Flèche Wallonne is ALL about the Muir day Hooeee, or as its both pronounced and spelled by the local French-speaking Belgians, the Mur de Huy. Huy is a 1300 meter long & 204 meter tall near-vertical (9.3% avg gradient + 26% max gradient) hill the race goes up three times, in relatively quick succession, after first riding 100km through the farms and hills of Wallonia. Wallonia translates to West Virginia in English; speaking of translations, Mur de Huy translates to The Wall of Huy and Flèche Wallonne translates to The Arrow of Wallonne. Huy (the wall) is the arrowhead. Technically speaking Huy (on a map) kinda looks like an arrowhead—if the arrowhead is the blunt kind used for practice and if the arrowhead is attached to an exceptionally bent shaft. See map below. For serious spectators and racers and sponsors and the institution that is the Spring Classics, Huy is where the race is decided, and Huy, from the-bottom-to-the-top (but especially on the top, y'all!) is where the party at—imagine a sinuous, switchbacky, mile-long, sixty-foot wide, near-vertical, five-hour long party wearing a beer garden and outdoor stadium-sized TV screen party hat. That’s Huy. Basically, Flèche Wallonne is all about the Mur de Huy.

There is no reason, tactical or otherwise, to watch/spectate/attend/support/view/participate-in/take-in Wallonne from any place other than somewhere on Huy. And that’s why Manual For Speed (me) paid some dude named Stijn¹ with UCI Moto Credentials (and a driver's license) 308.00 American dollars to drive me for the day.

"Flèche is my favorite race, it’s all about the Mur de Huy. When everything comes together and you’ve got your momentum going and you hit that climb, you don’t really hear anything in particular, it’s just atmosphere, and everything else except getting to the top of the hill as fast possible becomes irrelevant."

Dan Martin, Team Garmin-Sharp, fourth place

Stijn, who does not speak a “whole lot” of English, and who’s day-job is running N°7even Bikes (former sponsors of Marco Polo Cycling Team Donckers Koffie ), was pretty young, kinda wreckless, a little prepared and totally awesome. Stijn claimed we’d see the race 11 times plus all three laps up Huy; in actuality we saw the race 7 times plus two laps up Huy, which, after four hours (or whatever) of doing 110km down the back alleys and goat paths of rural Wallonia was plenty. In Europe they limit the number of motos with “full” course privileges to something like three bikes. Full course moto privileges go to the same driver-photographer teams they've gone to since the beginning of time. While we were credentialed, we only had secondary course privileges. That meant Stijn and I were allowed to drive on the course ahead of and behind the Peloton but not up through the middle of it, which up through the middle of it is the more common or typical way it’s done, at least in American Races like the TOC, Utah and Colorado. Secondary privileges was mostly fine anyway because Stijn had a semi-sophisticated, quasi-efficient RP (routing plan) in the form of map strapped to his gas tank and a GPS unit mounted to his handlebars.

It felt like storm chasing a spandex herd in pleasant weather.

After the start we raced through Wallonia alternating between the course whenever possible and a vast, amorphous, ever-changing, ever-evolving, sometimes hidden, none-too-specific and sometimes unpaved network of “roads,” in an effort to follow and photograph the race. It felt like storm chasing a spandex herd in pleasant weather. Speaking of pleasant weather, the weather was in fact pleasant—mid 70’s and sunny. For the me the sensation was a little bit like apparating (see Harry Potter) all over Belgium/West Virginia.

There was a lot of farty motorcycle noise, lots of leaning and tilting, lots of skidding and last minute braking, lots of different road surfaces (a lot of them something other than smooth), lots of driveway 180s, lots of lapping roundabouts a few times before finally setting-off in what seemed like a random direction, lots of beeping, lots of watching new growth forests (the kind that go by in hypnotic almost-rows) rush past, lots of squinting into the wind and the sun, lots of smashed Coke cans stuffed into my back pocket sticky and dribbling, lots and lots and lots of punching into and out of invisible clouds of cow shit smell, lots of street furniture near misses, lots of passing (barely!) between cars and trucks and horses and kids on bikes and everything really, lots of reaching into my musette bag for this or that worried I might drop it at 160km/h and lose it, lots of narrow lanes, lots of paved paths cutting and arcing across a recently tilled field on an open and wondrous ridge, lots of small bridges over little creaks and runs, lots of dirt in my teeth, and lots (as in TOO MUCH!) of Stjin reviewing and assessing our RP on his map or GPS for seconds at a time which seconds at a time seemed like minutes at a time while almost driving into various shit like walls and parked cars—and but periodically we’d come out of a dreamlike nowhere onto the course, and with five or ten or whatever minutes to spare, we’d wait, then shoot the race, and then split, again. We did this all over Wallonia deferring the epic party that is Huy until the very last minute.

Photographing a race from the back of a motorcycle may be the single most disconnected and personally-disappointing way to see a race. But, it is an experience.

The race starts in the town Binche (which start is new, as it used to start in the town of Charleroi, a muncipality of Wallonia located in the province of Hainaut, Belgium—the inhabitants are called Caroliregiens or Carolos) and finishes in Huy.

Binche

FlècheWallonne

We are maybe 15k up the road from the start. I'm standing at the base of a short bridge, there is a river behind me. I bought a coke from the store across the street, all they had was cans. My helmet is on the ground on the sidewalk halfway over the bridge.

The first thing you do after pulling up is walk the area. After walking the area I chose the inside of the corner. I sat there on the inside of that corner for about 25 minutes until I changed my mind and walked across the street (from where this photograph was taken) with about 30 seconds to spare. That happens a lot.

We sat in this wide open field for what felt like hours. It was windy. At this point I am exceptionally bored. I wish I had another can of coke. Stijn and I are becoming friends at least. We talk about girls and cameras - wherever you go you can always count on girls and cameras to talk about, regardless of fluency.

I am standing at the bottom of a large hill, there is a roundabout behind me. My favorite part(s) about this spot: 1) Watching some dudes splinter off and swing wide (to the right) of the median - it happens so spontaneously and seemingly randomly, it looks sketchy and rad 2) Moments after this photograph was taken I watched Alex Howes bunny-hop the left edge of the roundabout behind me all Sunday In Hell style 3) The family standing on the sidewalk across the street from me (not shown) is keeping it real - West Virginia style 4) When Stijn and I leave we have to drive down a narrow, busted sidewalk over a bridge because cars were blocking the road because of the race, it was S K E T C H Y, Stijn almost dropped us twice and we clipped a builder van with some part of his bike and my foot.

I walked up and down this road for twenty minutes, "walking the area." I couldn't find my spot. The road was flat, the crowd was flat, the light was flat, everything was flat. My ass felt flat. I need a new Coke.²

Sometimes a bike race just looks like a bike race. This spot is near the end of the Fleche Wallone's (arrow) shaft.

In addition to being a fan of bicycle racing I believe the gentlemen next to me is a Sportsmen (Hunting & Fishing) and a smoker. This spot is on the backside of Huy.

At this point I'm standing next to two ladies, one of the two ladies is holding a dog, a lot of race watchers in Europe bring small dogs to hold while they spectate.

Ryder looks hungry.

Mur de Huy

1. Pronounced stain, like shit stain, the one in your underwear because you’re on the back of a motorcycle and the dude driving is driving so fast and so hairy.
2. NOT a New Coke.

Reed McCalvin is a soigneur, and for some, a crucial part of the development process. He is the head soigneur for the Bontrager Pro Cycling Team; before Bontrager he worked for Health-Net, Garmin and Slipstream. Before all that, he was in the military. You’ll often find riders in his room sitting on the floor, bowl of cereal in their hands, listening to Reed talk while massaging. They come for the stories. Reed has a story for everything. While the stories are entertaining and the mood is light, he’s an expert at imparting wisdom and discipline, the kind of invaluable wisdom and discipline young riders need as they graduate from U23 to the Pro Peloton. Having aided several riders in that jump, Reed’s influence is often noted with affection.

While part of Slipstream and Garmin, Reed worked with Alex Howes. What follows is a brief interview with Reed about Alex Howes: some impressions, some observations and one account.

Leadership (Ability vs. Desire)

He's [Alex] one of the strongest-willed people I've ever met in the sport; he would've been a great soldier. Also, he's a leader without wanting to be a leader. You know the thing where there's the Ability but no Desire vs. Desire but no Ability? When it comes to leadership Alex has the Ability but no Desire. People listen to him because he’s insightful, he works really hard, he’s funny (he has a very dry sense of humor), he’s very intelligent and he doesn't force his will like a lot of others do. He’s always had that, he’s always been like that.

As a junior he told the other juniors what to do, and he was the one who would talk to Staff if something wasn't right—"Hey, someone was saying something about his bike but he was afraid to tell the mechanic because he's afraid the mechanic will yell at him." Alex would handle it himself or he would get me to handle it but either way Alex would get it resolved.

Wrestling

He always wanted to wrestle. I'm a larger man, he's a smaller man, but he always had this tough energy. And you could mess with him, it was as easy as just talking a little shit. He’d get worked up and shout, "I'll take you right here, I'm not afraid!" or “It's not the size of the dog in the fight it's the size of the fight in the dog!” And he’d jump on my back and try to take me out. He did this when he was 16, when he was 19, when he was 22, and I’m sure at Worlds last year he would've done the same thing, but I avoided the afterparty. I missed-out on my chance to wrestle with Alex one more time.

Being the Guy

On the other side of it, he's incredibly mature and he has a lot of interest outside of cycling. He reads a lot. He likes knives—I don't know what the knife thing is about but it's his thing, and it’s NOT creepy, it’s not like he’s walking around packing, he just likes knives. When he was younger he would go through these phases where he felt like his life was too much about cycling and sports programs, and so he would crack. He wouldn't train, he’d end up out of shape but then he would come back and do a 30-hour week. Peaks and valleys.

When he was 19 and barely out of high school he turned pro and raced Grand Prix de Plouay [now GP Ouest-France], one of the longest and hardest races of the year, and he killed it, he totally survived it. Then a year later he goes back down to the amateur level, to the development team—because Garmin was getting bigger and hiring guys like Millar and Magnus Backstedt—and he was happy to be back on a development team where he was in a leadership position, racing with USA Cycling racing in Europe being the guy even though he can arguably sprint as good as the sprinters and climb almost as good as the climbers. He’s willing to sacrifice himself week-in and week-out being the road captain, making sure that when Stetina hits the bottom of the climb, Stetina is in a good position.¹

 He's respectful, but he will put you in a ditch no problem. Howes will fight anybody. And he'll lead out the sprinter too.

1. Manual #28: LEADERS MAKE SACRIFICES

Written and Photographed by Emily Maye

Bob Jungels is 20 years old. He’s one of the most impressive young talents in the Pro Peloton. Really. He’s incredible on the bike, he’s sociable off it. And not a bad dancer, I’ll add. Jens Voigt is 41 years old. And he’s, well, he's mutherfuckin’ Jens Voigt.

Their birthdays are 5 days apart. 5 days and 21 years.

Music is generally of the Euro dance variety on the Radioshack Leopard Trek team bus. Even early in the morning, which struck me as odd while riding with the team at 8:01 AM, transferring to the start of Stage 2 in Murrieta during the Amgen Tour of California. The bus is equipped with 12 stacked bunk beds and a lounge area in the back, but surely the music transcends all spaces. It’s not the bus they use in Europe—which has bucket seats and plenty of room for each rider to sit—which has nowhere to sleep, and at 8 AM, the beds make more sense. The music, not as much.

Two riders take the back area, one takes the desk booth area, connects to the bus wi-fi on his iPad and pins his race number to his jersey. The others take to the bunks. Jens takes a bench up front, opens a newspaper, puts his feet stretched up against the opposing bench and assures me, “They’re not sleeping, they are just conserving energy. It’s important to save as much as possible.”

Euro dance club music plays as we head north.

Five days later we leave the San Jose Airport Garden Hotel, which is not in any way reflective of what you find on their website btw, and the entire vibe has changed. Jens won Stage 5 in an incredible late attack into Avila Beach and on the ridiculously difficult Stage 6 Individual Time Trial, while I followed him in the car, he took time to high-five fans along the road. He is wearing the Number 1. I’ve never heard the audible support for a rider that I heard passing fans on that day. It’s funny, you think the energy would be in his approaching, but in a follow car you hear what happens just after he’s passed: “That was Jens!,” “Go Jens!,” “I love you, Jens!,” “Shut up legs!” Over and over. He touched them, high-fiving anyone that stuck a hand out on the climb. Hell, he’d won the day before, he knew he wasn’t going to win that day during the TT.

Sometimes Pro Cycling should be about having fun. It might be too hard without it. Even for Jens Voigt.

As I get on the bus at the San Jose Airport Garden Hotel, two days after Voigt’s victory, metal music is playing—much to mine and everyone else’s surprise. There’s a slight change to the seating arrangement of the riders. Jens is up front, as before, and I show him the photo I took of him high-fiving spectators. He asks for the photo and I send it to him over Whatsapp.¹ He tweets it. Bob Jungels sits across from me on a bench and pins his race numbers for the day. Bob and Jens at the front of the bus. 20 and 41.

At some point, the metal music has been changed. There’s a remote and someone is apparently in control. Jens doesn’t like the music change. It’s Justin Timberlake now and he complains about the whining, “I lost my girl,” cheesy tune. He goes on about it for a bit. Quite a bit. Whining doesn’t really appeal to Jens. There’s not really anyone but Bob to engage in the argument. At some point, the topic turns to dancing. Bob listens and Jens pins his race numbers.

“I don’t know how to dance, but like most things, I do it with passion. And it turns out ok. I don’t know how to make love and I have six children. I don’t really know how to ride a bike... but I do it with passion.”²

1. Whatsapp is an extremely popular mobile messaging service in Europe.
2. Manual #28: DO IT WITH PASSION

He is twenty-six years old.

He was born in Moscow, Russia but he lives in Brooklyn, New York where he will continue to live until he has a reason to leave. He rides for Foundation. His Spirit Animal is a rabbit. He is a Gemini. He prefer cats to dogs as well as mountains to beaches. His full name is Danila Olegovich Chabanov but some people call him Jersey Dan.

What follows is a narrated (by Dan) & chronological look at his CRCA Club Championships race in July 2012.¹

21 July, 2012 – 9:30 PM: Getting some Chinese food at East Met West with Alex and Becca. Night before the race.

10:15 PM: Really? I was eating Pizza at 10:15? Glad I cut that shit out. That's Carmine's, from around the corner.

10:30 PM: I spent my high school years as a shop rat. I was paid mostly to change flats and assemble hybrids. Compared to rusty Wal-Mart mountain bikes a race bike is a piece of cake to work on. Having my bike not work as intended is a huge distraction for me while I'm racing, so I make a habit of double checking it the night before.²

10:45 PM: Kit gets hung. Normal clothes are usually just on the floor.

22 July, 2012 – 4:30 AM: I usually set up the moka pot the night before, so all I have to do is stumble into the kitchen and turn on the stove.

4:40 AM: Racing in New York City is a little bizarre. In general it's a pretty dumb place to live as a bike racer, but I started racing here so I'm used to it. Due to the high population density the only time we can race in the park safely is at absurdly early hours of the morning. And honestly, it still gets a little scary when the joggers start showing up in the park right around sunrise. There is no getting around how much racing at 5:30 AM sucks, so the only thing to do is embrace it.

4:50 AM: Here I am embracing it.

5:00 AM: Making plans to ride to the race with friends makes it way easier to avoid sleeping through your alarm.

5:05 AM: Right about now we are all questioning some life decisions.

5:15 AM: The sun is rising on Park Ave on the way to Central Park. Sometimes it seems totally worth it. It seems like you have the city all to yourself at this hour. The only people you have to share the road with are stumbling home from the bars which closed just about an hour ago.

5:30 AM: I Don't have anything to really add to this one. I like to pin my own numbers. Maybe that's just me.

5:45 AM: No bike racing happens without volunteers. I don't know why they do it. Seriously. No clue. But I am eternally grateful to them anyway.

6:15 AM: Here is a view I don't get to enjoy during a bike race.

6:45 AM: Here is me not enjoying that view during a bike race.

6:50 AM: A CRCA official and marshal wait for the race to finish.

7:00 AM: Bike racing involves a lot of losing at bike racing. It's important to enjoy the little victories as well—even at a club race. No one will just hand you a win. So when you go 1-2-3 it's nice to hug it out and thank your teammates.

7:15 AM: At this point we're just standing around. I'm trying to decide if I'm awake yet.

7:30 AM: A podium sweep will earn you about twenty bucks per rider at a club race.

8:00 AM: The sun is up. I feel like I've been awake for half the day already and most people aren't even awake yet.

1. "Founded in 1898, CRCA is a bicycle racing club in New York City that provides coaching and friendly competition for all ages. CRCA was named the USA Cycling Division 1 Club of the Year for 2009. "We hold club races for men, women and juniors in graded races based on ability on most weekends from March through September in Central Park, and promote a number of open races each year. We are the largest racing club in the United States. The emphasis of the club is development — preparing riders to succeed in open races. Expert coaching is free to members. The club looks to hold forums for tips on training, nutrition and other topics of interest to cyclists."
2. Manual #27: DIAL YOUR GEAR

Spectating an Ardennes Spring Classic is a race within a race.

Managing time splits against the time it takes to drive from one "spot" to the next, parking strategies, automobile dismounts and remounts (how fast can you get into and out of a car), traffic, running/surviving/managing the Pamplona-like exodus in the wake of the peloton, dealing with (as in sometimes removing or driving around) barricades, photography demands VS. exit strategy in terms of vantage and which side of the street to watch from, arguing your way past blockades manned by foreign(to you) Police, unexpected construction, fast moving break-aways (in the actual race) extending the front of the race and the overall length of the caravan and generally making already tight time splits tighter, other spectators, the need to eat and pee, inconsistent smartphone internet connections (mapping!), myriad routing options, etc., not to mention the need to maintain a sense of direction (N, S, E, W) and  the countless advantages local driving and street knowledge afford, all make for a challenging and demanding Race-Within-A-Race. Amstel Gold, because of its advantageous shape (a few loops) and size and length, and because it takes place in a heavily populated and dense (all things considered) area of The Netherlands where hundreds of villages are linked by hundreds of roads, where thousands of 4-5-6-7-spoked roundabouts lead to millions of combinations and opportunities in terms of strategic routing, in particular.

Seeing any given race more than once or twice is sometimes difficult. Seeing the start and the finish and maybe once in between is sometimes, if not often, the absolute best-case scenario. For perspective (the Flanders Classics):

1. Ronde van Vlaanderen: The course is effectively a straight line with few roads paralleling the route; in 2011 we (MFS) paid a local truck-driving dude 100 American dollars to drive us so that we could see the race three times (including the start but not the finish).
2. Scheldeprijs: Who cares? This race is a five hour rolling enclosure through the suburbs of Antwerp; in 2011 we (MFS) saw it something like three times (including the start and finish), but again, who cares? This race is boring although if you like expert brickwork, right angles and modern-but-warm residential architecture, it's okay. Plus, frites.
3. Paris-Roubaix: A straightish line through small villages. There are a few roads parallel to the course but unless you speak French and intimately know the neighborhood roads and paths and allies, seeing the race more than once or twice is difficult. In 2011, the night before the race, in the parking lot of a bike shop in the village of Chantilly, we found a French Postman running black-market wheel support for his brother who raced on Ag2r, willing to drive our rental car. We saw the race six times, including the start and finish, and all the key cobble sections, but dude(s) that was one of the greatest of events of our life and we (MFS) will never go back to Paris-Roubaix because nothing will ever compare.

Raoul and Martin Sturme.

Last year (2012) in the village of Sibbe, while walking the Amstel Gold course, Photo Tunic and all, a young man introduced himself to me, he said he was Raoul, he wanted to know why I was there, shooting a bicycle race in Europe with an Analog Camera. I told him about Manual For Speed. He told me about his Dad, about how they had been spectating Amstel Gold (as well as Flèche Wallonne and Liège-Bastogne-Liège) since he could remember, he said it was a family thing, a series of annual events tantamount to a religious pilgrimage. Amstel Gold, he said, was the least heroic of all (only 48 editions to date) but the most difficult to race, and the best to follow by car & RWAR (Race-Within-A-Race).

The 260km Beer Race takes place in the hills of South Limburg (southernmost of the Dutch provinces), in an area of approximately 660 square kilometers. That’s small! Limburg consists of narrow roads with lots of street furniture,¹ twists & turns, and the 34 short but steep climbs of the race (4000 meters of climbing). While it’s hard for the riders, it’s easy for spectators, because Limburg is full of side roads—paved and unpaved—meaning you can cut off the race easily. All roads lead to Rome, but you have to know them!—Raoul

This is the very first thing on your packing list.

I told him we planned to see the race three, maybe four times that day. He laughed and laughed and when finally he was done laughing, he told me they would see it at least nine times. Within a few days, thanks to the internet and Dutch Public School Foreign Language Curriculums, we were emailing, and by the following Sunday (Liège-Bastogne-Liège) we were on caravanning terms. Where we (MFS) had planned to see LBL three or maybe four times, they had plans to see it at least five times—and they did, and by proxy so did we.

After the Classics and throughout 2012, we continued to email and talk. In January 2013, I told Raoul we were coming back. I told him we wanted to ride with him and his Dad this time. I said caravanning is cool and all, but let’s just do this for real. He said I was welcome, he said I could stay with him, he said that his Mom would make White Gold Soup (cream of white asparagus) for us. I said cool, that sounds delicious, oh and before I forget, what’s the key to spectating Amstel?

Most people think spectating a Spring Classic is just like the Grand Tours: standing next to the road, waiting for hours till the race passes by for 30 seconds and that’s it. No, it's definitely not. Spectating a Spring Classic is totally different, it’s a way of life! During the Spring Classics, the real cycling fans gather. Speed, chaos, brutality and strategy are the keywords to success. The most important word is strategy. Everybody has their own; the question is whose is best? We see Amstel nine times. There are a few more options, but the quality of the spots will be lower. If you want nice uphill spots, nine is the maximum by car.—Raoul

Amstel Gold, By Location

Narration by Raoul Sturme

1. Maastricht in ‘de markt’ (9:00am - 10:15am, 0km)

“I like to watch the bikes and the team presentation while enjoying the smell of massage oil, coffee, fish, frites, Vietnamese specialties and a typical Dutch cake stall.”

2. ‘De Lange Raarberg’ (10.50am, 20km)

“After the start we had 40 minutes to make it to the first climb. It’s just a climb."

3. ‘Sibbe’ (11.30am, 50km),

“This is the place where Daniel and I met last year—and look where that conversation has led to. Cycling = Socializing!”

4. ‘De Loorberg’ (12.15pm, 80km)

“It's a climb like the Alpe d'Huez but 10 times shorter and with just one nice hairpin instead of 21!”²

5. Camerig (12.45pm, 100km)

“The longest climb of the day, more than 1km. This was a beautiful but doubtful spot, because it's shortly after 'De Loorberg' and the gap from the leaders to the peloton was more than 10 minutes. We had to make a crucial road crossing, but there was a traffic jam already. Finally with a bit of force we passed the traffic jam via the other side of the road, hoping there would be no traffic from the opposite direction. When we were on the hill, we found out that we missed the leading group because of the 10 minute gap, but it was worth it!”

6. Gulperberg (13.45pm, 135km)

“The most beautiful climb of the day is in an open field. You can see them coming from far away, towards the horizon. It's also the point in the race where the peloton is starting to close the gap and where the helicopters join the race for live TV coverage. The sound of the helicopter beckons to the race and it makes people shout; ‘Aaah, they are coming!’ Afterwards, we went to a takeaway restaurant for Dutch 'krokets'.³

7. Bemelerberg (15.00pm, 180k)

“One of the two climbs used during last year's World Championships in September.”

8/9. The New Finish in Valkenburg (Vilt) (230 & 250k, 16.00 & 16.30pm)

“The same finish as the Worlds last year. A big improvement from last year's race, because it made the finale much more exciting. Now it's not only the best explosive climber who can win. From now on the rider with the biggest engine, who can accelerate once on top of the Cauberg, can win! Also a nice spot to watch the final, enjoying an Amstel. You could move to a different spot for each the two passages of the race at the finish, but why would you if the weather is good and you have a beer to toast on a great day?”

A BRIEF HOW-TO

1. Plan out your route with the race roadbook⁴ and Google Maps.
2. Recon rides don't make sense if you don't know the roads, so meet locals.
3. Getting frites during the day can mess up your plan, so don’t! Or they have to be really good, in which case it’s worth it to miss a spot.
4. Always park your car a bit far away from the race, and always point your car in the direction of the next spot.
5. Always get back to your car ASAP!
6. Forget the traffic rules!
7. If you go by bike, rent a scooter instead of a motorcycle. They are way cheaper and the small, crowded areas and roads mean you can get everywhere easier by scooter than by car or a big moto.
8. If you have time left, visit the American Cemetery and Memorial in Margraten.

1. noun: (Engineering / Civil Engineering) pieces of equipment, such as streetlights and pillar boxes, placed in the street for the benefit of the public. The Free Dictionary.
2. Editor's Note: That doesn't sound like the Alpe d'Huez at all.
3. One of these.
4. The instructions—the cue sheet.

STAGE 21
RIESE PIO X / BRESCIA
197km

Course Overview (according to FIGHT FOR PINK): Completely flat stage across the plains to the circuit, to be ridden 7 times.

Course Overview Side-note: This is (see above) the pithiest, boringest, shortest, curtest, most disinterested course overview to date. What has been a paragraph, sometimes more, is now one sentence. No details. No assessments. Just a completely monotone description. Not rude exactly, but definitely defeated. Reflecting the stage itself, this description basically reads: No Contest.¹

Course Overview (according to MFS; Raoul, Klaus, Ian and Daniel): We can’t really say as we woke up late, went to a lake that’s a pretty big deal around here, drove to the halfway point, got on the course about two hours ahead of the race, drove the second half fast-as-fuck just for fun and because we could and because this was the last day with a sticker and half the Polizia in Italy blocking our way, arrived in Brescia with enough time to drive the 7-times circuit, parked, made a plan, and waited for this parade to end. Topo-geographically speaking the course went from East to West, skirting the whole time the edge of the Beginner Alps to the North.

Weather: It was warm, it was sunny, it almost rained.

My Notes from the Day (verbatim, unedited, rawdog style)

1. Razzamataz. - english ladies, in the town past pedcheria, heard us speaking english and introduced herself, asked how long the race would be, we speak, she said she just enjoed the razzamatzz, the shit show hype up we just watched
2. Wheres waldo with the wang in the white shorts with ian, yes.
3. Lady asks me to deliver a waterbottte to her friend.
4. Wind picks ups - something wicked this way comes
5. Tommy d at finisj says this motherfuckign crazyy, talking about the crowd so thick cant make it back to the bus
6. Klaus steals sticker from himself front and back
7. Finally learned near last dau how to grab a bigglietto without stopping.
8. Last day of the giro. I learned that italiand DO make a coffer to go. Its in a ceramic or glass cup. Its up to you to take it to go.
9. Bigger the boobs. Bigger the discount

What My Notes Mean

[1] In the town of Peschiera del Garda (115.6km / 67m above sea level) where we got on the course, we were compelled to stop behind the Advance Caravan and watch the Advance Caravan Show—something which up until that point either didn’t exist, or did, but we never saw it because it happened so far ahead of the actual race. The Advance Caravan Show is basically a gang of super hot Italian boys and girls in fuzzy costumes and goggles and boots and short-shorts. All of them are armed with microphones and a PA system and a DJ (with Greatest Hits) and water pistols and balloons and chants and synchronized dances and all kinds of Sporting Halftime-like displays and feats and “acts” and shit: jumping, juggling and bouncing around, throwing cookies at the thousands of old ladies holding dogs and old men holding cigarettes and regular Italian folk holding pink gadgets. Basically they're getting the town P&Jed (Pumped & Jazzed) and generally psyched about the slow, bored bicycle spectacle soon to whizz by (at about 57,000 kilometers an hour nonetheless); meaning, the town and it’s inhabitants will have, should they wait around for another two hours, 30 very solid seconds of entertainment. Anyway, we watched that until it drove on to the next town, at which point we sat down to eat, next to, it turns out, two British ladies. One of whom engaged us about the Giro and it’s relationship to the recently ended “razzamatazz.”

[2] We waited for the peloton to make the first of its seven laps 2/3 of the way around on the inside of the outside edge. We were sat for about twenty minutes before they finally arrived. While we sat, I introduced myself to Graham Watson who graciously posed for a photograph with me, and we talked (amongst ourselves to be clear, not with Graham) about the dude across the way in super tight, threadbare silver bibshorts who (SUPER obviously) had a macropenis.²  We’re talking obscene. When Ian finally joined us (up until that point he had been walking around looking for his shot), we asked him to look at the crowd across from us (forty feet give or take) and point out the first remarkable spectator he saw, based on whatever criteria he fancied. He found Silver Shorts in four seconds flat.

[3] Sometimes when you walk the course past thousands of people lining the barricades on either side you, someone will get your attention and ask you to deliver something to someone on the other side. Like, for example, a water bottle.

[4] Right before the peloton finally made it to the finish circuit the wind started blowing, it seemed portentous or ominous or connected or something. Clearly, it was just windy.

[5] The end of the race was chaos. Thousands and thousands of people all walking and shoving their way along in hundreds, if not thousands, of different directions. Team Cars, buses, motorcycles. Horns, sirens, screaming and shouting. Racers trying to make it back to their buses. At some point I wind up walking beside Tom Danielson straddling his bike and shuffling along in the wake of a Garmin-Sharp Team Car trying to do a Moses on the crowd, and he looks at me—keep in mind, we’ve never really met, he’s never spoken with me, I haven't said a word to him—and says, “this is a gosh darn³ mess, right?”

Dear Tommy D: Yes, yes it was a mess. And dude, if I’d thought it would have helped, I would have blocked for you. I’m sorry you had to deal with that shit on the last day of what clearly was a really difficult race for you. Because you talked to me, I now like you. Thanks, I hope you’re doing well.

[6] Klaus stole a Galibier “special pass” sticker off a Team Car moments before stealing the Stampa (press) stickers off our car. Klaus is sentimental.

[7] After millions of tolls and thirty days practice, on the last day I flawlessly executed several rolling ticket-machine or “biglietto” grabs. I didn’t come to a complete stop and I didn’t ram into the gate before it completed raising.

[8] Italians aren't really prepared for “take away” requests/demands/needs. Yes, they can fake it—see aluminum foil lids. But really, the best thing to do is to simply leave (as in vacate, as in drive away) with your cappuccino in the ceramic mug or glass cup it came in. Yes they add up. Yes it’s a form of theft. But in the end, it’s the best way to affect a to-go order.

[9] On the way into Milano (after the race) we passed a lingerie store. In the window beside the front door was a large, full-color poster illustrating their pricing structure/scheme. Essentially, the larger the cup size, the deeper the discount: A = 5%, B=10%, C=20%, D=40% and so on and so forth.

In Summary

Halfway through the race I started acting like a child. I spent entire days vacillating, without ceremony or warning, between states of awe and wonder and temper tantrums. I met hundreds of wonderful people I will never forget. Slovenia is rad. Professional Road Racing at this level (the size!, the scope! the veracity! the virility! the vigor!) really is MORE than just bike racing, it’s more like a performance art, it’s more like the greatest show on Earth featuring the fastest human athlete animals in the world, on bikes, in the wilds of untamed Europe, or as we like to call it, Italy.

Dude, what words? There are no words. It’s colorful and epic and there is nothing like watching 207 dudes expertly destroying themselves 21 days essentially in a row in game-changing mountains and in mercurial weather. The faces. It’s all about the faces.

1. I’d argue even for Mark Cavendish. I mean, who else was going to win?
2. It's a term.
3. Some words altered and/or omitted.

While everyone is scrambling to get to the front of the start, and dudes are upset about not getting call-ups, etc., these two guys are 10 meters behind the last guy. I ask them why and Bobby Traksel from Champion System Pro Cycling Team says, "I want to do some little extra training today."¹

1. Manual #26: JUST RELAX

U23 Paris Roubaix

I raced U23 Paris-Roubaix three times, though I’m not sure why I did it more than once to be honest. You do get something out of it. I’m a good bike handler with that kind of race; I think I wanted to race it at least once for the experience. The third time I just got in a van at some point. I was with a group not too far off the back of the field, and we had a chance at getting back on but I had no life in me. Right then I saw a guy I knew on the side of the road, a guy I had raced with on La Pomme, and I said, "Hey let me get in your van." That was that.

Leading up to that Paris-Roubaix I’d gotten sick at Tour of the Gila and lost ten pounds. Right after that on the way back to Europe I had my passport rejected in Houston, leaving me to spend two days riding a stationary recumbent in jeans and a Garmin t-shirt (my bags were stuck in customs) in the hotel gym. I watched Oprah, wondering the whole time about how I was going to get a passport. International travel, jet lag, being ten pounds too light, passport stress and two days of recumbent gym-bike training all lead to me crashing four times in the first three days of Olympia's Tour, a race in Holland legendary for being windy, dangerous and flat. I pulled the plug on the last day of that, then five days later I got in a van halfway through Paris-Roubaix.

I get paid to do both.

It’s nice, I get paid to be as healthy as humanly possible. Off the bike I do everything possible to eat right, maximize nutrition, train my body and get as fit as possible—all these infinitesimal percentage gains. I waste the smallest amount of energy possible, I barely walk, I avoid stairs, etc. In some ways I get paid to do both though. When I'm on the bike, I get paid to destroy myself, to go as hard as I can, to wear myself out.¹

Little stores selling little things.

When I go to Girona in a few weeks, I'll have my apartment. There should still be clean sheets on my bed. First order of business will be to acquire food, that’s always key. I'll hike around and trade money for it; that’s the problem living over there—for cyclists at least—you have to walk everywhere. You have to walk to the butcher, you have to walk to the grocer, you have to walk to the organic store to buy nuts, there’s all these little stores there that sell these little things. In order to find Almond Milk, I have to schmooze with some lady (in a language I don’t understand or speak) so I can find out where they sell the Almond Milk, so I can buy the Almond Milk, so can I feel (kinda) like I’m at home.

1. Manual #25: EVERY FRACTION OF A PERCENT COUNTS

'Yes, No, Fun, Bad.'

In 2007, while I was still racing on Slipstream, I went to do the last month of my season in Europe. I stayed in Girona and while there did a Meet-And-Greet with La Pomme. Dan Martin was there and while he principally served as my translator/handler, he also told me all of the things that were going to go wrong with my life in the following year. He warned me that when you don’t speak the language you can’t have a touchy-feely conversation, you can’t discuss ifs and buts or the nuances of situations. It’s more binary, more exact, more black and white. You’re limited to ‘Yes, No, Fun, Bad’. You don’t get to have conversations about your first world needs or problems.

It was the worst season of my life, I think I got second in one race. While with La Pomme, I went to the Tour just to see it—I was in France after all. I figured since the professional racing thing wasn't working out, I might as well go see the Tour before I retire. At one of the after parties I caught up with JV. He told me he was starting a dev team, he told me he wanted me to be a part of it.

The Answer was Yes.

My first year back was amazing. I arrived home with no money, maybe $70.00 to my name, I sold some bikes, got some money, moved in with a couple of girls and a guy who sold soybeans. Eventually the soybean guy and one of the others moved out and a couple more moved in. Two of them worked at a doggy day care and were always bringing home packs of dogs and throwing parties every few nights. I learned to sleep with ear plugs. In theory this was the hardest time of my life, I was living with three party-throwing housemates and a pack of wild dogs, not to mention my European racing career was ostensibly over. It didn't matter though. I was so happy to be home and speaking English and eating apples off of trees, and nobody was telling me what to do or when to do it. That’s when I started doing everything right. Everything started working, I had this crazy flow going, it was like heaven, it was wonderful, I trained super hard, I was happy, I was motivated. In my mind, I had screwed up the European thing so hard that 2009 was my last shot. I needed to make some serious assessments: is this what I want to do, do I want to be a professional cyclist, am I committed to this? The answer was, "Yes."¹

That year I won the Queen Stage of The Tour of Utah—I was in the breakaway and it looked good, it looked like we were going to make it happen, and somewhere through Tanner Flats I saw this guy handing-up hot dogs. I rode pretty fast straight over to him, grabbed one, bit half of it off and attacked with a mouthful of hot dog. I won. Then I went to U23 Nationals, and won the Road Race and the Crit. It was like three big wins in a row. Boom boom boom.

I took 2010 too seriously. I tried to do everything right but I overcooked my system: emotionally, physically, spiritually.

In 2011 I finished fourth eight or so times. It was good, I was in the hunt all the time, and every time I was in the hunt I was absolutely convinced I was going to win it. I would throw these Hail Marys right from the gun, and we demolished some races throughout the year.

In 2012 I was in the break at Amstel Gold for something like 210 kilometers. The Ardennes as a whole were a highlight, it was a successful time. I had a good spring, which ramped into the season well, and I got progressively better—good form all the way through Nationals. I was even good at Tour de Suisse and had an outside-long-shot of riding the Tour. But I was young, I’d never done a Grand Tour before and I’d been racing since February. What I really wanted was the Olympics. I was a reserve and guys were crashing in the Tour all over the place, so I thought I was in, only then I wrecked and broke my collarbone. In my mind I already booked a ticket to London, I was going to the Olympics, I was going win, I was going to come home and put on a big show at Utah and Colorado, I was going to sign a four year deal, but that didn’t work out. Instead I went to Colorado and did okay.

1. Manual #24: COMMIT

Crashing Scooters. Sleeping Five Hours a Night. Doing Everything.

That year I was the youngest Pro Continental rider in the world. I look back now and I think I was maybe a little too young—in terms of both maturity levels and actual physical talent—but circumstances make it tough to tell in hindsight. It was a tough year: I crashed a scooter in Bermuda shortly after I signed, and it took me until March the following year before I could train properly. By that time I was going to college and living in the dorms. I was as responsible as your average eighteen year-old; I lived like your average college freshman, except I had a job¹ and I trained all the time. I slept maybe an average of five hours a night. And that knee didn't come around for quite a while.

Good & Bad, Rage Against The Machine, Rosetta Stone.

I went to a French amateur team in 2008 after Vaughters helped me set it up. That’s the year Slipstream signed Christian and Millar and Zabriskie—some real heavy hitters. He called me and asked, "I think it'll be too much for you. What do you think?" I knew he was right and said, "I’m not ready for the Tour." He told me, "Well, we've got to find you a team then." I asked him who he knew in Europe. I think that was motivated by fear, from the fact that I didn't want to get stuck in America. I saw a lot of guys, with a lot of potential, choose to stay in America at that pivotal point in their careers in order to develop physically. But then they found a girl, or bought a house, and next thing you know their dream of racing in Europe was gone. It was too late. Life comes at you fast. I figured if I went to Europe right away, life wouldn't be able to find me.

Excerpt from an interview with La Pomme’s Director Sportif: "'Alex comes to VC La Pomme - Marseille on the recommendations of Jonathan Vaughters, and he seems, from the first tests, to have great physical qualities and adaptability to a group,' says Frédéric Rostaing, DS. 'I had the opportunity discuss Alex with Johnny Weltz, who oversaw the trials in France, and he confirms that we will work with a lot of potential, a young American talent in cycling. Alex will be keen to progress, especially on the intensities of professional conduct and career structure needed as one develops.'"

La Pomme was a mess. The majority of it was not good for me, though I suppose in the long run it was a useful experience. Whatever it was, it was a Baptism of Fire. I used to fall asleep listening to Rage Against the Machine. I was angry, I was frustrated, I was depressed. I felt like was treading water. I was in survival mode until September, until the season was over and I could go home.

I didn’t speak the language at all, so on the way over I skimmed Rosetta Stone’s Level 1 French. I knew how to count to ten, say 'hello,' 'yes' and 'thank you,' and that was about that. My first experience with the team was Training Camp, when we did 36 hours in one week—the majority of it high-intensity. They gave you how much food they thought you needed for the ride, but it never seemed enough for me. I had no idea where we were going, or how far we were going. I’d get done with a four hour ride, totally shattered, and I’d take a shower, have as big a lunch as I thought I could keep down then lay down around one or two in the afternoon for a nap. I'd hope the whole time I’d wake up the next morning for breakfast. Instead, the director or my roommate would wake me up two hours later to train for team time trials. By then it's three, and the sun goes down at five, so soon enough we were riding in the headlights. It's one thing to do that when you plan for it, but if you have no idea when you’ll be home, and you don’t know if it's going to be a 200km ride or a 45min easy spin, it sucks.

And it was totally my fault.

I shouldn’t have gone to France without any understanding of the French language. When I didn’t know what was happening (which was basically always), I acted like I did, I had too much pride. It never occurred to me to ask for more food, or to ask for specifics of the workout for the day. I just assumed that if I want to be good, I needed to eat exactly what they ate, I needed to ride just as hard as they rode, and I needed to pretend to speak French just as well as they actually spoke French.

Now? First of all I would get to at least level two of Rosetta Stone. I wouldn’t just accept that I was going to die a thousand deaths every day. I would ask for more food.²

Our director’s motto was, “There is something we can always be doing more of.” It’s true. And that’s why they are as good as they are, and that’s why half of the guys on that team go pro. In fact three are on Slipstream with me: Martin, Nuyens, Navardauskas.

1. I worked for Slipstream Sports; they needed someone in the office and I needed work. I did a lot of grunt work, delivered a lot of packages on my bike, booked hotel rooms, did expense reports, put together sponsorship proposals, I did everything.
2. Manual #23: SWALLOW YOUR PRIDE