While professional cyclists are still in the midst of the "Classics" season, rest assured that the "Grand Tour" contenders have not been idle. This is especially true of Tour de France winner Alberto Contador, also known as the "Epistlero" due to his penchant for letter writing. Contador is leaving no potential advantage not-taken-advantage-of, which is why in addition to training he's staying abreast of cutting-edge technology. In fact, he's even experimenting with electric bicycles, as you can see in this video which was forwarded to me by a reader:
Here's Contador explaining that this electrically-assisted mountain bicycle will be great for the sorts of weak and ineffectual wussbags who can't pedal a real bicycle up a hill:
Anyway, whether it's the future presentation of a time machine, or the present-day presentation of a partially-motorized mountain bike, naturally there will always be a concomitant press conference. The "press conference" is a bizarre ritual in which people stand around filming something and asking questions about it. While you'd think it would have disappeared long ago along with the "traditional" media and its relevance, the truth is that the "press conference" shows no signs of surrendering its clip-on credentials and retiring. Even in 2117, when a 157 year-old Bono (he will be kept alive by chemicals, self-righteousness, and smarm) is presenting that time machine, there will be bewildered photojournalists wearing vests with lots of pockets who have been to so many of these things they aren't ever quite sure where they are or what they're looking at:
If I were ever to attend a time machine press conference, I know right away what I would ask: "How many cup holders does it have?" And, had I been present at the press conference for the electric mountain bike, I would have asked the question on everybody's (and most of all Thor Hushovd's) mind: "So is it lighter than milk?"
Amateur racing cyclists embrace fitness fads like my helper monkey Vito embraces the bare legs of my visitors (by which I mean tenaciously and with a small burst of "goo"), so what this means is that you may now return to the parking lot after big regional road race only to be confronted with the sickening sight of a bunch of Cat 3s guzzling cartons of lukewarm whole milk that have been sitting in the hatchbacks of their Subarus. Expect it to look something like this:
It may be a good choice for recovery, but it's a bad choice for those who have trouble keeping track of expiration dates.
Something else I saw on BikeRadar was a little item that underscored just how tragic George Hincapie's relatively poor showing at Paris-Roubaix was. Indeed, so well did his team prepare him for the race (both in terms of equipment and morale) that they even included this custom stars-and-stripes chain watcher on his bike:
Imagine a doting mother preparing her young child for his first day of school. Picture her making him a tasty sandwich and lovingly wrapping it in cellophane, and packing it up along with a delicious juice box. She's also including his favorite treat, along with a note that says, "Mommy loves you!" Next, she's combing his hair, straightening out his clothes, giving him a kiss, and sending him on his way. Then, as soon as the kid gets to the school, a couple of bullies kick him in the nuts and steal his lunchbox. Well, that's how I felt when I saw this--the kid was Hincapie, the chain watcher was the special treat, and Paris-Roubaix was the kick in the "pants yabbies."
Besides exuding an air of general supervillainy (complete with von Stroheimian lower jaw issues) he also apparently deals with his competition in the same way he treats the ingredients for a Salade Niçoise:
"One guy said I had OCD [obsessive compulsive disorder], but I'm just meticulous. It's like when I'm cooking I cut everything up, prepare it all in bowls – you know like how they do in TV? Well that's minimising the risk of failure, I'm not going to burn something because I'm cutting something up. If you can put all your ingredients in bowls beforehand you're not going to fuck up. That's what I'm like when I'm competing."
Given his fondness for elaborate victory salutes, expect handlebar-mounted chopping blocks, top tube-mounted cutlery magnets, and full culinary demonstrations when Cavendish crosses the line first in 2010. And while the article mentions Cavendish possibly joining Team Sky, I would not be surprised if he instead moves to Williams-Sonoma for 2011 in order to receive better support in his bid for the coveted "green apron."
Really, a combination professional cycling-and-cooking team seems like a great fit for Williams-Sonoma, since they're in the business of selling kitchenware, and nothing sells real estate like fancy kitchens and on-site bike shops (at least in Portland, as another reader has informed me):
I wonder if the on-site bike shop includes a clerk with a liberal arts degree who assures you there's no longer any such thing as a 9-speed chain and that you'll need to "upgrade" your entire drivetrain.
Surely having a bicycle work space at hand would be convenient, but I'm not sure this should serve as the basis for your decision to purchase an expensive home. Buying a house because it has an on-site bike shop is as short-sighted as basing a romantic relationship entirely on someone's armpits:
While I was driving my car looking for a parking spot, you were riding your bike on greenpoint ave around 715pm. You were a brunette wearing a tank top and shorts. Also, your armpits were totally unshaven. I find that attractive. I hope you are single and see this post. Email me if you want to chat further.
I'm sure the woman on the bicycle is eager to reply to the guy who drives around pretending to look for parking while leering at hairy underarms. Eventually, he's going to wind up hitting somebody:
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