Here’s a random scan from the April, 1990 issue of Winning, Bicycle Racing Illustrated magazine. The subsequent over processing in Photoshop was done by me for no reason other than sheer boredom. The race is the 1990 World Cup, the racer in front is Adri van der Poel (I believe). The racer behind looks like he could be related to Jeremy Powers.
Photo credit: Unknown, as it was not listed in the article.
Today was another day on planet Hoth (AKA Michigan). Wind swept frozen snow and ice now covers everything and probably will until June. As per my standard operating procedure, I did not ride outside but did go to the gym for my cardio and strength training. It was pretty uneventful other than seeing one of the many characters I have come to encounter (or make up in my mind based on their appearance alone) each visit… today it was the Lesbian Mafioso.
Who is she? Hell, I don’t know, what I do know is that I spent my first few visits assuming she was a 50-year-old man. I’m not trying to be a dick or rude, I just thought she was a dude with a mullet and a track suit. Turns out he’s a woman, and from what I can tell, based on recently seeing her at the grocery store with her kids, NOT a lesbian (not that there’s anything wrong with that). I also have my doubts that she’s in the Mafia but if you don’t want to be stereotyped as such, don’t drive a Cadillac and wear track suits while looking like a high school gym teacher circa 1989. How do I creepily know so much about her? Easy, she pulled into the gym parking lot the same time I did one day driving a Cadillac and she always wears track suits.
All this makes me sound like I am nebby, prejudice, judgemental and homophobic doesn’t it? I swear, all this is in jest, not to mention if you would see her, you too would think that she’s a lesbian Good Fella. OK, forget all that, I am grasping at straws for something to write about. I guess I could talk about my past history of not doing stuff or not doing enough to make me a better bike rider or racer? OK, I will…
I would say that 99.9% of cyclists (including myself) were pretty pissed and disappointed at Specialized and their corporate wankery towards the Cafe Roubaix shop. I am also relieved to see that things are smoothing out and we don’t have to hear about it anymore. I hadn’t even planned on mentioning the whole small shop vs giant bike brand with apparently nothing else to worry about saga, since just about every single cycling media (and pseudo cycling media) outlet already has. BUT, I wanted to repost (for my sake) a little PS piece that I did for xxcmag.com a while back and figured I better justify giving Specialized any free positive coverage (fingers are still crossed they don’t sue me for mentioning their name here).
Oh well, this isn’t about the bike anyway, it’s about Ned. Dude was a mountain bike legend no matter who he raced for or what he raced on. Who among us hasn’t at least taken a peek inside his book Mountain Bike Like A Champion while loitering around Barnes & Noble, drinking coffee and not buying anything? Hmm… in hindsight I should have really paid more attention to the chapter on high-speed turns.
More on Ned [HERE].
Photo Source: Winning, Bicycling Illustrated, March 1991
Photo: Neal Palumbo
Text by Tracy Seip
PS Design: Jason Mahokey, XXC Magazine
I’d like to say that I went on some badass, long winter ride today, but that would be total bullshit. I actually spent the day doing what any unemployed fuckwad would do; shoveling snow, taking Wifey’s car back to the mechanic, doing some grocery shopping, going to the gym and doing the family laundry. Life can end now… I’m sooo OK with that…
On the plus side, I took this photo of Jake The Dog through the glass of the back door as he looked up at me with his snow-covered mush saying “What the fuck dude? Let me in! It’s fucking cold out here!!”
Who knows what excitement tomorrow may hold for me!!
In attempts to get my head out of what Wifey so often refers to as The Bell Jar, I forced myself to dawn six layers of gear and go for a ride at Mid today. The result? Well, it was nice to get outside and out of the gym and basement, but the conditions were not all that ideal. It still helped a bit though.
The trainer; instrument of physical and mental torture to some, hated by many. Me? I’m OK with it.
As you may or may not know, I hesitate to call my riding, time on the trainer and in the gym “training.” I suppose it sort of is, but I think of it more as “doing stuff” so as not to get even fatter… and an attempt to get back to just mildly embarrassing myself on the bike next season (oppose to completely embarrassing myself as I did in 2013). Having once again said that disclaimer of my slackness and douchery I can get to the post at hand…
Raymond “Bad Luck Badass” Poulidor, 1968 Tour de France.
This post takes a few different views of Raymond Poulidor’s crash on Stage 15 (Font-Romeu-Odeillo-Via to Albi) of the 1968 Tour de France.
I’m not a fan of the time trial (individual or team) unless it’s vintage pre-time trial bike, pre-aero helmet stuff (like the pic above featuring Jacques Anquetil circa 1953) or on dirt (like the Yankee Springs Time Trial here in Michigan each spring). While I have NO plans to ever do a road time trial, I do plan on returning to Yankee this spring. This winter I also plan on continuing my version of the time trial on the trainer; pedaling my ass off, going nowhere for 15 miles trying to best the time before. It’s basically doing lactate threshold training but that sounds all fancy and like I actually know what I’m doing. Since I don’t, and tend to wing things by the seat of my soiled chamois, I just call it doing a time trial.
I’m not sure if I’m more impressed by the wrench leaning out of the car to do his chain lubing business at the 1949 Tour de France, or the freaking tree trunk legs on Gino Sciardis. Look at those freaking things! There are roid-head body builders that don’t have legs that good.
Side note: Digging the wool jersey that Gino is sporting too.
