for the newspaper El Tiempo. Jose is still involved in journalism, and mostly writes about car racing. I should also mention that Jose was friendly with my father back then, as he was (and still is) the editor of Motor Magazine, which my dad wrote for. Small world, small country.

3:13
Is that really Marc Durant from Systeme U? No. The label is wrong. That's Jairo Clopatofsky. Yes, another Colombian with the same last name. He's the cousin of the El Tiempo reporter who appears earlier in the video. Today he is the general director of the Colombia-Coldeportes team. He's had a long career in politics, and was recently interviewed by Cycling News.

4:01
"The Hunchback" that Durant mentions is obviously Fabio Parra, whose position on the bike is still unlike any I've ever seen. In case you're wondering what "The Hunchback" is up to these days, he does very well for himself. During his years with Cafe De Colombia and Kelme, he put himself through college/university (an absolute rarity for someone with is upbringing in rural Boyaca), and today owns a large company that makes plastic containers, including bidons. He has also dabbled in politics from time to time.

4:13
The "Invalid" is Alfonso Florez, who was tragically murdered while going out to buy his daughter a backpack for school in 1992. (Update: The full list of riders in the Colombia-Varta amateur team in 1984: Luis Herrera, Rafael Acevedo, Antonio Agudelo, Samuel Cabrera, Manuel Cardenas, Israel Corredor, Alfonso Florez, Herman Loyaza, Alfonso Lopez, and Abelardo Rios)

4:17
As you watch Marc Durant speak about Martin Ramirez (who signed a contract with Systeme U for the Tour), and refers to him as being a "back hills Arab", notice that he seems surprised by the fact that he can "really ride". Keep in mind that only a month before this interview, Ramirez had won the Dauphiné Libéré against a very much on-form Hinault. He beat the Britton in the mountains, and then in the final time trial for good measure. An amazing feat, when you consider that Ramirez was an amateur, who had never been out of Colombia, let alone raced against professionals of any caliber. First time racing among professionals, he beats Hinault.

Yup, he could really ride. At least Durant puts on a funny/self-effacing voice at the end. Through the whole thing, Ramirez's facial expressions are both endearing and priceless.

Where is Ramirez today? He's married and living happily in Colombia. He continues to ride, and doesn't look much older after all these years. Here's a video interview with him (which is translated into English by the interviewer), where he recounts his victory against Hinault at the Dauphiné Libéré. It's worth mentioning, as I've done before, that Hinault famously paid Pacho Rodriguez to retire from that race so he could win it, only to have Ramirez beat him anyway. Several riders reported having seen Hinault and others in his team trying to crash Ramirez out during the last stages. I talked about this with Matt Rendel, which you can read about here.

5:00
Hector Urrego, the famed Colombian broadcaster and journalist. The one my brother and I listened to on the radio every day doing commentary. Urrego is still a leading voice in Colombian cycling in both radio and print. You can follow him on Twitter here. Tip: Urrego is usually among the first to break news regarding Colombian cycling online. If one of you speaks Spanish, and is a Twitter user, consider sharing this video with him, doubt he's ever seen it.

5:48
Perhaps my favorite moment of the video. Note the man who is overcome with emotion as he screams out "Viva Colombia, Viva Herrera!" with tears streaming down his face. He is not a fan or a family member of Herrera's. He's a member of the Colombian press. One of the men who did daily commentary on the stages at the Tour de France actually. It's worth mentioning that he's overcome with emotion after Herrera finished stage 15 (a hilly stage finishing in Grenoble). So this celebration is as a result of Herrera coming close to winning a stage, but not actually winning. Herrera being close caused this outpouring of emotion (and similar ones all over the country).

It wouldn't be until two days later that Herrera would win his first stage at Alpe D'Huez. Can you imagine how the Colombian press reacted then? Allow me to tell you how they reacted: they cried on the air to the point where it was hard to understand them. They wept and wailed uncontrollably. It was a magical moment. Millions of us listening wept and wailed uncontrollably as well. But those tears were not exclusively shed because of sport, but also because of the complex and horrendous situation that the country was faced with. Cycling was an integral part of the Colombian experience at the time, in a way that is impossible to convey because of its severity. Hence the over-the-top response to such events.

I guess these outbursts were our version of the times when Paul and Phil semi-excitedly said that Armstrong was "dancing on the pedals" to American audiences, or when they almost casually said "Beloki has gone down, and Armstrong has taken to the grass." Needless to say, things were just different in Colombia back then for numerous reasons. Very different, and that's what makes it so hard to explain why an entire nation wept at once in 1984. We were constantly on edge, so mentally exhausted from hardship that we didn't just enjoy cycling. We needed it.

But I see a glimmer of hope from time to time.

As I watched this video for the first time, my American wife sat next to me. She was able to tell that the video, and the memories it represented meant something to me.

When the video ended, the room was suddenly quiet. Out of nowhere, and for god-knows what reason, my wife (who is not interested in cycling at all) suddenly said to me: "Do you want me to tell you the name of every cyclist I know of?" "Sure", I said, half-smiling at the prospect of hearing this unrequested listing of cycling's superstars.

She started to list them, "Rigoberto Uran, Fabio Parra, Sergio Henao, Mauricio Soler, Ramon Hoyos, Lucho Herrera," When she arrived at Herrera, she paused. "You listened to him race on the radio as a kid. He won at Alpe d'Huez." She smiled proudly. Clearly, this is the type of information you gather after being with someone for over twelve years. But I knew that she fully understood what those memories meant to me, and why those moments meant so much to an entire nation. I could tell that she knew.

Sure, it had taken years of me telling numerous stories, of me explaining endless historical events, as well as several trips to Colombia. But she really, really, understood.

While most of the world could not possibly care any less about a subject like Colombian cycling in the 1980s if it tried...it means the world to me. So while cultural differences and a varying levels of interest in subjects like these hold us all apart, it's absolutely fantastic to know that there's hope, and that we can relay these complex sentiments to one another.

And it only takes about twelve years to do so. Not bad.

__________________________________________________________
Lastly
As wonderful as this video is, it would have been of little use or significance to me without a proper translation. While I'm able to get by when I'm in France (foolishly asking for water in French, proudly saying that it should be "without bubbles", or for "a train ticket to" and then pointing to a map), I'm by no means fluent in French. As such, I had to enlist a reader of the blog (who lives in Bali) to help me get an accurate translation of the video. He in turn, recruited a friend from Brittany who was crazy enough to help him/me with this through Skype. Seriously. So thanks to Ruben (this is his blog) for the HUGE help.

I should also mention that a great article of the time which captures an interesting amount of information about the Cafe De Colombia team and Colombia in general (largely due to its unbelievably inaccurate depictions of Colombia) can be found here. The article comes from Mike Spriggs' collection of vintage Winning Magazines, which he posts about on his Gage+DeSoto blog.

Surface reality in contemporary sport

2011-12-29T10:52:00.004-05:00

Buy the book here

A feed zone at the Vuelta A Colombia, design criticism, and Leipheimer's use of the word "orientated"

2011-12-26T09:00:00.001-05:00

by Horacio Gil Ochoa.

Ricardo Ovalle was known as the "Lone Ranger". He lived in the department of Meta, where most of Colombia's meat industry is located, and a place where many ranchers get around by horse.

Seen here at a feed zone in the Vuelta A Colombia in the early 60s, Ovalle is being fed by a team assistant, who sports a custom-made vest with plenty of room for bottles. As you can see, assistants would get off the team truck, and feed riders while running alongside them. Here we see Ovalle getting the old "sticky bocadillo" up a climb. Perhaps we'll see a bit of this time-honored technique during the 2012 season from the Colombia-Coldeportes team.

Speaking of which, perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, but this upcoming season could potentially be an amazing one for Colombian cycling. Sergio Henao is joining Sky, Cayetano Sarmiento is going to Liquigas-Cannondale, and Carlos Betancur might already be in Liquigas...or he might not be. No one knows. He told a Colombian newspaper that he wasn't on November 22nd, and then every English-speaking news outlet said he was joining the team on the 23rd. Regardless, there will also be the Colombia-Coldeportes team to look out for.

That team's jersey, by the way, looks surprisingly like the one I designed for this very blog. Actually, I'm not surprised by the similarity at all, since the Infinite Monkey Theorem clearly states that if you give a monkey some third-rate design software, he will eventually design a cycling jersey. Additionally, if you give two monkeys the same third-rate design software, they will both arrive to a similar solution at some point.

Which reminds me: Cycling Inquisition socks are still available, and small, white jerseys are also (see the right-hand column).

They all ship with bits of bocadillo and panela, both of which are proven to make you a better climber. Guaranteed. Well, not really...but according to one guy, even the design of the jersey is objectionable, so what do I know.

Mary mother of jesus, it's Colombia, not Columbia.

________________________________________________________
Post-Christmas Bonus Content

1. I love seeing what Google searches bring people to this blog.

2. Look, I know that the word "orientated" is technically correct, but my god, even Rickey Henderson cringed when he read this interview with Levi Leipheimer.

The Vuelta a Guatemala: A case study on how differently different we are.

2011-12-20T08:26:00.003-05:00

I can remember it like it was only two weeks ago...and perhaps that's because it was only two weeks ago. It was then that I posted an image of Paris-Roubaix winner Johan Vansummeren and Thomas Dekker in blackface. Like most of my posts, that one was largely ignored by everyone. Luckily, because of my short stature and less-than-stellar personality, I learned how to deal with being ignored at an early age.

So if you were one of the many people who ignored that post, allow me to tell you that it dealt with the topic of cultural differences around the world. In a way, today's post deals with the same topic, but does not feature professional cyclists in blackface. Instead, today's offering highlights more pleasant differences across cultures, all through the lens of the Vuelta A Guatemala.

Exhibit A is the photo above, which was taken at the finish line of a Vuelta A Guatemala stage in the mid 1960s. Yes, the finish line for that stage was a soccer goal. Could the race have ended this way in another country? Perhaps, but it certainly speaks volumes about that time and place. It's specific to the place where it was taken. In my eyes, that's a fantastic achievement when you think of it from today's point of view, a time when homogenization is often seen as "brand consistency".

As much as I like that photograph, I have to say that the short video below is even better. It's better because it shows how small towns in Latin American countries—and the people that live in them—absolutely love both cycling and spectacle. They love a party, a parade, and any reason to be joyous. This is something that my American wife experienced first-hand some years ago, when we spent a Saturday afternoon near the rural town of Nemocón in Colombia. As we were walking down the street, a band went by, playing festive music, as people in the neighborhood came out to dance and sing. The crowd on the street grew as they moved down the block. My wife, having never seen such a thing, rightfully asked what the special occasion was. "Are we here on a special holiday?" "No" I told her, "it's just a Saturday afternoon."

If you've been in small Latin American towns like this, you'll know what I mean. The energy simply can't be compared to anything I've experienced in the United States or Europe. It's uniquely Latin American, because of its honesty. It's not a put on, it's not meant to be ironic, it's not meant to be funny or look good in pictures that will be posted on blogs. So when a cycling race comes to town, it gives people one more reason to celebrate.

It's worth noting that due to all the confetti and balloons, the person who the commentators thought was going to win, was actually passed by another rider, leaving them both a bit confused and surprised.

So, perhaps some of you had never heard of the Vuelta A Guatemala, which is understandable. But I hope that this video gives you an idea of just how important these races are to many other people. In Colombia, the Vuelta A Guatemala has always been thought of as being an important part of the calendar. It's perhaps for this reason that Colombians have won the race more times than riders from any other nationality (Guatemala included). The latest winner, as a matter of fact, is Colombia's Giovanny Baez.

How does a rider from a mountainous country like Colombia know when his weight is optimal for racing at a high level? If the podium girls can pick him up, that's certainly a start, as shown by Baez in Guatemala.

If you want to learn a bit more about the Vuelta A Guatemala, below you'll find some great newsreel footage of the event in 1957 (it's first year).

Some highlights:

at 4:33
The first "leader's sweater" is awarded. The jersey is formally referred to as the "Quetzal Sweater". Quetzal being the Guatemalan currency, and the name of a small bird whose green tail feathers were said to be used as currency by the native population prior to them being colonized.

at 6:19
President Carlos Castillo Armas cheers riders on, and rides along with them on his motorcycle. The announcer states that Castillo Armas is there as a "true Guatemalan", but for obvious reasons chooses not to mention that he was put into power by a CIA-backed coup in 1954 in order to overthrow the democratically elected Jacobo Armenz Guzman. Castillo Armas was assassinated in 1957 while still in power.

at 7:40
An unpaved climb forces riders off their bikes

The second part of the report can be found here.

Lastly, I'd like to say that things may be a bit slow over the next couple of weeks here at Cycling Inquisition. If the last two years are any indication, traffic to the blog will go down dramatically as people take vacation, and endure spending time with family for the holidays. As such, I expect to be back in the New Year, though I may post here and there before then.

In the meantime, you should go listen to my brother's podcast. This latest episode features a guest named @mmmaiko, who judging by her picture on Twitter, appears to be a beauty-conscious house cat. How my brother managed to talk to a cat about cycling, I'll never know...so tune in and listen to his latest feat in cycling broadcasting.

_____________________________________________________
PS:

While cycling fans may be saddened by likely loss of a great athlete in the peloton, I'm certain that Mauricio Soler's family will be happy to have him home and alive for the holidays...regardless of whether he rides again or not. ¡Fuerza Mauricio!

Update:
In the comments section, Steve was kind enough to point out that a video of Mauricio's return to Bogota was just posted on YouTube. In the interview he apologizes for the fact that his voice is not very strong, and that he gets very tired when speaking and walking. He thanks all those in Colombia who stood by him, and mentions that his wife spent the whole time in the hospital sleeping in a couch next to his bed. Please note his parents, who are shown 9 seconds in, are wearing traditional clothing from his home department of Boyaca. His mom stands next to him throughout the interview as well.

The world according to cycling fans, through knowledge gathered on the internet

2011-12-15T08:00:00.001-05:00

Click on the image to enlarge

Pick a watch, any watch. Buying favors and races, and paying for them on the spot.

2011-12-12T04:23:00.002-05:00

Today, the cycling press, and the fans they inform, are all collectively coming to terms with something they both already knew about...that Spanish riders have very pointy sideburns. But more importantly, both are also coming to terms with the fact that apparently races are often bought and sold in cycling (or as Paul Sherwen would say, "in the sport of cycling"). Even though everyone already knew that this happened, some fans are hurt because it gives proof to their family members and co-workers that the sport they love, and wake up early in the morning to watch, is about as real as a Kardashian wedding.

Vino clearly regrets that his email account was hacked as a result of its password being 12345.

Clearly, what makes this latest event interesting is that it features emails by pasta commercial super star Alexander Vinokurov, as well as a Swiss bank account...which according to every action and mystery movie I've ever seen, can only be used for shady business transactions. That, it would appear, is how things are done today. Riders transfer sums of money electronically after the race, in order to pay for goods and services that were agreed upon earlier. So in a way, it's not much different than when any of us buy crappy bike parts on eBay using PayPal money that we made weeks earlier by selling other crappy bike parts.

It should come as no surprise that races which are bought while riding sophisticated carbon fiber bikes require Swiss bank accounts, and electronic communication. In the past, those races that were bought while riders used lugged steel frames had a decidedly more quaint, artisanal, and (if both riders were riding on Campagnolo equipped bikes) even soulful feel to them. That's what this post is about, a time when races and favors were bought and paid for mid-race.

Omar Hernandez won a stage at the Vuelta a España in 1987, and wore the leader's jersey at that same race for ten days in 1989. After he retired, his life descended into a world of severe drug and alcohol abuse, along with numerous violent encounters which often brought him close to getting killed. By his own account, Hernandez was involved in at least three shoot-outs where others tried their hardest to kill him. Eventually, he grew tired of this life, got himself clean, and became a preacher in order to help others with addiction. But before all this, Hernandez rode for the humble and little-known Pierce team in Colombia.

Pick a watch, any watch
The Pierce team was one of the smaller outfits in the Colombian peloton for much of the 1970s and 80s. Sponsored by a watch company that would later sell bikes under the same name, the team helped many of Colombia's most promising riders as they were starting out. When speaking with Colombian riders who raced during Pierce's time, the team comes up often, and always for the same reason. To me, it's one of those unusual but somehow oddly endearing stories that make cycling what it is.

Put simply, Pierce's directors and staffers would pay riders from other teams for favors with watches from their sponsor. But it's the way that these exchanges happened that often make retired cyclists laugh uncontrollably as they remember the details. According to several accounts, the exchanges occurred in the following matter:

1.
Pierce's directors would negotiate with other teams within the race caravan. Perhaps they needed a stage win that day, maybe they wanted help chasing down a breakaway, or they needed help with their leader as he went over a climb. If the other team's director agreed, and a deal was struck.

2.
Once the deal was agreed upon, it was time to pay the riders who would be helping Pierce with their objectives for the day. This meant that one by one, the riders involved in the deal would go back to the caravan, where Pierce's mechanics and directors would be wearing numerous Pierce watches on their left arms, as they rode on team motorcycles. The riders would go back into the caravan, and ride along the Pierce motorcycle, as they picked which watch they would be taking as payment. If Pierce needed help from several teams, staffers would be forced to wear so many watches, that their entire arm (up to their armpit) would be covered in the sponsor's finest timepieces.

Some riders were incredibly picky, and would ride along the motorcycle for long periods of time, not only looking at the watches, but then trying several on before settling on one they liked. One rider who told me about such an incident actually mimicked a teammate who was notoriously indecisive when picking watches. Another person I talked to, who was Pierce's mechanic, pointed out that the director tried to hold on to Pierce as a sponsor for as long as he could, because he knew he'd never find another company whose goods would be so portable, and so well liked by other riders.

He certainly had a point. Telling a rider to go back to the caravan to pick a watch from a Pierce mechanic was probably more appealing than having someone from Agritubel tell you to go back and pick out which cow milking enclosure you wanted. Similarly, I can't imagine many riders wanting to do work for a team like Predictor-Lotto, when all that would be in it for them would be lottery tickets and pregnancy tests. Unless, off course, the rider in question was Tom Boonen, who could readily put both to use.

________________________________________________________
Off topic

A while back, I mentioned that before a race in Medellin, Colombia, I saw riders changing the brand of their bike by simply buying new stickers from an entrepreneurial young man who walked around the parking lot offering his wares. Well, as it turns out, Colombia is not the only place where such a pleasantly cavalier attitude regarding branding and corporate identity is common. The proof below was sent to me by Ruben, a reader of the blog who lives in Bali (Indonesia).

The "h" is silent.

It's all in the details. Details like Jakob Fuglsang's phone number, and Johann Vansummeren wearing blackface.

2011-12-05T11:32:00.013-05:00

As you may remember, my last post dealt with my unbelievable attention to detail, particularly when it comes to photographs I've taken in the past, as well as watching live races through low-quality feeds from Europe. Today's post continues in that now week-long tradition, and further shows that not everyone is as attentive as I am.

Proof
Consider the documentary that a Dutch channel made about Andy Schleck's attempt to win the Tour this year. In that documentary, producers missed a small detail, and failed to realize that broadcasting Jakob Fuglsang's phone number was probably not a very good idea. Similarly, Andy Schleck failed to realize that misspelling his teammate's first AND last name, and then showing it on camera, might not be a good thing.

I've taken the liberty to blur out the last two numbers, since producers didn't. Apparently Dutch television doesn't know that every phone number in the world starts with "555"

It's certainly possible that the number shown on screen is actually for a pizza place in Denmark, and that Fuglsang merely works there during afternoons so that his calls can't be traced. But I guess it's also possible that his phone number was just aired on Dutch television as he called Andy Schleck from his cell phone, in order to meet up before a training ride. It's also possible that Andy Schleck just doesn't know how to spell the name of a guy he will be asking big favors from in July.

Other details
Fuglsang's possible employment at a Danish pizza shop aside, other details are far more obvious and easy to spot. Consider this picture of Lampre riders Damiano Cunego and Alessandro Ballan, which somehow also features CHiPs star, and latino heartthrob Erik Estrada humping a Willier bike.

via Ten Speed Hero

Lastly, I should point out that small details aren't always small details at all. Like when Paris-Roubaix winner Johan Vansummeren, and a recently exonerated* Thomas Dekker wear blackface.

*By the healing and regenerative powers vested in Garmin-Cervelo

via Ciclismo Espresso

After looking at that picture, those you who are worldly and familiar with Dutch and Belgian traditions are surely hurrumphing right now, dying to point out that these two are merely dressed up at Black Pete, Santa's slave (uh...I mean, "helper" or "assistant"). You probably also want to point out that is a tradition which is as old as...welll...as old as slavery and colonization actually.

While the story of Black Pete, and the fact that it makes white Europeans put on blackface has drawn criticism from many, I will now try to put that aside by summoning every bit of me that believes in cultural relativism. Cultural relativism (if you were too lazy to click on the link), dictates that a person's beliefs and activities are best understood by others within that individual's own culture. That means that unless you're not Dutch, you won't fully understand the true significance, meaning, or historical context of why Johann Vansummeren is wearing blackface. It also means that he will never fully understand your objection to it (particularly if you're an American). As such, Vansummeren is not wearing blackface within the American context, but rather dressing up as Santa's "assistant", which is completely accepted within the Dutch milieu. So in a way, cultural relativism is just a way for individuals and entire nations so simply say, "dude, that's not what I meant at all."

Cultural relativism is a concept I personally know well, since I use it often in order to not get grossed out and irate when I see some Americans dip their pizza in ranch dressing. Similarly, it's a concept that my American wife knows well, as she tries hard not to laugh when I tell her that according to my Colombian upbringing it's absolutely impossible for me to hand a salt shaker to her, because it would bring us both incredibly bad luck.

So....since I've been the recipient of cultural relativism's many blessings, why not extend that level of understanding to Andy Schleck, and simply assume that he spells Jakob Fuglsang's name wrong due to his Luxembourgish upbringing? Similarly, let's just tell ourselves that Jakob Fuglsang's eyebrows are normal in Denmark, and not creepy at all due to the severe amount of sculpting they received at the beauty parlor.

And since we've now let Schleck and Fuglsang off the hook, can we also forgive Erik Estrada for humping a bike, and Johann Vansummeren for wearing blackface?

That may prove to be a bit harder to do, since most of us still have trouble with actors sexually assaulting bikes, and cyclists wearing blackface. As it turns out, there's some things that even cultural relativism can't help us resolve.

Image enhancement, incriminating footage, and Vino making pasta

2011-12-01T04:52:00.004-05:00

Long-time readers of the blog may remember a character I unknowingly photographed during my 2010 trip to Paris-Roubaix, who I lovingly refer to as Turbo-Euro:

Turbo-Euro wears Oakley knock-offs from Canal Street for your protection. Why? Because if you were to look directly into his Turbo-Eyes, you would loose consciousness and turn into one of the many cobbles that lines the Arenberg Forest (much like that one Biblical story)

Today, as I was looking through the pictures I took during that trip, I came upon another one that featured Turbo-Euro's intense and fierce visage. Much like the first image (above) this one showed him staring at me directly. Look closely at the picture below, and you'll certainly find him. It's a bit like Where's Waldo...when you see him, you'll rightfully rejoice. Pro tip: look for his signature Euro-Scowl™.

In case you didn't see him, I've zoomed in on his angry Turbo-Face™ with my photo editing software's "enhance" function. See below.

There he is. I assure you that although I've zoomed in on his face, the image was not Photoshoped. He just happens to only have one facial expression, which is apparently directed at me at all times. Lastly, let's look at those two images, with the second one now flipped horizontally, in order to fully show the similarity between the two.

Move over Zapruder film, Turbo-Euro is the new big dog in town. Oh, and speaking of incriminating footage that is used in large-scale investigations, you might remember that I posted a few seconds from this year's Paris-Tours race, after I found something rather unusual happening near the finish.

Well, it turns out that the rider in said footage is now in trouble with French police over the incident. Sadly, my investigative reporting and liberal use of the "enhance" feature on the original footage is not mentioned anywhere on that article. I've been forgotten once again. Let's just hope that when they finally catch Turbo-Euro for staring at tourists menacingly (and possibly turning them into cobblestones), the press will more readily acknowledge my involvement in the matter.

Speaking of mindless staring and lifeless stones, did you see Alexander Vinokourov's acting debut?

Note the one piece of pasta that stubbornly refuses to go into the pot of boiling water. Vino was not pleased by this act of defiance, and quickly made the piece of pasta go into early retirement against its will.

On to a completely different topic, I wanted to take a minute, but not to tell you about how I became the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Instead, I want to thank some of the blogs and people who have kindly directed traffic to my lowly corner on the interweb. From time to time, I curiously check to see how people end up here, and more often than not, it's one of these places that referred them here. They are (in no particular order):

All Hail The Black Market
Mr Stevil has been very kind to me, and didn't even laugh at my adult braces when we met in San Francisco earlier this year. Can a man in my position ask for anything more?

The Inner Ring
Like you, I don't really know who is behind this blog...but the fact that he put a link to my blog on his sidebar continues to bring traffic to Cycling Inquisition, for which I'm extremely thankful.

Mr Bill Strickland
Herr Strickland is kind of a big deal. He has been kind enough to mention this blog on his Twitter account several times, thus driving a good few of you here.

Bikesnob
The largest spikes in readership that this blog sees are all courtesy of Bikesnob, who is without a doubt a big macher in the blogging universe. It was interesting to see that the number of people who came here after George Hincapie mentioned the blog on Twitter a while back was nearly tripled a week later when one Mr Bikesnob made a similar remark on the popular social media service. That means that Mr Bikesnob is more important than George, and thus very likely to win Paris Roubaix. Oh, I should also mention that Bikesnob was kind enough to not laugh at my bike when I rode with him through the streets of Manhattan some time ago.

Cycling Tips
This blog is written by a guy who lives in some sort of bizarro world where winter is summer and summer is winter. He tried to explain this to me (something having to do with jet streams, gulf streams, or chamois creams), but I didn't fully get it. Perhaps I didn't understand because this blog bills itself as a "journal", thus making it way outside my reading comprehension (which is roughly that of a third grader).

Skullkrusher
He's my brother. His Twitter account, and podcast continue to bring this blog much needed readership. The fact that he still talks to me, even after I told this story about him pooping his pants is a testament to how great of a person he is.

Boulder Report
I thought Boulder Report was the name of a scholarly journal that my father-in-law (a geologist) subscribed to. Not so. Turns out that it's a cycling blog that continues to send readers my way, while providing quality content that simply can't be found in other places. Now if they could just lower the number of ads for subscribing to Bicycling Magazine on the blog to only thirty per page...

Bike Jerks
I don't know who runs this blog, although it appears to be from Minneapolis. I don't know much about Minneapolis, except that Prince lives there. I don't know much about Prince, except that I may or may not be taller than him. Bike Jerks has been sending readers to Cycling Inquisition almost from the very start of this blog. Perhaps it's just a few people who use their site to get to blogs, because they haven't learned how to use the bookmarking function on their browser...but I'll take the clicks anyway I can get them.

Gage + Desoto
I've never met Mike, who runs this blog and cycling empire in person, but he seems like a fantastic guy who probably has above-average hygiene and good posture. Like the other blogs and people on this list, he has consistently sent readers my way for some time.

Matt Rendell
Matt has been incredibly kind and generous to me in many ways, even though I only met him in person once for all of ten minutes. Every time he mentions the blog on Twitter, I see a nice group of people who end up here as a result.

Hampsten Cycles
Ever since I interviewed Andy Hampsten, the blog for the bike company that he and his brother run has consistently sent people my way. For some, Andy's courageous ride over the Gavia pass remains a high point in his career. I disagree. While that moment was certainly of great importance, I think Hampsten Cycles putting a link to my blog on theirs will be seen by historians as having a much greater impact in the long run. Seriously.

I may have forgotten others, but these are the ones that most readily come to mind as a result of the ongoing traffic they bring. So now let me ask you, how did you first come to this blog?

The Rigoberto Urán Cycling Club

2011-11-28T11:00:00.002-05:00

After twenty one years of existence, the cycling club that changed Rigoberto Urán’s life—the one that took him in and helped him become a professional after his father was brutally gunned down in his native Urrao—nearly came to an end last year. There was a general lack of organization, and an unwillingness to do the work necessary to continue a cycling club in a town like Urrao. Suddenly, it looked as though two decades of cycling tradition in would be coming to an end.

It was then that Juan Carlos Cuervo stepped in to make sure that the club would continue. He had known Rigoberto Urán for over ten years, and through him knew what the club was capable of. As Rigoberto's story proved, the club's importance within Urrao went well outside the realm of sport. It was with this in mind that Juan Carlos organized events to help raise money for the club, including raffles and fruit cocktail stands throughout town. His devotion to the club and its young members was undeniable. Those who previously ran the club, as well as its young members, recognized Juan Carlos’ leadership and commitment instantly, and he was voted in as the club's president.

Juan Carlos Cuervo

Today, his dedication for the club continues, as he continues to seek financial help for basic items that the member's families simply can't afford. Juan Carlos has also helped strengthen the relationship between Rigoberto Urán and the club (the club is now officially called The Rigoberto Urán Cycling Corporation as a result). Aside from funding much of the club, Rigoberto rides with them when he's in town, and passes on the many lessons that he's learned during his time as a professional. Rigoberto also serves as inspiration to its nearly forty members, since they all know his story very well. Logically, they look up to him, and follow him as he races in Europe. As Juan Carlos puts it, “For the kids, seeing Rigoberto at the Tour this year was absolutely euphoric. It meant so much to them, and gave them great pride to see him race like that.”

While Rigoberto's inspiration and knowledge is helpful to these young cyclists, Juan Carlos is quick to point out that because of where the members live, the club’s mission extends well outside of cycling. “Our members come from very, very poor families. They struggle on a daily basis along with their families just to live. So their lives are very difficult at a very young age. It’s for this reason that our goal is to help them grow as cyclists, but more importantly to grow as people. We want to keep them away from the problems that surround them, including drugs and alcohol abuse, and many other bad things that they can get into around here. They have to gain values that will help them build Colombia into a better society.”

It’s a lofty goal for a small cycling club...to build Colombia into a better society. But with Rigoberto’s inspiration and Juan Carlos' hard work, it's certainly possible. After all, Rigoberto's path in life (which you can read about here), is itself proof of what cycling is capable of. So why not?

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Three other things:

1.
I'm currently working on ways that people outside of Colombian can support the club, and its members. Part of the difficulty comes from the fact that sending goods to Colombia through the mail is not reliable. Using delivery services such as FedEx can be insanely expensive (as an example, sending a small book to a family member recently was going to cost me well over 100 dollars. A box of used cycling clothing could cost nearly 300 or 400 dollars). As such, I'm working on several options to help Juan Carlos and the club. Please stay tuned for more details.

2.
This was originally published in Road Magazine

3.
Though I've posted this video before, I think it's worth sharing again since it addresses a similar subject to the above. As I did the first time around, let me clarify that the six thousand dollar price tag discussed on this video comes as a result of how much cycling goods cost in Colombia, not because this young man wants an over-the-top super bike.

The rules said nothing about a horse or its tail

2011-11-24T08:08:00.003-05:00

You can read my interview with Álvaro Pachón (which does not include this incident) here.
By the way, it's worth mentioning that the climb where this incident took place (called Letras) is over 50 miles long if you go up the whole way. It rises from 600 to 3,600 meters in elevation.

_________________________________________________
Off topic:

Today in the United States, we are celebrating Thanksgiving Day. Having not grown up with this holiday, the whole thing is absolutely meaningless to me. Come to think of it, even the holidays I grew up with are largely meaningless to me as well. I do have one memory of Thanksgiving, which I think about often around this time of year. Allow me to share it with you.

After two years of living in the United States, my father, a mechanical engineer who spoke multiple languages, was still unable to find work aside from packing eggs, and doing hard labor at a coal sorting facility. He did both jobs with pride, but struggled with the fact that he didn't make enough to feed our family of five. Not even close. Our savings were depleted, and things were getting worse...particularly for my parents.

Two years into this situation, we found ourselves living in a two bedroom apartment with another family. Twelve of us lived there (something I've mentioned before on the blog). Times were tough.

My aunt decided to host a Thanksgiving dinner that year, to which she invited us and other members of our family. No one in my immediate family wanted to attend, my parents included. Our collective mood was at an all-time low, and since the holiday meant nothing to us, we'd much rather sit and stare at a wall somewhere than attend. But my aunt wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

As we sat down to eat, all the adults were given a chance to say what they were thankful for. Some spoke of sizable bonuses at work, new homes, cars and trips. When it was my father's turn, he said he'd rather pass, and told my elder cousin to continue. My aunt said he was not allowed to pass, "you have to be thankful for something", she said in an accusatory tone.

My father declined again, but she wouldn't let it go. He was clearly not in the mood. None of us were. He took a deep breath, and in a determined but solemn tone said,

"I'm thankful for the fact that I can't afford to feed my family, or pay for us to have a place to live. Amen." He looked at my aunt, "Are you happy now?"

The room got quiet. And in that moment, father became a bit of a hero to me. Perhaps that speaks to my rather dark sensibilities, but I nodded in approval.

A staring contest

2011-11-21T05:03:00.002-05:00

Typical Colombian road. Sent in by a reader a long time ago.

I sat at an industrial desk, one with a shiny laminate top, across from a cyclist who had retired from the sport long ago. I knew I was in trouble when I noticed the large puddle of sweat that my right hand was generating as it rested on the desk. Because I noticed this, I was instantly committed to leaving my hand exactly where it was. I didn't want to show the shameful puddle that my hand was creating. I didn't want to reveal how nervous I was. I had been invited into his office for the interview, and there I sat sweating, all because I knew that my last question would not go down well.

Not knowing what my last question would entail, he spoke casually, smiling as he told me a story I would not remember, were it not for the fact that I was recording the interview. I was too preoccupied with that last question, so I lost track of the conversation. A clear sign of my amateur status as an interviewer. But I couldn't help myself. I felt like I was about to sucker punch him. I wanted to know about a positive test dating back some thirty years, as well as a couple of races that were bought and sold.

Why ask about this? Did I think I would win some kind of medal or award for uncovering a part of cycling that absolutely everyone already knows about? No. Was I playing the part of sports journalist, thinking that the tough questions simply had to be asked? I don't think so. I was merely curious. I didn't want to get an answer in order to judge this person. His answer would not affect my image of him. While I respected his achievements on the bike, he was not a hero to me. Additionally, I've always understood that these things are part of cycling, so I merely wanted to know more.

Asking the question
I had spent forty minutes drawing someone closer, developing trust, and letting him know that I understood the sport, while trying to ask pertinent questions that answered my many curiosities. But when I looked down at my piece of paper to read the question (not that I needed to, because I knew it well), I revealed myself as exactly what I was and will always be: a curious outsider.

Photo: Charles "Teenie" Harris, circa 1965

I asked it. I made no judgement, but prefaced the question with every single kind word I could think of in order to soften the blow. But the damage was done. Trying to soften the question was a bit like covering an anvil with a napkin before slamming someone's face into it. It's a nice gesture, but it really doesn't help much. My question was a meandering mess, which combined several uncomfortable queries into one.

It didn't go over well, and my attempt to make the question easier only managed to enlarge the puddle of sweat under my hand.

There was no anger in his voice after I asked. It was far worse. There was no voice or sound at all. The room became silent. I realized that I was suddenly involved in a staring contest, and I was going to lose. He was not going to answer or make a sound. A million thoughts raced through my mind. I reminded myself that I wasn't asking because I wanted to judge him, but rather as a result of my curiosity about the sport, and its historically closed-off nature when it comes to such topics. Nevertheless, this was now a staring contest.

I blinked first.

I backed off from the question dismissively. The awkwardness went away. We continued to talk as if nothing had happened.

Why ask?
Listening back to the recording of that conversation, I now realize that the eternal silence after my question was not actually that long. It was a handful of seconds. In retrospect, and despite of how awkward those fleeting moments were, I don't regret asking the question. I do regret how quickly I backed down though....but what can you do.

I didn't ask it under the delusion that I'm some kind of anti-doping superhero. I'm not an investigative reporter out to clean things up. That's an important role I suppose, but my goals are not that lofty. I asked the question out of sheer curiosity, the same curiosity that leads many cycling fans to study and dissect every aspect of a sport that has always been replete with shadowy lore. I generally knew how things happened, but wanted to hear specifics. I got none.

The idea of races being sold, favors being bought, stages being gifted, along with the shadowy underworld that includes doping are an interesting and ever-present part of the sport. While ongoing discussions about doping often bore me (in part because they are conducted by people with little knowledge but sizable bravado), behind the scenes specifics about these things does interest me.

Perhaps it's unfair to group all these things (races being sold with doping and the like), but I merely do so because they are the subjects that my question addressed. They are, obviously, very different matters. But in a sense, they are just a few items on a long list of topics that professional cyclists simply don't talk about. At least not very often.

Robert Millar and his Peugeot director speak about buying help

A fractured life
The cyclists I've met who race or have raced at high levels don't much care for speaking about such things, and for obvious reasons. The general public understands sports and racing in one singular way. The fast guy wins because he's better, period. Reality, is much more complicated, and includes aspects that we see, and some that we don't see. As a result, reality can be downright messy...and who wants to convey that? Not many. The saying says that you can enjoy sausage but don't want to know how it's made. As it turns out, there aren't many willing to give a tour of the factory either.

Perhaps it's for this reason that we often read accounts by women who were married to cyclists, or people who were very close friends to professionals who never knew much about large portions of their friend's or husband's lives. This is something that comes up often, as individuals with nothing to lose admit to feeling cheated by how they were left in the dark.

We all have some secrets, or topics we don't enjoy talking about (for me, adult braces, and the fact that my wife is four feet taller than me are certainly touchy subjects). That's understandable. But I often wonder just how fractured the lives of professional cyclists are. Some parts of their lives remain secret, only to be discussed among others who have also been initiated into a small fraternity. Outsiders simply wouldn't understand. They are adults, discussing adult matters, as children eat at a separate table, obliviously enjoying the pageantry of adult interaction . It's the way things are. It's perhaps for that reason that many continue to wonder, so others continue to ask. More importantly, it's for this reason that I think I'll be creating many more puddles on people's desks as I get ready to ask those questions. Maybe next time, I won't blink first.

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Off topic:

1.
Robert Gesink is doing what all over Gilbert?

2.
Photos of people wearing their Cycling Inquisition attire continue to come in.

I'm not really sure who this Cancellara look-alike is, but I approve of his sock choice.

What's better than living in Bali? Living in Bali and owning a Cycling Inquisition jersey of course.

CI jersey, spotted out in the wild in Australia

If you want to join this elite group of fashionable cyclists, there's still time. White jerseys in size small remain, as do socks in both sizes. Click here if you want to order.

They called her "mom"

2011-11-16T04:43:00.003-05:00

No one ever knew her name. But all the riders knew who she was. They called her "Mom" as they embraced her, and thanked her for her thoughtful gifts: small paper bags filled with fruit and snacks for the day's arduous stage. She was a fixture at the beginning of every race in the city of Manizales through much of the 1960s.

People noted that she wore black from head to toe. At the time, this was indicative of the fact that she was mourning someone's passing. But who did she mourn?

There was an air of sadness about her, but it always lifted when races like the Vuelta a Colombia came to town. She suddenly had a purpose. Riders looked forward to getting their bags of fruit from her, and thanked her accordingly. Perhaps she knew that these young Colombian men missed their mothers while on the road (Colombian men have always been notorious "mama's boys"). Perhaps she too missed someone.

With Cochise Rodriguez

With Ariel Betancur

With Carlos Arturo Rueda, "The Voice of the Vuelta a Colombia"

With Manuel Puerto, winner of the first U23 Vuelta a Colombia (1968)

(Photos by Horacio Gil Ochoa)

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times: recent additons to one of my many collections

2011-11-14T02:19:00.001-05:00

In an earlier post, I mentioned a longish climb (by local standards) that is part of my daily commute. On that climb, I often find myself looking down as I ride slowly, and have thus found money, smashed cell phones and several other items on the road . As it turns out, riding very slowly uphill can literally pay off, particularly when you find a ten dollar bill on your way to work. It was near that climb that I also came up on an amazing still-life not long ago, one which spoke volumes about America's youth and its gregarious spirit. Either that, or it spoke of a depressing night that consisted of cheap beer and an Aerosmith cassette.

As exciting as these finds have been, it's hand written notes that most often catch my attention. I stop when I see any piece of paper, in hopes that it will contain notes like the ones below. These are my most recent finds. I have several more like them, all of which must come from one of several school bus stops along that long-ish climb. Have any of you found any notes or items like this while riding?

Exhibit A:

This person's strategy for dealing with bullies is valid, but I still feel that the approach I took during my youth was far better. I chose to take severe beatings with panache, and thus became my school's de facto, foreign-born punching bag. It may not work for everyone, but it got me through those first years in the United States...and just look at me now!

Exhibit B:

In the world of literature, few first lines have managed to compete with the likes of, "Call me Ishmael", and "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times". At least that was the case until I found this note. In plainly stating "Talking about stuff", Gina leaves the door wide open to any number of adventures that this note may take us on. Sadly, much like the Schleck brothers trying to win anything, the note fails to deliver on its promising start. Unlike a Schleck loss, however, this note does manage to give us something worth mentioning after the fact, namely the fact that it was penned on the back of a very sizable receipt from a local bowling alley. That may not seem very exciting at all, but when you compare it to a boring loss by the Shclecks, it actually seems downright thrilling.

Exhibit C:

Having endured much taunting as a young man (my sizable mullet, gold chain and abundant Brut cologne didn't go unnoticed by my fellow seventh graders), I certainly sympathize with Gracie's plight. They stole her Nintendo DS, which is terrible. I remember when a kid in the school bus tried to take my Walkman, along with the Slayer tape that was in it. So while I understand her anger, I'd strongly ask Gracie to reconsider her friendship with La-La, who appears to be a world-class psychopath with a taste for violent torture the likes of which has not been witnessed since the Saw, Saw II, III, IV, V, VI and/or Saw 3D.

Lastly, I wanted to share this video with you, even though it has nothing to do with cycling. Why? Because like me, you've probably heard that the roads in Flanders are narrow, challenging and potentially dangerous for bike racing. Having ridden my bike there at decidedly non-race speeds, I must agree with that notion. But watch the video below, and fast forward to about 8 minutes to see the other Tour of Flanders. Enjoy.

Water

2011-11-10T04:52:00.005-05:00

Photography by Horacio Gil Ochoa.

Doble A San Jeronimo 1962

Vuelta a Guatemala 1970

Vuelta a Colombia 1966

Vuelta a Colombia 1963

Vuelta a Colombia circa 1963

Terrorist attacks, podiums, and the DEA's involvement in targeted assassinations. The life and death of cyclist Gonzalo Marín.

2011-11-07T09:25:00.005-05:00

Bogotá, December 6, 1989

I preface today's post, as I have with others that delve into Colombia's difficult history, by stating that much has changed since the events I will detail herein occurred. While many Colombians rightfully shy away from these episodes, in fear that those in other countries will only focus on our negative past, I trust that readers of this blog know that Colombia cannot be encapsulated or understood by these episodes alone. Colombia has undergone an unbelievable renaissance over the last fifteen years or so, one that has to be experienced in order to be understood or believed. Additionally, the amount of beauty and kindness that exists in Colombia and its people is seldom documented, and its for that reason that I write about Colombian cycling in this blog. Having said that, Colombia's cycling history is truly unlike any other, and must be told as a result.

Gonzalo Marín is but one example of how different Colombian cycling can be. I say this because it's not often that a leading cyclist retries in order to become a member of one of the largest, most murderous crime organizations in the world, then orders an enormous terrorist attack (one of the biggest in Colombian history), and in turn gets assassinated by a vigilante group that may have been funded and made up of DEA agents. At least I don't think that's what most cyclists do when they retire.

Apathetic
In the three months leading up to December 6, 1989, there had been 295 violent attacks in Colombia, which national authorities deemed as being "terrorist acts". These ranged from violent executions, to bombings, and mass murder. To say that the nation was oddly jaded and numb to the amount of violence we endured would be an understatement. We had all become hardened by the current situation we lived in, and casually discounted these reports in order to get through the day. At least that's what I think we did, because so few of these events made an impression on me. They were, sadly, a constant hum that we all became accustomed to.

Much of this violence was committed under direct orders of two individuals: Pablo Escobar and Gonzalo Rodriguez Gacha*. These the two leading drug traffickers were determined to make the Colombian government back down from their plan to allow extradition to the United States (where the legal system was difficult to buy off or scare into lesser sentences). It was for that reason that 295 attacks had been perpetrated in only three months during the end of 1989. Escobar and Gacha were determined to make the government back down by influencing public opinion through fear. But in a sense, the endless bombings had the opposite effect. Colombians turned numb. It would take a substantial attack to wake us from our slumber. On December 6, 1989, the entire country put aside its apathetic outlook and finally took notice.

*By 1989, Gacha had grown from being a small time thug in Colombia's emerald mines, to being one of the richest and most violent drug traffickers in the world. In the book Olympic Gangster, Matt Rendell details the relationship between Gacha and French gold medal-winning cyclist José Beyaert. I spoke with Matt about this topic, and you can read about it here.

Miguel Alfredo Maza Márquez

The target
The Administrative Department of Security (DAS), is Colombia's primary intelligence agency, which carries out anti-terrorist and anti-paramilitary operations. In 1989, the DAS was led by Miguel Maza Márquez, seen at the time as the lone reliable pursuant of men like Pablo Escobar. In 1989, Colombian officials were easy to buy off, but Maza Márquez appeared to be out of reach. He couldn't be bought, and thus became a primary target for narco-terrorists like Escobar and Gacha.

In the morning of December 6, 500 kilograms of dynamite were detonated in front of the DAS building. The bomb (which was concealed in a small public transit bus) was timed to coincide with Maza Márquez's arrival to the DAS building. Only he wasn't in the office that day. 104 people died, with over 600 being seriously injured. The size of the blast, and (perhaps more importantly) its intended target, made all of Colombia take notice. It had only been months since another carbomb had been detonated in an attempt to kill Maza. Escobar's attacks, and the high level of its targets made the public uneasy.

Front page of Bogotá's El Tiempo newspaper the day after the attack. Note the unusual tone of the headline, which reads "Narco-terrorists turn Bogotá into Beirut"

Short video about the December 6th bombing

After the attack, investigations quickly led Police to Escobar and Gacha. But it would take years to untangle the specifics of how the attack had been carried out, and who had been involved in its execution. In 1993, as the investigation came to a close, and its findings were published, one unusual name came up in the list of those who were responsible. It was a name that Colombian cycling fans knew well: Gonzalo Marín.

Gonzalo "Chalo" Marín, riding for a team sponsored by one of Pablo Escobar's political campaigns.
[Picture scanned from the book Kings of The mountains]

"Chalo"
Gonzalo Marín, a native of Antioquia, had raced at the highest level of the sport in Colombia for much of the 1970s. During that time he had earned podium placings at the Vuelta a Colombia (in 1972, and 1978), and had also worn the leader's jersey for days, while taking several stages along the way. Unlike other Colombian cyclists of the time, Marín was one of the few who raced in Europe. "Chalo" as family and fans alike referred to him, had led a young Colombian squad at the Piccolo Giro in 1974. During that race, the Colombian team was dominant, and took several stages, while Marín would eventually finish second in the overall (his teammates finishing third and fourth as well). The team's performance provided a huge boost to Colombian cycling, at a time when many wondered how their abilities compared to those in European countries.

Front page of El Bogotáno newspaper. Marín is pictured in the middle (Alvaro Pachon to his right). The wording of the headline, intended to demonstrate the level of dominance that the young team led by managed in Italy, would prove to be prophetic. It states that the team led by Marín flattened or destroyed the competition. The word "arrasó", which means to obliterate or literally flatten, is usually reserved for descriptions in wartime scenarios where buildings are brought down by bombs, leaving a decimated terrain behind.

A ruthless climber in the great Colombian tradition, "Chalo" raced for the Bicicletas Ositto team, under the direction of Roberto Escobar (Pablo Escobar's brother). Ositto was a bike company co-owned by both Roberto and his brother. The Ositto team (later Freskola-Bicicletas Ositto) was built around Marín, who had known the Escobars for some time, and had also raced in smaller teams sponsored by Pablo's political campaigns for public office(a pastime that Escobar enjoyed before the source of his sizable income was known by the public). Additionally, Gonzalo Marín's cousin was Escobar's brother-in-law. In a world were few could be trusted, Marín was family to Escobar. How close the two were was not obvious until sometime in 1993 however, when results from the DAS bombing investigation were released.

The findings stated that the primary organizer of the attack, the man who authorized the bombing was Gonzalo Marín.

Suddenly, Marín's old sporting nickname ("Chalo") was reported on as being his alias in the criminal underground. His links to Escobar were well known, but no one suspected that the cyclist—who hundreds greeted at the airport upon his return from the Piccolo Giro in '74‚—had ordered one of the most horrific and potentially destabilizing terrorist acts in Colombian history.

Prior to me knowing this, I had asked several retired professionals about Marín, and each time my questions were met with complete silence, along with an occasional shake of the head. No one would speak about him, thus showing that the concept of omertà within cycling can sometimes extend past doping innuendo, and back to its original meaning. At least in Colombia.

From El Tiempo newspaper the day after the attack. Text reads: "The worst terrorist attack to date. 7:20am, death, horror and destruction.

Murdered
By 1993, when Marín was singled out as the primary director of the December 6th bombing (albeit under orders from Escobar), he had been dead for some time.

On April 25th, 1990, Gonzalo Marín was brutally murdered, something that had barely been reported on by Colombian news sources, even with Marín's relative celebrity status as a retired cyclist. At that point, the assassination of yet another Colombian cyclist was hardly news, so few paid attention. Many professionals (retired or not) had been brutally murdered by then (which you can read about here), so what was another one?

Pablo Escobar behind the wheel of a Porsche race car. Note the sponsorship of Ositto bikes

But as it turned out, Marín's death was different, and not just because of his later involvement in the December 6th bombing that killed over 100. While other cyclists had been killed by drug traffickers, Marín's death came about because of his connection to traffickers, namely to Pablo Escobar and the Medellin Cartel.

Marín was found dead in a barbershop, strangled, and his body showed clear signs of torture. All his belongings had been taken, but one item had purposefully been left in one of his pockets. It was a paper ticket showing that he had visited someone at the maximum security prison in nearby Itagui. It was there that Roberto Escobar (Pablo's brother, and Marín's old team director) was then incarcerated for weapons violations, trafficking, extortion, kidnapping, illicit enrichment, and his connection to the deaths of 4000 people.

Los Pepes
Marín's murder was quickly attributed (and later claimed) by a group known as Los Pepes (which stood for People Persecuted by Pablo Escobar). Los Pepes were a vigilante group composed of Pablo Escobar's enemies, who ruthlessly murdered those related to Escobar, as well as any lawyers, accountants or anyone else who had ties to the drug kingpin or his family. These murders were brutal, sometimes killing as many as five people at a time through shootings, strangulation, bombings, or creative methods meant to shock and scare Escobar. In every case, clues (like the ticket in Marin's pocket) or simple explanations were left with the bodies. These explanations often came in the form of crudely handwritten signs. One such sign, left around the neck of a victim read:

Killed as a result of working for the narco-terrorist and baby-killer Pablo Escobar.

For Colombia,
- Los Pepes"

While another stated:

I watched over people who were kidnapped by Roberto Escobar.

- Los Pepes

The public wanted to know who Los Pepes were. Who were these brutal vigilantes, the only ones who were standing up to the most feared man in Colombia (and possibly the world), who appeared to be out of his reach?

Sign left with a victim by Los Pepes, which reads:
"Menial straw man/front and instigator of kidnappings in the service of Pablo Escobar, - Pepes"

Connections to the DEA and the CIA
Many in Colombia quietly rejoiced as Los Pepes continued to torture and murder individuals connected to Escobar. That their acts were reprehensible (not to mention illegal) mattered little at a time when the social contract had long been considered null and void. It was clear that the police and government were unable (or unwilling) to bring Escobar and his men to justice, so Los Pepes and their violent actions became popular with many.

Eventually, however, some astute journalists and politicians began to realize that Los Pepes seemed to be acting on high level intelligence that was in no way available to common citizens, or even well-connected thugs. Los Pepes, it would appear had access to classified information held by elite forces at the national police.

The truth, however, was far more sinister.

What many feared then, became clear in subsequent years. Los Pepes were not only receiving information from Colombia's national police, they were also partially made up of Colombia's top agents. Additionally, Los Pepes were in direct contact with DEA operatives, who at times may have also participated in, and perhaps funded those murderous outings (like the one in which Gonzalo Marín was killed).

Today, only one paramilitary leader admits to having been a members of Los Pepes, but it's commonly believed that the vigilante group, DEA agents, and the national police were all one and the same. Further information became available when the CIA released several documents on the matter, as reported in Mike Bowden's investigative book Killing Pablo.

The connection
It's at this point that I must take a step back, and alert you to the fact that the connection between the DEA and Los Pepes has been well documented in the Colombian press, and is common knowledge throughout Colombia. In the United States, however, people are understandably more careful about making this connection, though reports on the matter have appeared in reputable newspapers such as the Philadelphia Inquirer.

Nevertheless, and in order not sound like a raving lunatic who believes in conspiracy theories, and to to err on the side of caution, I'll simply quote the report published by The National Security Archive (a non-profit research institution located in the George Washington University, which publishes declassified U.S. government files concerning topics of US foreign policy) on the matter:

While it is certain that the Task Force was exchanging information with Castaño [leader of Los Pepes] and Los Pepes, we do not know how long the Task Force maintained these ties and whether the relationship was sanctioned—either tacitly or explicitly—by U.S. participants in the Task Force, the Embassy, or at a more senior level of the U.S. government...Unfortunately, the vast majority of U.S. diplomatic and intelligence reporting on Los Pepes remains classified."

A video from the History Channel based on Bowden's book, in which key agents from the DEA, and the ambassador to Colombia at the time speak on the matter.

For what it's worth, here's a portion from the Wikipedia entry about Los Pepes:

Links to authorities

There are reports that Los Pepes had ties to members of the Colombian National Police, especially the Search Bloc (Bloque de Búsqueda), with whom they exchanged information in order to execute their activities against Escobar.^[3] According to documents released to the public by the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) in 2008, "Colombian National Police director General Miguel Antonio Gómez Padilla said 'that he had directed a senior CNP intelligence officer to maintain contact with Fidel Castano, paramilitary leader of Los Pepes, for the purposes of intelligence collection.'"^[4] Indirectly, it is surmised the Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) funded some of these missions as DEA agents were, at times, included in raids conducted by Los Pepes and some of the reward money for tips came from DEA pockets.^{[citation needed]}

Los Pepes is also strongly tied to Centra Spike, a covert ops group that was heading, in large part, the hunt for Pablo Escobar. There is evidence that Los Pepes acted on CIA/DEA/Delta Force intelligence to launch their missions.^[5] This actually became some concern for the U.S. as it appeared they would be linked to some of the retaliation acts linked to cutting off Escobar's power (most of these attacks were against his sources of money and negotiations with the government; i.e. his lawyers).^[6]

In closing
As I read through this post, I realize how often Pablo Escobar comes up in this blog. I don't mean for that to happen, but I was introduced to cycling in the 1980s, and that remains a time in the sport's history that interests me greatly. It was then (and into the early 90s) that Escobar's connections to the sport were strongest. Anywhere I look, Escobar comes up again and again.

I also realize that I've placed a good bit of emphasis on the likely connection between the DEA and Los Pepes on this post. I did so in the spirit of proving the veracity of that part of this story.

Lastly, as unusual as Marin's story may seem, it simply illustrates something that Gabriel Garcia Marquez said during his acceptance speech for the Nobel Prize (something that I've paraphrased often on this blog):

Colombian writers and dreamers have had to ask very little of their imagination, because Colombia's reality is far more amazing than the fiction which others can possibly dream up.

__________________________________________________________
Additional reading and sources:

Article from El Tiempo detailing the murder of Marín (in Spanish)

Article from El Tiempo naming Marin as having given the orders for the December 6th bombing (in Spanish)

Article from El Tiempo again naming Marin for his role in the December 6th bombing (in Spanish)

Article from the Philadelphia Inquirer detailing the connections between US intelligence and Los Pepes (in English)

Report from the National Security Archive on the connection between the DEA and Los Pepes, based on declassified reports by the CIA (in English)

Article from the highly regarded Semana magazine regarding the DEA connection with Los Pepes. This article places the beginnings of Colombia's ongoing paramilitary problem squarely at the feet of the DEA, due to its connection and possible funding of Los Pepes (in Spanish).

Article regarding Roberto Escobar's multi-million dollar stud-horse being castrated by Los Pepes (in Spanish)

LeMond beat him to the punch

2011-11-03T04:34:00.004-04:00

Buy the book

The one that made it

2011-10-31T05:20:00.002-04:00

I was eleven then, and there were many things about me which probably caused others to laugh. My well-manicured mullet, my fashionable gold chains, and/or my excessive use of Brut cologne. The strangers that were rummaging through my belongings, however, were finding new things to laugh at. How could anyone think that my extensive collection of Lamborghini Countach posters was funny? It was unsettling to see all those people going through all these objects that I loved. They tossed some things aside dismissively, snickering at some, while putting others in bags in order for buy them for next to nothing. My family was moving to the United States, and each of us was only allowed to take a painfully small amount of items along for the trip. So we had opened up our house to strangers, who now walked around every room, taking whatever they wanted, as we stood by. The list of things that I saw people buy for almost nothing during those sales continues to break my heart to this day. Childhood memories, prized family heirlooms, irreplaceable items that had miraculously made it through countless generations. Whatever didn't sell was thrown out. I guess our move to the United States was seen as a positive opportunity by some, but to me it felt like we were on a sinking ship, and we were throwing priceless goods overboard to lighten the load.

Over the years, I've second-guessed the choices I made leading up to our move (aside from my gold chain and Brut cologne). The things I chose to bring, and those I had to leave behind. I obsess over the childhood items that I no longer have, but always try to remind myself that I was a kid then. How could I possibly know what items I would lament losing once I became an adult?

Every once in a while, however, I come upon an item that miraculously made it to the United States for some unknown reason. Against all odds, something that should have been thrown out, made it. The wrench photographed above is one such item. After my father's passing several years ago, I inherited his beloved tools, as well as the cabinets they were kept in. Deep inside a drawer in one of those cabinets (one that I open, and go through all the time) I recently found this wrench. Somehow I had never seen it there.

The wrench, at the end of the day, is a rather humble item. These wrenches were given out for free by Colombian bikes shops in the early 1980s, along with the purchase of a bike. This one, with it's proud "Made in Germany" stamp, was probably given to my parents when they bought a bike for Christmas for one of us. It's made cheaply, and bends easily. It's the wrench I used with my brother as we adjusted the handlebars on our BMX bike (making them parallel with the ground) in order to pretend we were Lucho Herrera during a time trial.

It's the wrench I used as a makeshift hammer, in an attempt to stop the crank arm on that same BMX bike from hitting the chainstays with every pedal stroke. That bike was a hideous purple-to-black fade. It weighed a ton, and it wasn't really a Mongoose, regardless of what the stickers on the downtube said. We'd bought those stickers from the shop that Mister Gomez owned. That bike shop (which was really nothing more than a tiny square room built with cinder blocks) was the first bike shop I ever went to. It was dimly lit, filthy, and no bigger than the average bathroom. To most people in the United States or Europe, it would barely qualify as an occupiable structure, much less a bike shop. Anyway, I loved that bike despite its fake Mongoose stickers, and I cared for it with only this one tool (as well as some cooking oil, which I used to lubricate it's chain).

Every kid in Colombia had one of these wrenches. The cool kids kept theirs permanently on their bike, by sliding the wrench into one of the bolts from their rear wheel. But our wrench was kept safely at home, not on our bike. It sat along with my dad's many tools, only a handful of which ever made it to the United States. Luckily, this wrench made it to the United States as well.

___________________________________________________
Three other things:

1.
Matt Rendell, author of books such as Kings Of The Mountains, Olympic Gangster and The Death Of Marco Pantani is easily one of the most knowledgeable people on the subject of Colombian cycling. In his latest book, Matt has chosen to look into a different endeavor that Colombians are equally passionate about: Salsa. No, not the condiment, but the music. More specifically, the dance. In the short film below, Matt looks into salsa dancing as it's expressed in the city of Cali. As with everything Matt does, his passion for the subject comes through. Though salsa may have little to do with cycling, it has everything to do with Colombia, Cali in particular. Enjoy.

2.
The Colombia Es Pasion team appears to be coming to an end. Sad that two victories at L'Avenir didn't secure the team's future, but considering the current state of sponsorship in cycling, I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. It does appear that some of the team will end up with Fabio Duarte (after the end of Geox) at the new Colombia-Indeportes team. Let's hope all goes well for Duarte.

3.
Lastly, I've heard from a couple of readers of the blog about the fact that some posts appear to be getting cut off, while others lack the ability for people to leave messages. Are you experiencing any difficulties with the blog? Let me know, not that there's much I can do about it since I'm guessing it's a Blogger issue. I'm just curious.

Unpaved

2011-10-27T06:30:00.002-04:00

Photos of the Vuelta a Colombia in the early 1960s, by Horacio Gil Ochoa.

More images here. You may also enjoy these.

A high tolerance for pain: Miguel Samacá and Álvaro Pachón discuss the past and future of Colombian cycling

2011-10-24T07:31:00.014-04:00

A violent rainstorm brought the city of Bogotá to a standstill, including the southbound bus I was in. Wide avenues and sidewalks flooded quickly, as rivers of water flowed down the steep streets of Bogotá's mountainous neighborhoods. It was there, in those severe Andean slopes, that the future of Colombian cycling could be seen riding against the current that suddenly flowed downhill. Two boys kept pedaling despite the tempestuous rain. They were not hand-picked as the next professionals to soar over European mountain passes. They were not being followed by a coach telling to them to train, train, train, despite the storm. They rode through the downpour because they had to—to eat, to live, to survive. The two boys, no older than twelve, were navigating the city’s streets on road bikes four sizes too big for them, and in no better shape than the cracked pavement they were riding on.

One of them was so small that he couldn’t even straddle the bike. He reached the right pedal by inserting his leg over the bike’s down tube, thus threading himself through the bike as though it were a needle. Their pedal strokes were smooth, despite the fact that large push reel lawnmowers were strapped to their bike's top tubes. They pedaled knowing that losing the opportunity of mowing another lawn could mean the difference between eating and going to bed hungry.

So while a city of 8 million came to a halt, they continued to ride their bikes uphill. Like so many of Colombia’s great cyclists, their upbringings and surroundings made their tolerance for pain and discomfort very high, and like those great cyclists, their reason for climbing steep grades had more to do with survival than with sport.

Álvaro Pachón, photgraphed in Bogotá, 2010

The Condor
Having missed our appointment earlier in the week because of that torrential downpour, I'm finally able to meet Álvaro Pachón several days later at the bike shop that he inherited from his father long ago. At 66, Pachón’s build and presence remain that of a great cyclist. The souplesse he exhibited on the bike as a young man is still there. He doesn't move, as much as he glides toward the austere office that he keeps in the back of the shop. His signature lambchop-style sideburns are long gone, but the drawn-out features and nose that earned him his nickname still remain. He's still The Condor of Cundinamarca.

A four-time Olympian, two-time winner of the Vuelta a Tachira, winner of the Vuelta a Colombia, and winner of the Vuelta a Mexico, Álvaro Pachón was one of the best in his generation. So to this day, he remains one of the most loved and remembered cyclists in Colombia, which makes me rather self-conscious about the fact that I missed our earlier appointment. Pachón compassionately ignores my apologies, and points out that it was Bogotá's often chilly and unpredictable weather that shaped him as a cyclist. He then extrapolates that concept to Colombia as a whole, saying that, “Growing up and living in Colombia prepares us as cyclists for being able to take a great deal of suffering on and off the bike. Our tolerance for pain and discomfort is very, very high."

I instantly think of the two young boys riding uphill with push reel mowers strapped to their bikes.

Singer cycling team circa 1972.
From left to right:
Efrain "El Zipa" Forero (director), Juan de Dios "Escobita" Morales, Jorge Gonzalez, Juan Pachón, Álvaro Pachón
Photo: Solo Ciclismo

Today, Pachón's shop is located in the congested and intimidating streets of the San Victorino neighborhood. Though the area surrounding the bike shop has improved significantly over the last decade, it remains a menacing place place for some. But not for Pachón.

As we step out of his shop in order to take a walk, he looks around confidently at the ten or twelve other bike shops that surround his, each squeezed into the maze of storefronts, and clouds of diesel fumes that make up the neighborhood. We stop for a snack, and as we eat, policemen, beggars, street vendors and several shady characters all greet him. “Buenas tardes, campeón.”

Here, in the streets of San Victorino, he's still a champion. This neighborhood is home.

San Victorino in the 1990's.
The neighborhood has long been home to numerous people who flee the Colombian countryside due to ongoing violence. As a result of the overcrowding and lack of zoning standards, San Victorino became a treacherous place known for its ongoing problems with crime.

San Victorino today (this picture shows the same plaza as the photo above)
San Victorino has changed substantially over the years. Today, it remains the ideal place to find almost anything a shopper could possibly want, particularly for those interested in buying wholesale. Hosiery, stoves, soccer balls, mirrors, cutlery, furniture, auto parts, and bikes, they can all be found in the streets of San Victorino. Shops are usually grouped by what they sell, and thus one or two blocks will be nothing but sports uniforms, with the next one being plastic toys, and the one after that nothing but umbrellas.

"Go slow Colombians, go slow!"
Although Pachón’s family owned a small bike shop when he was growing up, their financial situation was often precarious. Today, that shop has grown, but it's as a result of the financial insecurity that he knew as a young man that Pachón started racing. He participated in his first Vuelta a Colombia in 1963, at a time when many stages were ridden on muddy, unpaved roads. Landslides were common during rainstorms, as were enormous crashes and serious injuries. “We would have crashes that should have ended our race, maybe our careers as well, but we couldn’t stop,” Pachón remembers. “We needed to finish, not just because of our pride, but also out of our need to get paid."

Pachón, like other Colombian cyclists I've spoken to, often references the severe financial needs that he struggled with as a young man. While riders from other countries speak about their thirst for victory, many cyclists in Colombia dealt with a literal hunger that could only be fed by the meager earnings of a professional cyclist.

Pachón's shop still bears his father's name

Pachón and his Colombian contemporaries didn’t realize how well they could handle pain until they rode abroad for the first time. During the Piccolo Giro in 1974, his all-Colombian team won multiple stages and nearly swept the podium by finishing second, third and fourth. But their outstanding performance wasn't well received by many. “The Italian riders didn’t like us. I think they felt that we were inexperienced, and that we would probably cause crashes,” he says. “They didn’t know who we were, and were angered by our early attacks on climbs. The riders and the directors would yell out ‘Go slow Colombians, go slow!’ But we didn’t know any other way. As soon as a climb would start, we would attack and break up the peloton. That’s not how they did things over there. They wanted to ride tempo, and wait until near the summit to sort things out." As Pachón relays this story, he shakes his head in disbelief and lets out a short burst of laughter.

Pain and suffering
I ask Pachón if his slight build, typical of Colombians, as well as the Andean terrain and the altitude at which he grew up were obvious advantages during those international races. “Those things helped, but I think that my Colombian upbringing made me perfectly suited for the sport, which is completely based on hard work and your willingness to endure a tremendous amount of suffering,” he says. “We Colombians have a great tolerance for pain from an early age because of the difficulties that we face. That high tolerance can get you further than any training regimen can, it shapes your character.”

As we continue to talk, I'm amazed by how often Pachón references the words "pain" and "suffering".

On the front page of the El Bogotano newspaper during the Piccolo Giro(Pachón furthest to the left). The headline reads "Colombia obliterated the competition".

The future
Pachón's comment regarding his ability to handle pain makes me think about the young crop of Colombian cyclists that is currently moving up the ranks in the sport. What have their upbringings been like? Do they have the high tolerance for pain that Álvaro Pachón speaks of? As violence in Colombia relents, and the nation becomes far more stable, I can't help but wonder if those riders who dominated European races during the 1980s were the last of a dying breed.

The Singer team in 1973, along with their team vehicles and staff. Samacá is third from the right, Pachón is the rider furthest to the right.
Photo: Revista Deportes Al Dia

Domination
Consider the 1987 Vuelta a España, which was won by Luis Herrera. In that year’s race, ten out of the top twenty-five riders were Colombian. Herrera also won the Mountains Classification, and the Colombian Ryalcao-Postobon team won the team classification as well.

But that dominance, I would argue, was due to Colombian rider’s constitutions, something that comes hard-wired, a magical something that’s not dependent on a nation’s civil and economic unrest alone. It's something that can be recaptured in today's more calm and stable Colombia.

Pachón agrees. As he sees it, Colombian cyclists will always have an edge because of one fact that will always remain unchanged: Colombia is made up of fighters, tough individuals who are upbeat but tirelessly look for ways to improve their situation. This, Pachón says, will never change. Those who are born in Colombia will always fight their way through hardship, and thus learn early on to endure the suffering that comes with doing so.

Pachón's shop

“We still have, and will always have many cyclists that come from poor backgrounds both in the countryside and the cities. Most of our biggest stars come from the fields of rural Colombia. Departments like Boyacá are logical places for great cyclists in Colombia to come from. That’s an area of the country where people make their living in the fields, doing extremely hard work, while earning very little. That upbringing becomes a powerful tool that they will use in their career as cyclists. Even as conditions improve in those areas and for those kids, their spirit remains unchanged. They know the meaning of hard work, and they know pain and suffering in a way that few around the world ever will. "

There are those words again. Pain. Suffering.

Miguel Samacá, photgraphed in Bogotá, 2010

Mr. Courage
The ability to handle pain, and the drive to better one’s economic situation is also represented, though very differently, in Miguel Samacá. One of Alvaro Pachón’s contemporaries, Samacá’s capacity to deal with cycling’s inherent suffering was actually rather limited. But his need for economic stability best exemplifies the other component of Colombia’s cycling success. In a country where many professional cyclists will usually earn more than their entire family combined (even if they race for a tiny local team), the search for financial stability is a sizable guiding principle.

Such was the case of Samacá. Born in the city of Tunja, but raised in Bogotá, he won the Vuelta a Colombia twice, the Vuelta a Táchira once and competed three times in the Olympic Games. Like Pachón, his time racing in Europe was limited due to his sponsor’s sparse resources, and Colombia's absolute isolation within the sport back then.

Samacá

Though Samacá speaks of lengthy and painful days on his bike as he recounts his victories, he also admits that his career was rather short due to his inherent inability to handle the suffering that came with the sport.

“Finishing my first Vuelta a Colombia in 1967 was so incredibly difficult for me,” Samacá remembers, while sitting in the living room of his comfortable Bogotá aprartment. “I knew that it was hard for everyone, but I clearly didn’t have what it took to suffer. It nearly killed me. Once I finished, I swore I’d never ride a bike again. I hated that bike. Six months went by, and I still hadn’t touched it since that last stage. Finally, I ran into my team trainer and he asked me where on earth I’d gone. He asked me to come back to the team, and I finally agreed. But I just wasn't the type of rider that could endure—or almost enjoy—physical pain. Others did, others loved that aspect of cycling. People like Alvaro Pachón did. I didn’t. I hated it.”

Shortly after getting back on the bike, Samacá realized that his success in the sport would be short lived, due to his inability to train endlessly, and endure pain. He also became concerned for his financial well-being after retiring from the sport. So Samacá chose to leave the sport once he turned 30. But not before earning the nickname "Don Coraje" (Mister Courage), due to several audacious wins that came after bad accidents on the road.

Today, when asked about his nickname, and the events that brought it about, he's quick to dismiss it. "Those things are blown out of proportion. They say I flatted more than thirty times during one stage, and then fell several times, but still won. That's just silly. That's not me." Mister Courage, it turns out, sees himself as anything but courageous, at least while on the bike. Off the bike, and in business, Samacá excelled, and took more risks than he ever did while he raced.

Trophy awarded to Samacá for his second place at the 1974 Vuelta a Colombia. This trophy is an interesting relic of Colombian cycling, because Samacá actually won the race that year. He was eventually awarded first place after his rival, Alvaro Pachón, was disqualified for having tested positive during the race.

“In Colombia, when you’re a cyclist, you give your best years to the sport,” he says. “None of us went to college, and many didn't even go to school. We came from very poor families, and our options were limited. When I started to realize that I could be getting myself into into financial problems by continuing to race, I began to worry about my future. Here in Colombia, financial realities are always in the back of your mind.”

Samacá’s statement rings true, particularly when one compares the living situations and upbringings of most American and European cyclists to those in Colombia, a country where 48% live below the poverty line as they derive their income from so-called "informal economies", such as picking through garbage looking for recyclables, and selling goods on the streets. Additionally, Colombia is second only to Sudan in the number of people displaced by civil unrest. So to say that options are limited for some in Colombia is an understatement. As such, the poverty that Samacá and others like him feared is far more severe than that which most other cyclists could possibly face.

Don Coraje

The businessman
It was with this in mind that Samacá realized his future was in jeopardy. He could keep riding in search for glory, or as he puts it "really get to work". That's what he did, even as he was getting ready to retire.

“The races in Venezuela back then had great prize money, and you’d get very high-end bikes for winning stages. Venezuela was a very rich country then, so I would go there to win prize money and bikes that I could sell. If a teammate of mine won a bike, I would buy it from him so I would have more bikes and equipment to sell. That's how I started my business. My priority was always my future, and cycling helped me build that future. I’m very lucky that things worked out like they did.”

Samacá's concerns regarding his financial well-being were echoed recently by Sergio Henao, as I spoke with him about his contract with team Sky. While the young Colombian rider most certainly competes to win, and is eagerly looking forward to his first season in Europe, he also admitted that one of his greatest goals is already coming true: he's now able to help his father retire from his job as a night watchman at a local farm. For Henao, success can be measured in ways other than yellow jerseys and trophies.

Samacá's shop

Fierce rivals, friends, and neighbors
At different times in their careers, Alvaro Pachón and Miguel Samacá were both teammates and rivals. Press clippings speak of a heated conflict between the two, particularly within the context of the 1974 Vuelta a Colombia.

Today, Pachón and Samacá's shops are only two doors down from one another. The rivals-turned-friends see each other often. Their bike shops have grown and thrived even through tough economic times, and although expressed differently, their spirit exemplifies the kind of tenacity that is abundant in Colombia’s cities and its countryside. It's that quality that will keep Colombian cyclists hungry and fiercely competitive at every level, including those who haul gardening equipment uphill during a terrible storm.

_______________________________________________________
If you find yourself in Bogotá:

Bicicletas Miguel Samaca
Cl 13 16-83,
Bogotá
Phone: (57) (1) 286-9279

Almacen Juan Pachon
Cl 13 16-76
Bogotá
Phone: (57) (1) 243-1331

Originally published in Road Magazine

Cycling Inquisition attire in action

2011-10-21T09:00:00.009-04:00

Here are some pictures of Cycling Inquisition jerseys and socks being worn in multiple cities and countries around the world by readers just like you.

If you want to join this elite (and fashionable) group of cyclists, you can order your own Cycling Inquisition attire here. I still have socks in both sizes, but only small/white jerseys remain.

That's not a dollar hand-up, people were trying to buy this rider's jersey mid-race

Cycling Inquisition jerseys and socks: Fully mountain bike compatible

Cycling Inquisition jerseys: So well designed that most people won't notice that you're wearing safety glasses from the hardware store. In the spirit of full disclosure, I should admit that I too have been known to shop at the hardware store for cycling attire.

Contract mishaps, cycling journalism and instructions on how to make your own disc wheel. A post in three acts.

2011-10-17T09:02:00.005-04:00

Act I: Who shall inherit the earth? The computers shall.

As software engineers and scientists continue to work diligently in order to create different forms of artificial intelligence, they've all failed to realize that the very thing they are working so heard on already exists. Not only that, but one form of artificial intelligence already hates us, and thus turns on us in a HAL-like fashion. Want an example of this? Here it goes.

As you may know, there's a professional cyclist named Stephen Cummings, who rides for Team Sky. If you're a long-time reader of this blog, you may also know that there's another cyclist who is also named Stephen Cummings. He's the guy who made that one video where animated "hipsters" discuss cyclocross. I interviewed that Stephen (who goes by Steevo, and is an all-around great guy) about his video a while back.

Why am I telling you this? Well, it just so happens that the auto-complete function in someone's computer at Team BMC turned on them in a decidedly HAL-like fashion, and thus Stephen Cummings (the guy I interviewed, who made the video), was sent a contract intended for Stephen Cummings (the guy from Team Sky). This was before his signing to BMC was announced, but more importantly this blunder also made every single aspect of his contract (salary, incentives etc., I assume) freely available to someone else who happened to have the same name.

Oops.

If you want to read Stephen's account of this (the Stephen who was mistakenly sent the contract), you can find it here. After reading it, I wont blame anyone for thinking that their stem-mounted computer might be out to get them.

Photo by AHTBM

Act II: On the quality of cycling journalism, or lack thereof

Did you read the post that was published on All Hail The Black Market about the HTC/Highroad team presentation that happened earlier this year? I don't know what some of you will make out of it, but I found it to be extremely entertaining, and pleasantly different. Having read other accounts of similar events in the past, I was amazed to see that Stevil made this otherwise boring event into something interesting by his tone alone. Even if you don't like his account for some reason, you have to admit that it greatly underscores how similar, stilted and boring most writing about pro cycling is. And how absolutely devoid of humor and self-awareness it also is.

Can you think of another sport or area of interest where some of the best writing about the topic is often done, not by professionals, but rather relative outsiders and/or amateurs? That's not a rhetorical question, I'm really asking, because I don't know. Are there other topics that any of you are interested in where good writing, thoughtful content, quality storytelling, humorous insights, entertaining accounts, criticism, and quality investigative journalism are so hard to come by? Are other sports (with the popularity of cycling, or smaller) plagued by this issue?

Growing up, I would often flip through trade magazines that my dad (a long-time railroading aficionado) would get in the mail. These publications dealt with thrilling topics like press releases about what steel companies had been awarded contracts for railway expansions in places like southern India. It was dry content for an industry that (in the eyes of a young outsider) seemed to lack passion. But cycling, at least if we go by the marketing hype, print ads and TV intros for races, is all about passion. Right? So where on earth does that passion go once so many fans of the sport become professional journalists and writers? Are they too close to the topic at hand? Are they afraid to anger those who give them access? Are they all jaded? The list of people/sites/publications (professional or not) who provide quality content about the sport is painfully short. We must treasure these people, because there are so few of them.

Am I crazy for thinking this? Perhaps. But if any of you agree, please share your thoughts on the matter, and feel free to share the names of people, blogs or publications who stand out in a sea of mediocrity. Remember, sharing is caring.

Act III: Search terms

As I've done in the past, I hereby offer you a list of recent search terms that have brought people to this blog. I've copied and pasted these verbatim, just as they were entered into several search engines. Enjoy.

cycling = cankles

How to make my own disc wheel

cannondale bad boy, but with drop bars

woman leg wrestling in a dress

indurain's eyebrow like a muppet

armageddon is best def leppard song

Oakley jawbones with hipser bike hat?

how do tour de frances rider go number 2

peanut butter nipples

hot blogs that are hot and gay

Bradnely wiggans fashion hair

why is noriegas face like that?

latino bloods and crips gang symbol

What kind of sunglasses does Braddley Wiggins wear?

What shoes does bradley wiggins wear on his bike and why

Rapha cycling is gay

Shave THAT UNIBROW NO NOT LIKE THAT

why do people mock rapha?

.

On the subject of trying to look like a professional when you're not one

2011-10-13T05:08:00.002-04:00

Culinary secrets of Colombian cycling, part 3: Arepas

2011-10-10T08:28:00.007-04:00

In the department of Antioquia (where Medellin is located), important figures, visiting dignitaries and winners of events like the Vuelta a Colombia are commonly awarded a garland made of arepas. Pictured here is Sergio Henao wearing one such garland.

Last year while in Medellin, I found myself with an hour to kill, having arrived far too early to an appointment. I decided to walk down Carrera Carabobo, a pedestrian street that cuts through much of Medellin's downtown. There I found one of the many cafés where Colombia's working class commonly stop by for a quick bite to eat on their way to work. One part restaurant, one part pub, these cafés (commonly referred to as "tiendas" in Colombia) are an ideal place to eat, and engage in conversation with whoever is there. Since I was hungry, I decided to get an arepa, a culinary staple in Colombia. Medellin and the rural areas that surround it have long had a love affair with the arepa, which has led to endless variations on this very simple dish. Due to my sizable appetite, I spent over an hour at the tienda discussing local politics with the owner as I ate seven arepas, each one completely different from the last one. I was full, I was happy...and because I ate and talked so much, I was now late for my meeting. The one I had arrived early to before setting foot in that café.

Arepas and sweet plantains on the side of the road, two Colombian staples. These larger, thinner arepas are usually garnished with butter and salt.

Why arepas?
In the past, I've spoken about foods like panela, bandeja paisa, and bocadillo within the context of cycling. In the case of panela and bocadillo, these foods are intrinsically linked to the sport in Colombia because of their portability, availability and how inexpensive they are. In the case of a food like arepas (plural for arepa), the link is less obvious. Because arepas are enjoyed fresh, and while they are still warm, they are not the type of food that cyclists usually take in their jersey pockets. But the link is still there. Arepas are the preferred breakfast food in Antioquia, a hotbed of cycling activity in Colombia, and are also a sought after snack in roadside stands that dot the entire countryside. While American cyclists often stop to eat an energy bar along with a Coke or Gatorade from a convenience store, in Colombia cyclists will often stop for an arepa. Recreational cyclists, those in mountain bikes...it doesn't matter. Even young riders with hopes of becoming professionals know the value of a good arepa. Outside of Medellin last year, en route to Rionegro, I saw the entire junior Orgullo Paisa team eating arepas on the side of the road. They were sporting mismatched TT helmets along with their skinsuits, as they devoured cheese-stuffed arepas along with the team's directors. Similarly, the most common meal sold at races like the Clasico El Colombiano are arepas.

What are arepas?
Simply put, arepas are corn cakes. They are much thicker than Mexican tortillas, and closer to Salvadorian and Nicaraguan pupusas. They are made out of pre-cooked cornmeal which can be boiled, baked or fried. Most commonly, however, they are grilled. They can be served plain, but are most often served with butter, salt and white cheese over them. They can also be garnished, stuffed or topped off with eggs, fish, vegetables or anything else you can imagine. Even more variations exist because of the many kinds of corn that can be used to make the flour.

Five-time winner of the Vuelta a Colombia Ramon Hoyos sporting an arepa garland

Arepas on the go
Not only are arepas enjoyed by cyclists before rides and during rides, they are also sold by cyclists. Throughout cities like Bogota and Medellin you will often see small armies of grill-equipped bikes riding out early in the morning to sell this portable treat to people in every neighborhood. The bikes are often painted flat black, and you will see their owners going up the steepest climbs in order to get to their preferred spots to sell arepas. In Medellin last year, I saw one such vendor outclimb multiple riders in full kit up the legendary Alto de Palmas climb (while hauling fifty pounds of arepa flour, water, and coal).

Sadly, I was unable to find a good video in English that showed how to make a proper arepa. As such, I'm including one in Spanish, which shows the simple steps to make a cheese-filled arepa. The flour being used is cooked cornmeal. Almost everyone around the world uses P.A.N. brand arepa flour. You can buy it online here. You mix equal parts flour and water, a pinch of salt, and you have what you need to get started.

One last thing, did anyone notice this while watching Paris-Tours? The guy crashes, tries to finish the race, but the police won't let him. Apparently they didn't know that the rider's team is clean, clever and competitive.

Jerseys, logos, clinchers and movies. Items that have fallen through the proverbial cracks.

2011-10-06T06:07:00.005-04:00

When you're as busy signing autographs and cashing checks as I am, it's inevitable that some matters slip through the cracks. Like pieces of potato chips that fall between the couch cushions, however, these bits and pieces are still good even days (if not months) after you last saw them. It's with that in mind that I decided to pen today's post. By the way, I don't use the phrase "pen today's post" figuratively. What you see on screen is a scanned copy of a document I wrote by hand, in my amazingly precise, computer-like hand handwriting. Now that I've made you jealous about my abilities to write so perfectly, allow me to blow it (figuratively, not literally) by having you read this post which is quite frankly lacking in both the cohesiveness and quality departments.

1.
Perhaps you've heard of the Colombia Es Pasion cycling team, and the fact that one of its riders (Nairo Quintana) just signed with Movistar. The team is sponsored by the Colombian government, and Colombia Es Pasion is a marketing campaign aimed at giving the country a more positive image around the world, as well as making its citizens more proud of their Colombian roots.

It was with that in mind that Colombian artist Andres Felipe Uribe decided to carve the insignia (a heart, clearly meant to resemble the Sacred Heart) on his chest for a video performance piece. The piece is intended to to take the intended meaning of the campaign to it's most extreme iteration. The video has been shown in several galleries and shows. If you wish, you can watch it below. Be warned, the video obviously features blood, and someone getting a heart carved into their chest.

In the meantime, if anyone has similar video of someone doing this with either of the logos from the Saur-Sojasun team, let me know.

COUNTRY TRADEMARK from Andrés Felipe Hurrible on Vimeo.

2.
Cycling Inquisition Industries has done well as of late. As a matter of fact, only small white jerseys remain. All others are sold out, though I still have socks as well (as seen on the popular Bike Snob NYC blog). If you want a jersey, I highly recommend that you order quickly here. If you don't want one, you can order as well. I just won't send you the jersey, and will keep the money.

Socks come in pairs, one for each foot

By the way, if you're wondering what I'm doing with the piles of cash I've collected as a result of selling my wares, worry not. First of all, the pile is not huge (I can barely swim around in it). Secondly, the money will largely be used for a good cause having to do with needy kids who ride bikes in Colombia. I don't want to go into details yet, since I don't want to get ahead of myself. But I'll keep you guys/girls posted. By the way, if you read this by the time all the jerseys have sold out, you can always order a sweet kit from All Hail The Black Market. Mr. Stevil is a righteous fella', and he was kind enough to give me some pointers when I first thought about copying him and getting some stuff made. If you don't like his kit or mine, you're in luck. Why? because these are finally available once again.

Lastly, if you ordered a jersey or socks, be awesome and send me a pictures of yourself wearing the amazing attire. I'd like to do a post of nothing but pictures of you handsome people with your fashionable kit.

3.
My brother was kind enough to invite me to ruin his latest podcast again. The latest edition of the podcast is titled "We might as well use clinchers like Tony Martin", so you know it's a good one. You can find it here.

4.
I've written about Ramon Hoyos before, one of Colombia's great figures in the sport. A reader of the blog recently asked me where he could find a copy of Hoyos's biography, which was written by Nobel Prize winner Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The biography was originally written for the newspaper El Espectador, and published over several weeks. As such, it can be found in compilations of his journalistic work (although a Dutch translations exists, which includes only the Hoyos biography). To my knowledge, no English translation of the biography (which is called The Triple Champion Reveals His Secrets) exists. But for those of you who speak Spanish, you can find the whole biography for free here. It starts on page 502 of that document. Que disfruten.

5.
I know I sound like a broken record, since I talk about Colombian cycling about 80% of the time on this blog. In order to break that pattern, and to prove just how versatile I am, I will now share something with you that has to do with Colombia, but not Colombian cycling. Below is the trailer for an interesting movie that was done a couple of years ago by a Colombian director. It's not set in modern day Colombia, it has nothing to do with drug-related violence, and doesn't even take place in one of Colombia's major cities. The movie is incredibly well done, and has a fantastic sense to it, in an almost Marquez kind of way. It also shows the wildly varied landscapes that Colombia's northern regions have. I highly recommend it, in part because it's a real triumph for Colombian cinema, but also because it shows an entirely different side of the country that few ever see. It also revolves around vallenato music, one of Colombia's greatest exports. Enjoy, and have a great weekend.

Sharing bikes, and getting by with very little. An interview with Santiago Botero, director of Gobernacion De Antioquia-Indeportes Antioquia

2011-10-03T09:30:00.006-04:00

Photo: B. Kaminski

It's a story that repeats itself, and one that sadly seems to change very little with ever new iteration. In 1982, a team of Colombian amateurs was invited to the Coors Classic race. Several institutions, as well as riders and directors pooled their resources, and the team was able to make the trip to the United States. On that occasion, Patrocinio Jimenez won the race. Other riders and the press asked just who these riders were. Where had they come from and how come they'd never heard of them?

The same thing had happened at the Tour de l'Avenir in 1980 (where Alfonso Florez was victorious), and later in 1985 as Martin Ramirez won the race once again. As Colombians showed their abilities in grand tours, the narrative changed little. The budgets were small (though they grew), and the press always asked just who these unknown men were. Victories seemed to change very little, as these riders constantly remained lumped under a single moniker. The Colombians.

Patrocinio Jimenez at the Coors Classic. I've always loved this picture because of the sad a haunting expression on Patrocinio's face. As a side note, along with Winner Anacona, Patrocinio Jimenez is the Colombian rider with one of the greatest first names for a cyclist. Why? Because Patrocinio means "sponsorship". But in true Colombian/Catholic tradition, however, the name "Patrocinio" actually comes from that word's alternate meaning: that of a person who is cared for, or has sought shelter in a higher power.

To some extent, the financial difficulties, and the relative obscurity of Colombian teams have changed little over the years. This was clearly visible at this year's Tour of Utah, and later at the Pro Cycling Challenge in Colorado. The Gobernacion De Antioquia-Indeportes Antioquia team was invited to both races, while the EPM-Une team was only invited to Colorado. Their invitations were questioned by many. How could it be that a team of "nobodies", ones who they'd never heard of, was being invited to these races while American teams were left out?

In the end, it was the Colombian teams who managed to stir things up at these races (the Tour of Utah in particular), sending their competitors—Levi Leipheimer included—scrambling to look up who these Colombian riders were on the internet. While it's certainly true that some of these riders are largely unknown in the United States, the press still touted Sergio Henao as having a "breakout performance" in Utah. Funny how Henao had signed a contract with Sky almost nine months earlier, but this was his "breakout performance".

At the center of the press coverage that the Colombian teams received was how small their budgets are, and how both teams shared many resources throughout the trip. An article in Velo News detailed the financial difficulties experienced by the team. Due to the interest that the teams generated during their time in the United States, I thought I should reach out to Santiago Botero (now director of Gobernacion De Antioquia-Indeportes Antioquia) and ask about the logistics and realities of traveling to and racing in the United States. But I also wanted to know how these things reflected the fighting spirit and ambitions of the team.

Interestingly, the international invites that allowed Botero's team to race in the United States are ones that the Vuelta A Colombia (the country's premiere race) cannot extend to visiting teams, thus seeing the legendary race cut from the UCI calendar. Why? Because current UCI regulations state that the race must provide all expense paid trips to at least five members of visiting teams, something the Vuelta A Colombia simply cannot afford. Even when it gathered the money to make such an offer last year, no international teams wanted to come to Colombia. So as Colombian teams raise their notoriety while competing internationally, Colombian cycling is unable to grow within the country's boundaries.

Simpler times at the Vuelta a Colombia
Rafael Niño wins his first ever stage at the Vuelta in front of a crowd of sixty thousand

One last thing. Before I'm accused of ignoring the veritable elephant in the room while conducting this interview, let me clarify that I spoke with Santiago before Oscar Sevilla's suspension was announced. Additionally, I'd like to say that my interest in speaking with Santiago Botero came as a result of the team's performance in the United States. So my focus was not on anything other than the team and their performances. Look, my head is not completely buried in the sand, although I'm short enough that many Americans believe that my lower half must surely be buried below ground, in order to account for my scant height.

Henao in yellow at the Tour of Utah

Your team's performance in Utah received a significant amount of press. How difficult was it for the Gobernacion De Antioquia-Indeportes Antioquia team to come to the United States?

For us, the first step was to even get an invite. We are a professional team, but we really race in Colombia and Latin America for the most part. Once we received the invite, we met with the team management and started working on getting riders their visas.

I think people here in the United States and in Europe may not understand just how difficult it is for a Colombian citizen to travel due to visa restrictions. Getting a visa for a Colombian citizen to travel abroad can sometimes take many months, or even a year. Even then, you don't know if you'll be denied up until the very last minute.

That was very difficult for us. It took a long time for the embassy in Bogota to get back to us, then we had to get individual appointments for each rider. We had to get each one of them down to Bogota, where the embassy is, for each appointment [the team is based out of Medellin. The flight to Bogota is about an hour and a half, or 8-10 hours by car]. It was expensive and time consuming for the team to do that. We had to be patient and hope for the best.*

Once we cleared the hurdle of getting the visas, we had to start thinking about the economic realities of the trip. Luckily, we had set aside a bit of money in our budget in order to attend an international race, ideally one in North America. But for us, it was still very, very very expensive to go. It was tough, but I think it was worth it. As soon as we arrived to the United States, people wanted to know about the team, who the riders were, and we got a bit of press. People wanted to understand who the sponsor was, since the team is part of a program funded by the department of Antioquia. The program is not just intended to create cycling champions, but also to better our community, and help individuals here in Antioquia better themselves as well. So for us, it's always great to tell people what the team is about, and what it's bigger mission is. It's bigger than cycling.

*For an interesting account of how tough it can be for a Colombian citizen to travel due to visa restrictions, read Matt Rendell's book A Significant Other. In it, Rendell details how Victor Hugo Peña struggled to make it into France the year that he wore the yellow jersey at the Tour. Days before the race, he was held up at gunpoint in Colombia, and his pasport was stolen. Without a visa, Peña considered sneaking into France through Spain, but was saved at the last minute when the Colombian ambassador, and other high level politicians had to get personally involved. The issue was not so much his passport, as it was his visa.

The team celebrates in Utah

How do you feel about the team's performance in both the Tour of Utah and in Colorado?

On the sporting side, I think the riders from the team performed very well. We went there to agitate the race, to make things happen and to be seen. And the riders did just that. It was our riders that were stirring things up, and I'm very proud of that. They showed their climbing abilities, they did great teamwork. But in general, I think the riders performed well in areas other than climbing, which is all that Colombians are known for. So that was a great thing to see. We continued doing well after Utah and into Colorado. But Colorado didn't suit our riders as much. The climbs were far too gentle, too easy. The stages didn't really finish in any peaks, and the time trial was very flat. But overall, we did very well.

Do you think that the trip helped raise awareness of the team, and perhaps can help you secure some sponsors?

We made some great contacts during that trip, and I reconnected with riders, directors and sponsors that I knew from my time as a rider. So that was important too. I think the doors are open for us to come back next year, and perhaps come with a more solid financial footing. It was very tough for us this time around, so those contacts will be helpful to have. We also learned a great deal about the logistics of traveling and racing there. We only traveled with two staff members, and for Colorado we shared most resources with EPM-Une. It's all we could afford. But for us, with our meager means, the whole trip was still a success.

Photo by Hincapie Sportswear

The team was invited to the Tour of Utah based on its track record, and the substantial amount of wins it's earned. And yet, sponsorships are hard to come by in Colombia. What is your situation as far as bike sponsorships? Several people noticed that the team uses different brands of bikes and wheels, as well as helmets. It was also reported that goods like bar tape are purchased by the riders.

We buy our own bikes. The big bike brands of the world have a limited presence here in Colombia, so we merely go through local distributors. They are kind enough to give us a bit of a discount, and that's what we buy. We buy whatever is most affordable. So for us as a team, a substantial part of our yearly budget goes to just to buying bikes and wheels. This is something that even smaller and perhaps mediocre teams in the United States and Europe don't have to do. Most of their budget doesn't go to buying bikes, because they get sponsorships from bike, wheel, and even component and nutrition companies. That's just not the case for us. Sponsoring a team is all about marketing, and here in Colombia...well...we are a country with less resources. So I think most companies don't see value in sponsoring our teams. But I think there's a great deal of value actually.

So you are on your own when it comes to items that other teams have supplied

Yes, we are on our own, and we buy everything ourselves. But we're hoping that through some of the contacts we made in the United States, we might be able to get a bit of help. That would allow us to use our budget for things like better salaries for the riders, for travel, and for developing young riders.

The team's kit is made by Hincapie Sportswear in Medellin, where the team is based out of. Medellin is also the capital of the department of Antioquia.

I saw that some of the Giant bikes the team uses have the Rabobank logo on the frame. Did they come from Rabobank?

No, that's because the bikes we buy are just what the distributor brings to Colombia to sell at bikes shops. So even though we're a professional team, we simply buy what's available. Sometimes they're not the high-end models, they are just what we can get our hands on at a good price.

Did some of the riders share time trial bikes while racing here in the United States?

Well, we used just a few bikes. We brought the ones that we thought could accommodate the most riders. Beyond that, we simply had to make do with what we had...mixing and matching, patching things up, and doing the most with what we had. We had to do things...well...we did things the way we know how: the Colombian way (laughs). Getting by with very little, but trying hard and fighting the whole way.

Botero at the 2003 Tour de France

Do you think this lack of equipment, and having to share bikes that may not fit hurts the riders in a discipline like the time trial? Time trials have historically always been the Achilles' heel of most Colombian riders. I say "most" since you yourself were the time trial world champion. So you understand how difficult and unique the discipline is.

Time trialing is an area in cycling where American and European teams are not just years, but almost centuries ahead of us. But there's a reason why. A lot of it has to do with funds. Even in smaller American teams, riders have their own time trial bikes. They have their bike set up just for them. Riders get to work on their position as they train on those bikes, so they can tweak things on it. Some smaller professional teams around the world even get to go to wind tunnels. For us, we simply don't have enough bikes so that everyone can fine-tune the bike's settings and their position. We're at a huge disadvantage. But all these are challenges that we're working on, and we'll continue to work on to make the team and its performances better.

1995: The year that the world championships and the Madonna del Ghisallo came to Colombia

2011-09-26T10:45:00.011-04:00

As yesterday's win by Cavendish becomes part of the history books, and as some Americans rejoice because Richmond was awarded the 2015 World Championships (while others debate whether nepotism was involved), I can't help but look back to 1995. I look back to 1995, not because that was the landmark year when Coolio released his tour de force Gangsta's Paradise, though that was certainly a highpoint for all of humanity. No, I look back to 1995 because it was then that the world championships were held in Colombia for the first and only time. The race that year did not finish in Bogotá, or Medellín. Though convenient and rather cosmopolitan, these locations would have seemed disingenuous. I say this because it's in smaller cities and towns like Duitama, in the department of Boyacá, that Colombian cycling has always flourished (something I have written about before). So it was there, in Duitama (population 120,000) that the world championships were held in 1995. An underdog town, in an underdog nation.

The UCI awarding the event to Duitama was considered a great triumph for Colombian cycling, but some in the city resented the lack of involvement by local politicians and dignitaries. As the interest in football (soccer) grew, some claimed that the World Championships were not getting the support needed from the government at any level. Furthermore, some were troubled by the manner in which the course was changed to suit the riding style and needs of European riders. Due to Duitama's altitude, European riders would have trouble coping with the difficult climbs.

In an editorial published in the El Tiempo newspaper, Carlos Velásquez Gómez, a councilman in Duitama, served as a unifying voice regarding these concerns:

How can it not be that on such an occasion, we in Duitama receive no support from our mayor in order to plan out how we are going to meet the demands that have been imposed upon us by the UCI? And I do say "imposed" because that's what has happened. The UCI will take our money and leave Colombia with it, and they simply leave us with demands and obligations that we must meet. In other words we have been colonized again 500 years later. They've also added insult to injury by robbing us of any chance we had of seeing one of our own riders do well in this race. A race that we are paying for, and that we're hosting, but those chances are gone, since they've now demanded that we change the route to suit their European riders. Can you see your chances magically disappearing into thin air Oliverio*?

*This is a reference to Oliverio Rincon, the Colombian rider from Duitama who rode with O.N.C.E. at the time, and who would have performed very well at altitude.

Diagram of the circuits around Duitama. The top of the climb shown is at an altitude of over 9,000 feet.

In the end, however, the event was a success...even if Colombian riders were in fact affected by the changes in the final circuits. The world championships were seen as a huge accomplishment, especially considering the severe unrest that Colombia was dealing with at the time. Additionally, the elite men's road race proved to be one of the most exciting in the history of the world championships. And as if that weren't enough, Duitama also received a distinct honor, partially as a result of hosting the world championships.

The Madonna del Ghisallo comes to stay
On October 7, 1995, Father Luigi Farina traveled from Como Italy to the town affectionately known as the "Pearl of Boyacá". He brought with him the greatest gift that a hugely Catholic town like Duitama (which also happens to be insanely devoted to cycling) could ever receive. Father Farina brought with him the Madonna del Ghisallo, the patroness of cyclists (as designated by Pope Pius XII). In an event that had been discussed and negotiated over many years, The Madonna was permanently installed in the Inmaculado Corazón de María church, in the humble Gruta neighborhood of Duitama. The priest at that church was a huge fan of the sport, and considered this event to be a true blessing. The festivities were hugely popular, and also served as a moment for the Gruta neighborhood to announce its intentions to erect a monument to all cyclists.

It was only a few years later that the monument would go up, only yards away from the chapel, and on one of the very streets used during the world championships. The monument was intended as a celebration to the fighting spirit of cyclists, and to forever commemorate the day in 1995 when the best in the sport graced the streets of Duitama with their presence.

Finish of the 1995 road race in Duitama. Note Abraham Olano riding to victory on a flat tire.

And although it didn't take place in 1995, here's a video of Fabio Duarte (now with Geox) and his U-23 world championship victory in 2008.

Cycling Inquisition socks available now

2011-09-22T08:30:00.014-04:00

Socks are still available and are ready to ship in both sizes. Operators are standing by! Pictures of the actual jerseys and socks are at the bottom of this post. Please note that jerseys are now sold out.

Prices:
Socks: $12 (or two for $20)
Shipping: $2 for up to two pairs within the US, $4 for up to two pairs internationally

Sizing:

Socks come in two sizes S/M and L/XL. See the grid below:

Click to enlarge.
What is the text on the underside of the socks you ask? Aside from the blog's URL, the phrase on the other side is: "Empecuecando el internet desde 2009". Let me explain the meaning. In Colombia we have many wonderful words in Spanish for things that the English language simply does not have words for, "pecueca" is one of them. It refers to the smell of stinky feet which is usually transferred to the socks and shoes that envelop them. The term does not apply to any other smell, just that which comes from smelly feet. So the phrase roughly translates to:

"Making the internet smell like dirty feet since 2009".

Superbly funny, I know. You needn't tell me. Luckily, the socks will be high quality, and thanks to Sock Guy's expertize in making such attire, they actually will NOT stink when you wear them. Lovely. Additionally, if you find the message to be gross or silly, no one will know what it says. Unless they are Colombian, and you are shoeless. And what are the chances of that?

To order:
Simply send payment through Paypal to this address:

cyclinginquisition -at symbol- gmail - dot- com

Please make sure you calculate the overall total (including shipping) correctly, because otherwise you'll get an email from me mocking your lack of math skills. In the comments section, clearly state:

1. Item/s, color, size and quantity

2. Mailing address and full name that these will be sent to. It shouldn't be any different than the address already registered with your Paypal account.

Click to enlarge. If you'd like to find out what the text on the jerseys means, go here.

Lessons learned. Indurain's unibrow, teenage dogma, and the overbearing tyrant inside of me.

2011-09-19T09:07:00.001-04:00

Last week, I wrote about the far-reaching thoughts and realizations I had during my time in Belgium and Holland. This week, I want to tell you about a far more personal moment, and the realization I came to as a result. And no, I'm not referring to the moment during the bike tour of Brussels when I realized that I was easily faster than everyone else on said tour (even if they were mostly either eight or eighty years old). The realization I'm talking about had to do with cycling, who I was as a teenager, and unibrows. So read on.

Exhausted from all the travel, the time changes, the nearly-missed trains, and the extensive walking, my wife and I stood in line as we waited to board our plane back to the United States. We were surrounded by the usual travelers: the guy with the oversized neck pillow, the American couple complaining about how few people spoke English in the countries they'd visited, and the guy who decides to fly while waring a tanktop, even though his back ans shoulders have more hair on them than Miguel Indurain's unibrow.

Along with this fine group of travelers, there was the American teenager in front of us. He was obviously a cyclist, as were numerous other young men in the terminal. They all carried matching Giro helmets with their names and small American flag stickers on them. They all happily discussed a race they had just finished in Belgium. I half-listened to their conversations, and studied the cycling shoes that were visible in their carry-on luggage. They were youthful, upbeat, and seemingly carefree. Their legs were shaved, something I wished the hairy guy in the tanktop would pay attention to.

My wife must have noticed me listening to their conversations about the race. Because as we boarded the plane and we reached our seats, she turned to me and asked me a question. No, she didn't ask me if I had thrown up in my mouth as a result of the guy in the tank top. She wanted to know if—in retrospect—I wished I had actively ridden a road bike or perhaps raced at some level when I was a teenager. Did I envy these young men who were traveling abroad to race? I thought about the question, and the answer came to me very quickly. In a sense, my answer surprised me, considering that I've been known to dwell on the past, and sadly mourn the fact that my teenage years were tumultuous ones (largely due to my family's move to the United States).

I was unable to think of another image that I could use for this post...but since I'd mentioned unibrows and hairy men earlier, I thought I could safely use a picture of Bernard Richard. Richard was a French rider who proudly sported the sport's most memorable Muppet-like unibrow.

Did I envy these young men? Did I wish I'd ridden my bike at a young age more actively? I told my wife that no, I didn't regret not having done such a thing in my younger years (adding that my limited abilities on the bike would not have taken me as far as the young men had gotten anyway). But I admitted to having some regrets regarding the reason why I wouldn't have ridden or competed in any way at that age. I spent those years steeped in music, namely hardcore and punk rock, along with the lifestyle that went along with it. It dominated my thoughts, my political choices, and even influenced my diet. At the time, life was largely governed (albeit unknowingly) by a long list of do's and don'ts that I simply had to adhere to. I had always been (and perhaps still remain) a tightly wound individual...and living an all-encompassing lifestyle where my choices were limited, and those who did otherwise were wrong only made matters worse.

While I don't regret those years per se (I actually have very fond memories of that time, and still have amazing friends as a result), I do regret how willfully obtuse and dogmatic I became as a result. Actively competing in an endeavor like cycling back then was out of the question (and not just because of the tap shoes and the tight shorts it required). Though riding a bike today has somehow become integrated with some aspects of rebellious youth culture, that was certainly not the case in the late 80s and early 90s. At least not in the places where I lived. It was the furthest thing from it. And I complied.

Luckily, my choice to use a picture of Bernard Richard is not purely based on his unfortunate eyebrow/s. You see, Richard was one of only a handful (three I believe) non-Colombian riders to ever race with the Cafe De Colombia team. So in actuality, me using his picture is more in line with this blog than many of you originally believed. So there.

So while claiming to be somewhat rebellious during those years, I willingly fell in line with a different (but no less restrictive) set of regulations. No surprise there, as this is common for many teenagers. But the arduous fight I put up against miniscule things back then makes me a bit ashamed, and at times sad as well. Had I missed out on making great memories and even greater friends as a result? I had always taken great pride in my somewhat worldly point of view, aided by the fact that I had lived in, and visited different parts of the world at a relatively young age. But the way I judged others based on their choices and the activities they chose to engage in, tell different story.

I thought about all this on the flight back to the United States, and I tried not to judge the decisions of a teenager (me), with the mindset and hindsight of an adult (me). But my mind kept racing. What other things had I been dismissive of? Were others, the ones I saw as closed minded back then, actually more open to new experiences?

I began to wonder how many other great opportunities I had perhaps missed out on due to my judgmental tendencies. I began to wonder if the dogmatic tyrant in me is still there today, but just partially dormant. I had to think about the many things in life that I had chosen to dismiss as a young man, and was still perhaps missing out on as a result of these self-imposed mandates. I decided that—as much as I can—I'll try to keep an open mind. I decided that the world was now open to me, and that wearing silly clothing was preferable to having regrets later on. It was a lot to think about, but I had to scan my mind for all those things I had eschewed earlier on in life.

Luckily it was a long flight, and I had plenty of time to think about these missed opportunities.

Luckily, life is long as well, and I have plenty of time to change and learn.

Luckily the hairy guy in the tanktop finally put a hooded sweatshirt on.

All was well. So I closed my eyes, and went to sleep.

Bike shops, drum shops, and the drawbacks of cycling's many unwritten rules

2011-09-12T08:08:00.007-04:00

Rush drummer Neil Peart talks about why he wears a "special bicycle racing helmet" while playing drums.

There was a time in my life when I would spend entire afternoons at a drum shop where several of my friends worked. I was going to school then, while working a job where my hours often went from second into third shift. Going to the drum shop was a pleasant relief from my responsibilities, so I started to go more often and for longer spans of time. While I had originally started going simply to buy drumsticks, I soon found myself spending hours at the shop. I would play ridiculously-sized drumsets for hours, while laughing and joking around with friends. We talked about the drum industry, we gossiped about local musicians, and had endless debates about musical minutia. It was exactly what I needed to get my mind off of school and work, which is why my visits grew to be so long. At one point, I even found myself helping a customer after having just aided employees in unloading a shipment of cymbals. So I was working for free. It was a foolish but entertaining thing to do.

While spending numerous hours at the drum shop, I came to see patterns in clientele. Patterns that I now recognize in bike owners, and other will certainly recognize within the world of skiing, golf, tennis and pretty much any other endeavor that people engage in. There were the guys with more money than ability or skill. They owned drumsets that would require several eighteen wheelers to transport, while being unable to even keep time. There were those who only wanted to play vintage drums and cymbals, while obsessing about making sure that every last screw in their cymbal stands was period-correct. At the opposite end of the spectrum, there were those who only played the most technologically advanced equipment regardless of its price. Some talked about the soul and feel of vintage drums, while others cared about the sonic precision of new materials. These personas kept reappearing, albeit in different guises. In retrospect, it's almost scary how closely these personality types match up with those at bike shops.

Speaking of similarities: is it just me, or does drumming legend Kenny Aronoff look a whole lot like Richard Sachs?

But as I think about all those characters (the funny ones, the sad ones, and the angry ones) I always think back to one person in particular. One who didn't really fit into any of those character types. He came into the drumshop unassumingly. Asked a few questions about cymbals, and then requested a pair of drumsticks so he could play on one of the kits. It was customary to ask a few questions of the person who wanted sticks, to get a feel for their ability. This was done in order to filter out those who couldn't play, which may sound rude and elitist, but the prospect of hearing someone who's never played drums bang on a drumset for two hours is understandably something drum shop employees like to avoid.

After a brief interrogation, the young man was handed a pair of sticks, although the employees were split on whether or not that was a good idea. As he sat down behind a drumkit that cost as much as a new car, a few of the employees cringed. But then the young man started to play. His playing was not just good, or great, or amazing. At the risk of sounding cheesy, it was sublime. None of us had ever heard anyone play like him. Not at the shop, not anywhere. Local session musicians, jazz luminaries, rock gods...none of them compared. This kid, who was still a teenager, blew them all away. His ability was uncanny, and our mouths dropped. He had it. Whatever "it" was.

Once he was done, we all went up to him to ask questions, and he answered politely and quietly. He had been playing for two years, and seldom practiced due to a grueling work schedule. When asked what brand of drum kit he played, the young man replied promptly.

"It doesn't have a brand. The ChuckECheese near my house was closing, and my mom bought the small drumkit that the animatronic mouse used to play every hour on the hour."

In short, he had been playing for a shorter amount of time than any of us, he played less often, and his drum kit was worth less than one of our cymbals. But he was better than all of us combined. It came naturally to him, and we couldn't hate him for that. So we looked on in awe as he went back to playing. He had something no one could buy, and he had it in amazing quantities: natural talent.

Nowadays, I only go to drum shops to buy drumsticks when I run out, much as I did before I started spending hours upon hours at the shop where my friends worked. My time inside the shop is now measured in seconds, rather than pages in a calendar. But whenever I go to a drum shop, I still think about that kid and his CheckECheese drumset. I think about him, and I wonder how many similarly talented young men and women have come into bike shops, or tried group rides for the first time...only to be mocked for their bikes, the angle of their stems, the type of pedals they use, or perhaps for the the length or color of their socks. And I wonder how many of them never returned as a result.

Cuddling up with a cobblestone at night. The way some American cycling fans imagine Belgium.

2011-09-06T09:00:00.018-04:00

A couple of bikes in Belgium

Although most of you didn't notice, I was recently absent from the blog while I took a much needed vacation (the rigors of shattering fellow cyclists while on the bike, and seeing women faint from my good looks and adult braces can take a toll even on those of us who are amazingly strong). During that time, I traveled with my wife (but sans our beloved miniature dachshund) to three fabled lands known as Belgium, Holland, and Luxembourg. The trip was purposefully planned as a largely cycling-free event on my part, but we did manage to ride heavy city bikes in most of the cities that we visited. Why? Because of that old saying: when in Holland, do as the Dutch do, and ride a bike that weighs as much as six upright pianos, and handles like a baby grand piano that's being pushed uphill. During the trip, I also managed to meet up with a significant cycling figure, but more on that later. And no, I don't just mean that I saw my reflection in a hotel mirror.

Cuddling up to a cold cobblestone
This latest visit to Belgium was, luckily, my second one this year. Once again, Belgium and its people made me further appreciate that part of the world, since I thoroughly enjoyed myself...even if my co-workers thought it was both wasteful and foolish for a non-drinker like me to even visit the land of Freddy Merckx, and Eddy Maartens or whatever they're called.

Freddy and Eddy aside, I wanted to tell you that on several occasions during my stay in Belgium, I found myself giggling, and not just because I was thinking about Jean-Claude Van Damme's dancing abilities. I found myself laughing because of the stereotypical image that many have of Belgium and its people. By this I mean that Americans tend to think that Belgian cities must surely have bike shops in every corner, all of which sell vintage road frames, while everyone in the whole country follows cyclocross, and massive amounts of publications are devoted to the subject. Some might even believe (as Mike from Gage and Desoto rightfully joked) that Belgian children decide to forego standard teddy bears as they go to sleep at night, choosing instead to cuddle up to a cold and muddy cobblestone. Like all stereotypes, the one most American cycling fans have of Belgians is based on a caricature. It's one that some companies actively try to market to potential customers. This is something I've written about before, though I believe the point of this post is different. If it's not, and I'm repeating myself, I'm sure I'll be told about it pretty quickly by a reader or ten.

Belgian teddy bear collection

It's certainly true that Belgians love the sport. The amount of races, and racers that are Belgian is astonishing, and so is the country's historical significance within the sport. During races like the Tour of Flanders, the excitement and passion that the country has for the sport is palpable. But on an average day, you'll see few if any signs of this. Magazine stands carry few if any cycling publications, and the average Belgian appears to be more proud of the fact that Tintin is Belgian than that Freddy Merckx guy. At least that's what I've gathered through my admittedly amateurish use of several anthropological inquiry techniques. The same could be said of Holland, a place where many think that all cyclists are treated like gods at all times, although evidence has shown otherwise. Want proof? Watch this video of Team Sky training near Amsterdam. Note the driver who throws a bottle at Bradley Wiggins, and manages to hit him square in the face (at around 3:18). It's most certainly true that Amsterdam is an unusually bike-friendly place, but my point is that oversimplifying entire nations, cities and their populations can make us miss important details. Details like Bradley Wiggins getting hit in the face with a water bottle.

But I guess we all need something to believe in...some promised land akin to the mythical Belgium or Holland that many believe in. Some place that we can dream about, and talk to our friends about when we feel that cyclists are treated poorly where we live, or when we complain about how the TV coverage of the sport is awful where we live. Yes, many places in Europe are far better at these things than the US...but blowing them out of proportion makes some feel that there's a heaven out there. Something to aspire to and long for.

A relic of European cycling and retail, as found in Ghent. I say "relic", although Z shops still exist.

Football. American football.
Europe's love affair with cycling (the sport), appears to be a passionate but often quiet affair. This is in stark comparison to how obvious the presence of the NFL and (American) football is throughout most US cities all year long. This is probably more a result of the NFL's business savvy than fan's love for the sport, but the difference is startling. Football in the United States seems to be everywhere, the supermarket, the movie theater, and the gas station, it even has two TV channels (and even more if you pay for the special cable packages).

If you live in a city with a football team, you'll also surely know that football is alive and well in the clothing that your office's receptionist wears on Fridays, and the scrubs that your dentist wears during football season. The way that Americans are bombarded with football imagery is simply astonishing by comparison to how little cycling registers in Europe, particularly when the big national race isn't happening in a particular country. This (I would argue) is not exclusively because of Americans and their love of the sport, but also because of some business plan that was presented ten or fifteen years ago at the NFL's offices in New York City. The plan was to invade the American psyche, and rabid football fans complied. I wonder if anything of the sort would ever fly in Europe.

The general lack of overt reminders about Belgium's love for cycling became obvious even when I entered many bike shops throughout this and past trips. Contrary to popular belief, bike shops are not in every corner. Not even remotely close. By comparison, most US cities are bike shop meccas actually. Once inside these shops, even ones with amazing histories in road cycling, I found that most sold little more than mid-level Treks. Mountain bikes usually outnumbered road bikes two to one, and practical city bikes easily outnumbered road bikes three to one. Oh, and they don't really sell cyclocross bikes. In fact, after visiting many, many shops over different cities and towns over my last two visits, I only saw a couple of cyclocross bikes and they had (get ready to cry and wipe your tears on your dirty chamois) triple cranks. This is simply the reality of business around the world, not just Belgium. Clearly, the majority of people use bikes as a way of getting around, and thus don't really need the racing bikes that many assume folks in countries like Belgium would crave. No surprise there. Shops have to sell bikes, and they stock what sells...but the reality struck me as humorous when compared against what many Americans believe goes on in Belgium.

So, contrary to what popular belief is in the United States, not all Belgians ride steel Eddy Merckx frames, and train stations don't have embrocation-dispensing machines next to the pay phones. In fact, speaking with a long-time resident of Belgium during the trip, one who raced alongside Merckx and finished the Tour of Flanders several times throughout the 70s, I brought up the fact that in the United States there are now several brands of cycling-specific embrocations available. His first reaction was to laugh, and then ask if I was joking. He'd heard that a hand full of European brands were now packaging such products for sports in general, but the thought that Americans would buy them, and produce several of their own strictly for cycling struck him as highly humorous. As our conversation on the topic wound down, he paused, looked at me as he smiled, and once again asked "you're serious right?" It was an amazing exchange. One that was repeated a few minutes later when I mentioned waffles being sold at some US races.

(Belgian) truth is never as good as (Belgian) fiction
So while Belgium is most definitely a hotspot for cycling, the cartoonish image that Americans have of it is much, much more intense than the real thing. Much in the same way that Japanese hip-hop fans took that music's fashion and culture, ran it through some kind of particle accelerator, and came up with a far more extreme and almost insane version of the original, the same can be said about the image that many cycling fans in the States have about Belgium. Which makes me wonder if the same thing that happened with Japan's cartoonish take on hip hop, will happen with cycling. In the case of hip-hop fashion, Japanese companies marketed it so well, that the over-the-top version they came up with, was sold back to Americans, including hip-hop artists. What at first seemed silly, far-too-colorful and misguided, quickly became the new standard. The new American normal in hip hop came from a Japanese fairy tale. The student became the master...or whatever that saying is.

So will Belgians eventually buy into some part of America's take on their "cycling culture"? Perhaps. Because even stranger things have happened before. And surely you know that American is considered to be "the coolest nationality", while Belgian is considered the "uncoolest"...at least according to this poll.

After all, the exaggerated, particle-accelerated renditions of a culture can be more fun at times, and are closer to the realities that many crave and imagine. That's certainly true when waffles and embrocation are involved.

Cycling Inquisition turns two, world braces for temper tantrums and other unavoidable side effects of the "terrible twos"

2011-09-02T09:08:00.010-04:00

The recently deceased Ruben Dario Gomez and his team vehicle during a time trial at the Vuelta a Colombia.

Two years ago, in September of 2009, I started this blog. The decision was half-baked from the beginning. I couldn't think of a name for the blog, so I merely a used the name of the music blog I was writing for (Metal Inquisition) as inspiration. I continued to write under the nom de plume "Lucho" (which I took from an unintentionally hilarious radio DJ in Colombia, who played punk rock and metal music during the late 80s), not realizing how foolish it was be to write about Colombian cycling, when one of the biggest figures in said subset of the sport was/is named Lucho. Now, over 250 posts later, I'm still as clueless as I was when I put up that first post. But at least I don't go by "Lucho" anymore.

From the beginning, I wanted to convey bits and pieces of Colombia's cycling history to readers who may not have come across such information otherwise. These are wonderfully inspirational, and sometimes scary stories that should be told. I also had an urge to tell personal stories, and sometimes post pictures of professionals in silly or compromising poses. Two years on, I still don't really know which way a post will go, and what tone it will have until I'm well into writing it. I'm glad to see that some of you have hung in there, and put up with my....uh...let's call it stylistic inconsistency.

It's been interesting to see how, since I started writing this blog, Colombian cycling has had a bit of a renaissance internationally. Colombian teams are now racing abroad more often, a fact that was clearly punctuated days ago when Velo News published this article about the hardships experienced by Colombian riders while racing in the US last month. They have no bike sponsor, most riders share time trial bikes, and if free bar tape comes the team's way...it's highly rationed. It was with this in mind that I spoke with Santiago Botero (Gobernacion De Antioquia's director) just yesterday. His take on the team's budget is straight forward and to the point. "We can only a afford a few time trial bikes. We buy what we can afford, so riders have to share bikes and wheels. That's just how it is."

Oddly enough, if the bikes in question were steel lugged frames, rather than carbon fiber, the Velo News article, and the conversation I had with Botero could have happened in 1982, when Patrocinio Jimenez won the Coors Classic as an amateur. Sadly, some things never change. And because they don't change, I've been careful regarding how I convey stories about Colombian cycling on the blog. I actively try to steer clear of merely portraying Colombian riders who come from these poor regions as a novelty, something I've seen too often, along the lines of: "They funny little Colombian with a borrowed bike..look at him, he's funny and entertaining." I try to give dignity to their stories, and similarly try to convey the wonderful aspects about Colombia, while being honest about it's difficult past.

A team bus from the town of Urrao, photographed at the Clasico El Colombiano last year. Several teams used hommade rollers to warm up for this race, and many shared bikes with teammates twice their size.

While doing so, the blog's readership hasn't grown significantly over the last year or so. It's remained steady at a good and healthy number, leading me to believe that there's limited interest in the subject matter that I write about, or the manner in which I write about it (note the fact that I'm no longer on the list of most influential blogs). In the end, that matters little. Through the blog, I've managed to meet a handful of people, all of whom are great individuals (and at least one of those people have me a free pair of fashionable socks). For me—a person who largely keeps to himself—this has been an unusual but pleasant discovery.

Similarly, receiving emails from countries all over the world telling me how they too have now discovered the simple pleasure of eating bocadillo during their ride has proven to be a positive experience on my end. It's been a great side effect of the blog...although the millions of dollars and adoring fans are a nice perk as well.

Still, I have no idea where the blog is going, if it will continue or what will happen to it in the future. But as long as it remains somewhat fun, and I have more long-winded stories to tell, I'll keep on typing. Luckily, I've never been accused of being overly quiet, and I seldom run out of things to say.

Thanks.

Cycling Inquisition's Greatest Hits

2011-08-29T09:00:00.010-04:00

As a kid, I remember sitting down to watch my favorite sitcoms from time to time, only to realize that the episode I was watching was nothing more than a dreaded clip show. Somewhere between an ABBA greatest hits album, and making sloppy joes out of day-old hamburgers, clip shows made me irate when I was a kid. I wanted a new episode of Riptide, not a mishmash of season-old clips.

Having said all this, I must not have learned my lesson, because today's post is little more than a clip show. I figured that while I'm traveling, some of the blog's new readers can catch up on posts that they may not be familiar with. Below are some of those earlier posts, sorted by general subject matter.

Before I get to the posts, however, I wanted to mention a couple of things. To those in the press, please take note: the name of the country that teams like EPM-UNE and Gobernacion de Antioquia are from is ColOMbia. Not ColUMbia. I know I've made plenty of spelling errors on this blog (my ongoing confusion between "lose" and "loose" has made most of you cringe on an ongoing basis), but I'm a low-level blogger writing in his third language.

Speaking of EMP-UNE, when I saw the team race at the Clasico El Colombiano last year, I noticed that many of the bikes used by the team didn't match. Multiple brands of frames, wheels and components were used, and the few Giant bikes they had, were clearly year-old cast-offs from Rabobank. This made me love the team instantly. Cycling News recently noticed the same thing, but they still made the ColOmbia/ColUmbia error. Oh well.

For those of you who ordered jerseys, I'd like to let you know that things are on schedule for me to have them on the last week of September. The socks should be coming my way around the second week of September. I will keep you posted.

Lastly, I should mention that I'm currently doing coverage of the Vuelta A España for Universal Sports, as I did for the Giro and the Tour. So if you want to read my amazingly insightful...uh...insight, go here.

And now, let's get to today's clip show:

COLOMBIA

Armando Aristizabal was part of the Cafe De Colombia team, and raced for the team in European races. His body was found outside Medellin in 1987. His hands were bound, he had been blindfolded, and his body showed signs of torture. Photo from Matt Rendell's book Kings Of The Mountains.

Pablo Escobar, one of the most feared criminals in history, had substantial connections to cycling. This post explains those connections, as well as why my dream bike is a Colombian-made one with a shady past.
(Read more here )

Alfonso Florez was the first Colombian rider to wear the polka dot jersey. Sadly, as was the case with many other professionals in Colombia at that time, he died a violent death.
(Read more here)

Ramon Hoyos was Colombia's first great champion in cycling. His cultural importance was such that his biography was written by Nobel Prize-winning author Gabriel Garcia Marquez.
(Read more here)

Last year, I had the great opportunity of meeting Ramon Hoyos. Now in his late 70s, Hoyos spoke to me about his memories of beating and training with Fausto Coppi.
(Read more here)

Rigoberto Uran proudly wore the white jersey at the Tour this year. But his life, and how he got to where he is have both been arduous ordeals. This is an interview I did with Rigoberto shortly before the Tour.
(Read more here)

Laurent Fignon was mourned by the cycling world upon his passing. But in Colombia he really wasn't missed all that much.
(Read more here)

Hampsten in Colombia

Andy Hampsten is a beloved figure in Colombia, one who raced both in Colombia and with Colombians. This is an interview I did with Andy earlier this year, and deals with his memories of racing in Europe, and the way that he saw Colombian riders being treated in the peloton.
(Read more here)

Bocadillo, one of a few culinary secrets in the realm of cycling.
(Read more here)

Another humble, yet effective culinary secret that Colombian professionals took with them to Europe in the 1980s. Panela.
(Read more here)

The Colombian department of Boyaca has had a substantial amount of importance in cycling. This post explains why.
(Read more here)

Colombian riders who raced in Europe during the 1980s were often treated badly during races, and felt a certain longing for home. In this post, I tried to explain why I readily identified with their sentiments.
(Read more here)

A sad story about a professional cyclist in Colombia. The title says it all: Carlos Julio Siachoque. One man, one big win, and a one metric ton of pure cocaine.
(Read more here)

OPINIONS, DESIGN AND SUCH

A brand of clothing that has become a constant topic of conversation these days. Rapha has also become an adjective.
(Read more here)

Where did that distinctive icon of a stick figure riding a bike come from? If you read this post, you'll know more than you ever wanted to.
(Read more here)

Many were up in arms about the the manner in which the Leopard-Trek team attempted to control the way its name was written or pronounced. Although cycling fans follow a sport replete with brands, logos and even refer to teams by their sponsors...they all got bent out of shape about one team being too forward about their marketing and branding efforts.
(Read more here)

On the topic of non-professionals wearing yellow and polka-dotted jerseys.
(Read more here)

In the United States, there's a current rise in the use of Belgian and Flandrian iconography. How is this connected to the concept of hyperreality?
(Read more here)

PERSONAL

Did you know that the authorities tried to stop me from bringing a stupid replica of the Paris Roubaix trophy? Did you know that I lied to said authorities, and said it was a trophy for a race I had won? Did you know that I did this in front of Jonathan Vaughters? It's true.
(Read more here, and then here)

Delusions of grandeur while riding a bike. Something I know about all too well. Riding a bike can be a humbling experience.
(Read more here)

How come I ride alone so often? Could it be my mid-ride naps? Perhaps.
(Read more here)

BIKE LANES, URBANISM AND BOGOTA

Where do minorities and the poor fit in within America's rising bike culture?
(Read more here)

Bogota would appear to be an unlikely city to learn from when it comes to bike and pedestrian friendliness. But a city that has a car-free day, and closes almost all its major avenues and streets every single Sunday to allow bikes to ride through them is an astonishing example of what happens when a crazy city full of crazy people decides to take on crazy ideas.
(Read more here)

What lessons can we learn from methadone clinics. Plenty.
(Read more here)