Specialized

Not much to write about at the moment. Watched the Paris Roubaix last night and was reminded that there are some major bad asses in European cycling. I guess we can all sort of get to that bad ass status in some manner, whether it's killing it on a group ride with friends, attacking the last hill at the business park criterium, whatever it is.

That's one of the great things about cycling. How many people watch NASCAR and then go out and race their family sedan at Daytona? Oh yeah, instead they drive like morons locally. I call those people my meal ticket, if you know what I mean. We, the cyclists, can go out, buy the bike that Lance races on (if you'd like to take out a second mortgage), get out on the road and imagine ourselves crushing the slopes of Hautacam or Alpe d'Huez, etc.

I don't dream in terms of climbing a switchback, I dream of wind, wet and cold cobblestones. I dream of windswept farm roads on a bleak day in northern Belgium (or Minnesota). And so, that is generally what I train for. Last weekend I rolled out with some friends for a tough, tough group ride filled with climbing and cold and rain and snow and wind. Those guys were climbing like mountain goats and I was struggling to maintain contact at all points, except on the way back when we hit a wall of wind and cold and rolling terrain. I even remarked to one of my miniature climbing friends that we had finally hit the part of the ride that I could enjoy, after 4 hours and into a nasty head/crosswind.

Lance famously said it's not about the bike and I say it's all about preference. Call me the "rolleur" of the group, the guy that gets up front and drags you home after many hours of hard riding. I'll never be pulling away on a climb (unless you let me ;)), but I'll certainly pay you back for dragging my ass up and over mountain passes by letting you get a sweet draft when the cards are down.

Last night I watched the hard men of the peloton enact their version of the "passion play," with their entire body quaking over the cobbles, but making it look oh so easy. Overnight I drempt I was bloody and battered and dusty, with grit and grime wedged in my teeth and ears, pounding out mile after mile of pave and when I leave work Thursday morning I'll jump on my bike and continue the dream.