Cycling Sauce: Chopper Guard Bicycle Lovelies

-- March Sauce - The Cycles Laurent Girl 

I know, it's not yet March. But what's a few days between friends? Hat tip to third generation Paris cyclery Cycles Laurent.  Apparently Grandad is still in charge of marketing. Love your work, Papy.  This month's prize for spotlighting bicylce marketing excellence goes to Lunn Ave rider PM. A passed expiry date scroggin bar is on its way to you now.  

Vive la France!

Make pain your friend

-- A jolly good thrashing can be strangely satisfying

Heading west in the empty dawn we rode apace through Kingsland and New Lynn. Missingham muttered something about the time and very soon we were speeding through Henderson Valley’s stifling humidity and into the rising hiss of cicadas. Heavy sweat of forest all around. Goddamn, we hadn’t even arrived and I was heaving like a pack-a-day sumo wrester.

The deal was Mountain Road repeats, but just how many? What could the body take? It was an experimental ride. A ride to failure and its full consequences.

The climb’s early stages allow a rhythm and silent conversation: Stay on top of the pedals, that’s right, feel the flow, relax, you repeat to yourself. Then the fucker rises up and snakes into the upper reaches of the misted valley. Ahead, the narrow road, its coarse surface bulbous with tree roots, disappears into forested steepness. It beckons the rider to a nasty intercept by invisible officials responsible for unhitching comfort and watching it slide down the valley.

In the saddle, out of the saddle, gravity bleeds life from the legs and the shoulders sag under terrible weight. Lungs fight to expand. Questions creep in: Are my brakes rubbing? What’s wrong with me, horses don’t sweat this much? Then doubt: Hell, there’s a place to stop.

But on you go, in a world smaller and concentrated and hitched to torment and fatigue. It’s now a survival trip, where time struggles behind a normal clock tick; each pedal stroke a victory over turning back and an arse kicking dished up by gravity and evil cycling forces found at 15 percent gradient. How long can this go on?

The top, obscured by a sharp corner, arrives suddenly. This NEW PLACE, a breakthrough to effortlessness, like a climbing airliner slicing heavy cloud into sparkling blue. The relief of effortlessness floods the body like morphine.

Twice more. Missingham had spoken.

Taking it on the chin

-- Double chin.

You'd be angry too if you had a chin like Cadel's. Ok, so I'm no Cadel fan. His Angry Man Thing is so goddamn alienating. I read that it's just a nervous act, a gross overreaction to public scrutiny,  and underneath is a Free Tibet T-shirt and patter of dogs. But don't touch his dog. Give the man a break, for goodness sake. But fuck, that chin. I said but fuck. Sorry about that.

Don’t horse about with sports nutrition

-- Nutrition bars eating up dwindling funds? In these recessionary times saving on food doesn’t always mean going down market.

Hello Nestle

Lester here.

Great admirer of New Zealand pet food delicacies. I must say, you've done a wonderful job of promoting Fancy Feast Royale. Yellow fin tuna with whole shrimp....If only dear old Clarence were alive today.

Anyway, quick question: I'm quite sick of Chef. The mature formula gives me terrible gas. It's time I went upmarket. But I just want to be sure there's no horse in your fish.

I don't much fancy surf and turf - you know what I mean.

Fond regards,

Lester

__________________________

Good morning Lester,

Thank you for contacting us regarding ingredients in Fancy feast.

There are no ingredients in any of our products that are not clearly stated on the ingredient list.

We only add chicken, fish, lamb, beef and some pork meat to our products (but it does depend on variant as to which of these meats it contains).

None of the Fancy feast products contain lamb or pork, only chicken (turkey), beef or fish depending on variant.

The Fancy feast Royale product is also human grade meat so you can actually eat it yourself if you are so inclined.

If you would like to try a free sample (or if your cat would like to try!) please go to www.fancyfeast.co.nz to register.

If you have any other questions please don't hesitate to contact me.

Kind regards,

Crystal Corben | Petcare Advisor
Nestlé Purina PetCare 
Unit 2, 99 Carbine Road | PO Box 109078 | Auckland 1140

CHECK OUT OUR WEBSITES 
 www.beneful.co.nz 
 www.dogspace.co.nz 
 www.purinaone.co.nz 
 www.petspace.co.nz 
 www.friskies.co.nz 
 www.fancyfeast.co.nz 
 www.tux.co.nz 
 www.proplan.com 
 www.dogchow.com 
 www.catchow.com 
 www.tidycats.com

When will they learn?

-- 23 year-old Belgian cyclist Frederiek Nolf, competing in the Tour of Qatar, has died in his sleep. Nolf’s Father: “Out of respect for Frederiek, we see no sense" in an autopsy to determine the cause of death.

The poor guy; his poor family. Nolf’s untimely end, when just days before race chief Eddy Merckx rode with a “laughing and happy” Nolf and his teammates, is deeply shocking. 

How could this happen to someone so young; a professional athlete, who apparently had not before exhibited symptoms of ill health? Said Merckx: "I spoke to his team manager (Heynderrickx) who told me there was nothing to indicate that something like this could happen.”

The unexplained death of a child surely makes every bone and heartstring in a parent’s body ache for answers, for truth, for resting peace. But not Nolf’s father: “Out of respect for Frederiek, we see no sense" in an autopsy to determine the cause of death he reportedly told nieuwsblad.be.

One can only assume that he sees no sense (in an autopsy) because he knows what the post-mortem will reveal. And why would anyone willingly jeopardise a life insurance payout? Nolf senior’s further explanation casts more suspicion: "He has gone to sleep in a peaceful, natural manner. It is time to leave Frederiek to his rest." Yes, going to sleep is quite natural, but when you’re aged just 23 failing to wake up is not.

Before synthetic production of EPO professional cyclists died in their sleep by the morgue-full. In those good old days, when boosting red blood cells (RBCs) was a stab in the dark (involving blood letting, a centrifuge to concentrate RBCs, and someone to pump the 'reddened' blood back in) a cyclist’s best friend was an alarm clock and a wind trainer. A spot of midnight cycling revived a pulse rate flagging under the load of extra thick blood. It gave new gravity to the consequences of sleeping through the alarm.

But even modern medicine isn’t completely failsafe. Somebody tell me I’m wrong.

Chopper Guard Harden The Fuck Up Award: Svein Tuft – hard as fuck

-- In 2003, he showed up for the Prime Alliance pro team’s training camp near Los Angeles. He had ridden there from Canada. “He had this really long beard, and he smelled very bad,” said Jonathan Vaughters, then in his last year of professional racing.

While his European peers experimented with women’s underwear and side-parts, Canadian cyclist Svein Tuft, who this year rides the Tour de France with the Garmin-Slipstream squad, rode vast tracts of Canadian wilderness on a $40 bike hooked to a homemade trailer groaning under the weight of a sack of potatoes and Tuft’s 80-pound dog, Bear.

By all means clap Team Cancer Man, but here’s a rider we can really holler for, eh.

Now, go make yourself a nice cup of harden the fuck up and read the full story here.

The physics of a decent bang

-- Lunn Ave rider and Doctor of Bicycle Engineering Mike P. gets to the bottom of the weekend’s blowout.

“……Just a note to say the blow-out probably wasn't a random chance. It was at the bottom of a hill I hear. If your tyre pressures are somewhere around the max listed on the sidewall before you start the ride, they will be somewhat more at the bottom of a hill.

The function of brakes is to convert kinetic energy into heat energy. Nearly all of that heat energy is transferred to the rim because the brake blocks are good insulators. The rim, with enough hill, has the time it takes to get some of that heat into the air in the tube. Heat and pressure have a direct relationship. The proportion the pressure goes up is the tube-air temp difference over 273 (Kelvin) x the initial pressure. Enough for good bang it seems. (A regular problem on tandems.)

The solution: do half your braking with each wheel, when you can. But beware of using both brakes at the same time. If you do, weight transfer to the front makes the rear lock real easy, and not much happen at the back anyway. If you are on a curve at that time, a dramatic step sideways at the rear is certain, if the rear tyre skids at all. I tell you, it stirs the soul..."

Cycling Sauce: Chopper Guard Bicycle Lovelies

-- The readers have spoken. February Sauce – The Assos catalogue girl

I’m a big fan of Assos clobber. Topnotch and reassuringly expensive. Like most things Swiss. They certainly know how to knock-up a half decent catalogue, too. And all in the best possible taste.

A cherry Swiss cheese salute to Assos and their marketing department. Your fine work is appreciated.

Readers: Send me your recommendations for March Cycling Sauce. Let’s work together on this and give manufacturers the recognition they deserve.

Manufacturers: More than happy to accept direct submissions. But you’ll have to send me some of your clobber (I’m an Australasian XL, European XXXL). Can’t be celebrating your loveliness without quality testing your clobber. Leave your email address in the comments section and I’ll reply offline with delivery details.

Fear and loathing in Coromandel

-- We were somewhere around….

We were somewhere around Ruamahunga, on the Thames Coastal Road, when the heat began to take hold. I remember saying something like, “I feel a little light headed, maybe we should stop for water.” And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge gulls, all swooping and screeching and diving around our peleton, which was going about a 25 miles an hour to Coromandel.

And a voice was screaming "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?"

Then it was quiet again. We stopped. My associate had taken his shirt off and was pouring suntan lotion on his chest, to facilitate the tanning process. "What the hell are you yelling about?" he muttered, staring up at the sun with his eyes closed and covered with wraparound Spanish sunglasses. "Never mind," I said. "You lot keep going. I need some water. I’ll catch up.” No point mentioning those gulls, I thought. The poor bastards will see them soon enough.

Finding the cold water tap in the fuel station forecourt was impossible. I would have to go inside. A tap, Kind Sir, for this road weary cyclist in search of the great COROMANDEL dream.

“Tank water,” the lizard skinned proprietor hissed, dismissing me with a wave of his fisted claw. Goddman, one litre is all I ask.

He was clearly sick and dangerous. He was a liar and a thief and a rapist who was probably incurable.... In some provinces they have Castration Programmes for foul balls like this: Chop out the hormones, turn them into eunuchs with fat little hands and glistening eyes and wispy hair on their necks who don't mind admitting they're wrong.

So I banged on the double glazed fridge door and seized a very fine 1 litre. No point mentioning the great COROMANDEL dream, I thought, a poor bastard like that might CUT me.

“Can we make the trade?” I enquired, tossing a sweaty five dollar bill on to his fly blown counter.

“Here’s your change. Now take this goddamn water and get the fuck out of here.”

“I’ll be back. I’ve got your name on the sales slip. I’ll find out where you live and burn your house down.”

Jesus. Did I say that? Or just think it? Did he hear me?

Goddamn, I think those miles were getting to me.

Gentlemen riders look to celebrity draw card

-- Does anyone have the contact details for UK actress and cycling advocate Gemma Atkinson? She’s Cristiano Ronaldo’s ex and my chums at the GBC reckon she’d be well up for the Gentlemen’s ride.

Apparently she’s in New Zealand this February. So the timing’s impeccable. I must say that her aerodynamic suit will greatly inspire our gentlemen riders.

Please let me know.

Age shall not weary

-- Old dogs teaching young new tricks

Age defying sporting prowess is strangely liberating. It exposes the great con – that the only kind of performance you should expect from an athlete aged over 35 years is a flagging one. Not the case in this modern era of grey haired sporting triumph.

Bringing new hope to all athletes who should have hung up their kit years ago, Lance Armstrong, at the ripe old age of 37, will become Tour de France’s oldest winner should he pull off an improbable eight victory in July this year. He reckons age is a wives’ tale. Sure, his back gets tired quicker, but on the bike he feels just as good as he did before, he says.

Then there’s Spanish cycling veteran and super domestique Iñigo Cuesta (40 in June) who will this season (his 18th as a professional) help current Tour de France champion Carlos Sastre defend his crown. Not bad for a professional athlete with a career dating back to the reign of Miguel Indurain.

And who can forget the feats (and looks) of 41-year-old swimmer and three times silver medalist at last year’s Beijing Olympics, Dara Torres.

The list goes on.

It is said the mind grows tired before the body wilts. Those fateful words, I’ve had enough, often come long before physical incapability. Fifty year-old French born professional cyclist Jeannie Longo is living proof of a body with the mind to match.

Keep pushing it hard. In most cases the body will outlast the mind.

About the photo (Ernie Old)
In 1954, marathon cyclist Ernie Old completed an 80-day bicycle ride, averaging 80 miles per day and finishing on his 80th birthday in Albert Park in Melbourne. This was just one of his remarkable feats – he also served in two wars, patented several inventions and made Prime Minister Robert Menzies an offer he almost couldn’t refuse.