09.15.2011 | 11:00 am
What would you expect from a ride in the French countryside? If I had ever stopped to consider that question, I might have imagined the ride we went on our second day in the Aix-les-Bains area, as part of our ten-dayish biking vacation in France with the Andy Hampsten-led Cinghiale Tours.
Sadly, however, I am — as I stated yesterday — a yokel. And so I had never thought about how a 69-mile ride with 6800 feet of climbing in France might be a different experience than a ride with similar distance and elevation in Utah.
This ride would fill up that particular hole in my imagination. From now on, whenever I think of the French countryside, I’ll think of the sights and sounds from this ride.
Born Follower
I’ve described before the sad, sad state of my sense of direction. What I have not described — at least, I don’t remember describing this — is that my memory of roads traveled is no better than my sense of direction.
Which means that while I might have a really vivid mental recollection of many parts of a given ride, you wouldn’t want me to be the guy who guides you on that ride again.
Which is my way of saying that I probably should not be on Andy’s short list of people he considers hiring as a guide at Cinghiale. Even though I am very charming.
The above three paragraphs are not really my point, though, and if I had an editor, she would be entirely correct to delete those paragraphs (and this one, too).
Unfortunately for you, I do not have an editor, and so you have to read everything in the order it occurs to me.
I apologize.
Anyway, the point I did want to make is that I was fairly startled to see that our route from this ride looks like this:
And I wasn’t just startled for a single reason. No. I was startled for three reasons. The first — and most obvious — reason for my startlement is that this route tracing looks like some kind of evil dragon/snuffleupagus hybrid.
What, you don’t see it? Here, I’ll help:
No, that’s not right. That image is conveying all the wrong things. This is better:
Now it’s a friendly dragon/snuffleupagus hybrid (notice the eyebrow change and the not-sharp teeth?), and instead of breathing fire, it’s eating candy corns.
That’s more what the ride was like. A candy-corn-eating, square-tooth-having, friendly imaginary creature.
OK, this post is getting kind of strange. Please give me a moment to collect myself.
There.
The second reason I was startled was that when I looked at this route on a map, I realized I had no idea which direction we had traveled this route: clockwise or counterclockwise.
Finally, I had no idea that the “extra credit” part of the ride some of us chose had us cover so much extra ground (out to Ecole, then to Aillon-le-Jeune) without actually having us go anywhere.
Though I guess that was kind of the point, now that I think about it.
Impressionism, Or Something Like It
The point I’m edging up to here is that this ride wasn’t really about going anywhere — we clearly didn’t take the most direct route, and we weren’t focusing on going fast.
This ride was about seeing. And hearing, too. And, in general, just being overwhelmed at how privileged I was to be experiencing such a beautiful ride.
Really, I’d have a hard time describing the order of what I’ve seen, because we were all over the place, and memories start to blend together a little bit. But I would like to share some impressions. And photos.
Villages
I don’t even know how many quaint villages in the French countryside we rode our bikes through that day.
Five? Seven? Maybe even more?
Regardless of how many there were, there were certain common attributes to each of these little places. First, it seemed that so many of these houses had flowers in every possible place:
Next, the houses were old. I asked The Hammer if she had seen any buildings during our ride that looked like they were fewer than fifty years old. She hadn’t.
Without exception, each of these little villages had a large, old church as its centerpiece:
And every village had a wonderful little fountain and trough, decorated with flowers, where we could refill our bottles with cold water. Like this:
And it was good (as in, I never got sick), cold water, too.
Though I wouldn’t have wanted to scoop water from the trough. Greenish, in case you hadn’t noticed.
The Countryside
I’ve long held that pretty much everywhere in the world starts out as beautiful. Desert, mountain, plains, everywhere. Nature is, by default, spectacular.
Sometimes, of course, people mess it up.
Other times we tame it a little, but mostly just to add some finishing touches. And that — more than pretty much anywhere I’ve ever been — is how the French countryside appeared to me:
Mountains everywhere. Some farmland. Really nice, well-paved roads. Cows on the sides of the road with bells around their necks — together making a sound like windchimes.
I kept looking over at The Hammer and said, “We’re in France. In the countryside. On a perfect day. With nothing to do but take it in and have fun for the next week.”
And then we’d both start laughing. It’s not often that everything seems just perfect, so when it is, you’ve got to enjoy it.
Climbing
This second day was loaded with climbing. About 6800 feet of it, in about 69 miles (it’s possible I have already mentioned this). Here’s the thing, though: I never really noticed it much. The Hammer and I were riding for fun — not to set climbing records.
That said, the elevation profile is worth checking out:
And while we were definitely in the mountains, those mountains started about 3,000 feet lower than the mountains The Hammer and I live in (our house is right at 4912 feet). As we rode, The Hammer observed, “Isn’t it great to not have your lungs burning at all on a climb?”
“Yes,” I agreed, my lungs burning only a little bit.
Bad Dog
After a full day of climbing and picnicking, we got to an overlook at a ski resort — the high point (literally) of the day. 4000 feet below, we could see the lake, where our hotel was.
The above image, by the way, is probably the most spectacularly ineffective photo I have ever seen at demonstrating a dramatic 4,000 altitude difference between where you are and the water below. You’re just going to have to believe me that it would take more than a short walk across a flat grassy field to get to the lake over there.
While I was taking this picture The Hammer started laughing. I looked down and saw why: a very small dog had lifted its leg and was peeing on my bike’s rear wheel.
So I got my revenge by peeing on the dog.
OK, not really.
Improbable Is Not Impossible
From this overlook, we had a ten-mile, 4,000-foot descent back to our hotel, in one giant, unbroken, twisty bomber downhill.
It was glorious. Beautiful. A perfect descent.
It was also something that you did not want to interrupt to take pictures. So you’ll have to trust me.
But the problem is, the tour group had broken up into several group-lets during the long climb, so that The Hammer, one other rider, and I were the only ones together. I believe that I’ve already mentioned what a comical sense of direction I have, and — alas — The Hammer is not much better (this is actually a good thing in our relationship; it means neither of us ever gets mad when the other gets lost or fouls up directions).
Naturally, the guy riding with us had no idea how to get back to our hotel either.
And so we went with a simple premise: since our hotel was lakeside and thus the lowest place in the area, we’d always turn downhill when presented with an option.
And you know what? This method worked perfectly. We got to the hotel without a single wrong turn or double-back.
And thus wound up as one of the first groups to arrive at the hotel. Later we’d find that most of the other grouplets got semi-lost once they got into town, having used their sense of direction rather than the arbitrary “go the direction water would flow” technique.
We were so proud.
So . . . Cold . . . Must . . . Eat . . . .
The group ate at the hotel restaurant that night, out on the patio. Honestly, I do not remember what we ate, but I do remember that it was around eighteen courses, each the size of a single beanie-weenie (but not quite as filling).
And then there’d be forty-five minutes of waiting for the next course.
As the night wore on, I had two distinct impressions:
- I became increasingly cold. Thankfully, I had filled my suitcase with pretty much nothing but jerseys, shorts, and every SmartWool product imaginable. The Hammer and I excused ourselves multiple times to go add another layer to our clothing.
- I became increasingly hungry. After riding all day, you — or at least I — are more interested in calories than cuisine. I started the evening hungry, and found that the precious, artistic courses weren’t enough to even keep up with my hunger, much less beat it back.
I decided that I am probably not a good bet for fancy food in general, and especially not when I enter a restaurant thinking about meat loaf and mashed potatoes.
Like I said before, I am a yokel. I was in France for the riding, not the food.
Stanley Tucci and Patrick Dempsey
Let me conclude this post with a photo of me with Brian, one of the riders on my tour.
I post this because I’m pretty sure that when people saw us together, it looked like Patrick Dempsey and Stanley Tucci were vacationing in France together.
Which they may be, as far as I know. But I’m pretty sure Brian and I could kick their respective butts, riding-wise.
PS to the ladies: Brian is a practicing doctor, is very fit, is good-looking (The Hammer kept saying so, ’til I asked her to please stop), has a thick, full head of hair, and is single. Act now.
Comments (46)
09.14.2011 | 11:32 am
A Note About the Levi’s GranFondo Contest Going On Right Now: I started the week by poking a little good-natured fun at Levi Leipheimer. Then it got nasty, when he brought in his tough-talking lawyer.
But now everything’s cool, with a chance for you to win a trip to Levi’s GranFondo. Please, please donate. Or Levi will punch me in the throat. Again.
Get details here, or just go straight to the donation page here.
A Note About the Grand Slam for Zambia: The Grand Slam for Zambia was a monstrous success — we wound up raising $153,936, enough to buy 1,125 bikes. That’s astounding.
And a huge congratulations to the winners, the top ten of which are listed here!
- Paul B of Vancouver: Africa Trip
- Jan H of Belgium: RadioShack Trek Madone
- Karen L of Vancouver: Tour de France Trip
- Michael D of California: SRAM Red Group
- Christoph S of Germany: HED Ardennes SL Wheels
- Tim O of Austria: Lance Armstrong’s podium-worn yellow jersey
- Joel P of California: Bike and an afternoon with Gary Fisher
- Jeanette D of North Carolina: Specialized BG S-Works Road Shoes with Boa Systems Closures
- Jeremy S of Florida: Ben King-signed jersey
- Johan M of Florida: 16Gb White iPhone
Belgium? Austria? Germany? Even ultra-exotic Vancouver? The prizes for this vacation are going all over the place!
Believe it or not, we’re still doing award-notifications, so just because you haven’t been contacted doesn’t necessarily mean you haven’t won something.
A Final Note from Fatty Describing What the Next Several Posts Will Be About: A while back, I did a contest where we raised money to help Andreas Knickman in his fight against bone cancer. The prize on offer was incredible: an entry in one of Andy Hampsten’s Cinghiale tours in France or Italy.
Andy then surprised The Hammer and me by also giving us a great deal on a tour. We decided to go on the same tour Laura — the winner of the contest — chose: a week of climbing famous roads in France.
For the next several days, I’ll be telling the story of this vacation.
Fatty Goes to France, Part I: The Treachery of Lake Bourget
Let me start by saying this: I am not cultured. I am not a world traveler. I am not savvy to the ways of Europe, nor to any place that is sophisticated. For example, it is only recently that i discovered h’ordeuvres is pronounced “orderves,” and is what you’re supposed to call it when you spray cheez on saltine crackers.
I am, at heart, a yokel.
So when I traveled to France, it was with no interest in learning how to like stinky cheese. Or how to stick my nose in a wine glass. Or how not to be grossed out by the very concept of fois gras.
I just wanted to ride my bike. A lot. Uphill. With Andy Freaking Hampsten.
So this really, really, really long ride report (I don’t know for sure, but I’m guessing this will be an eight- or ten-part series) isn’t going to be about food very much. Nor about wine. It’s going to be about riding some of the most amazing stretches of road I’ve ever been on.
Also, I will probably at some point describe in detail how freaked out I was to discover that I had just unwittingly eaten foie gras.
Arrival
We flew from SLC to Chicago to Zurich to Lyon, which takes a lot longer to do than to say. Then we — towing two suitcases, a bike box containing two bikes, and a wheel case — got on the Rhônexpress.
Frankly, we were feeling pretty proud of ourselves. All we needed to do now was ride the train, get off at the last stop and roll / carry our stuff from the train station to the hotel.
Then, as we rode along in our jetlagged stupor, an amazing moment: a brilliant flash of light with a simultaneous crack that sounded like thunder, but much, much louder and closer.
The Hammer and I looked at each other. Was this a normal part of the French train experience?
No, as it turns out, this was pretty unusual: lightning had struck our train.
The train coasted to a stop, then, a few minutes later, started up again and rolled — slowly — to the next stop.
The conductor made an announcement on the PA that would have been easier to understand if I knew French. Then most everyone got off, except us.
We asked each other: was this because it was a popular stop? Or because the train was broken? Should we get off too? Or wait and see?
We chose to wait. More than anything, this was because it was now raining, hard, and we were reluctant to step into the rain with the moving-van’s-worth of luggage we were hauling.
At this point, a wild-eyed man with a wild-haired beard stepped onto the train and pantomimed for us. We needed to get off this train and get onto a different one.
So we did.
If I had been asked to assess my confidence as a percentage on whether it was the correct train, however, I would have probably gone with 37%.
But it was the correct train. And we got off at the correct station. And exchanged currency we understood for currency that we treated as if it were monopoly money (€2.90 for a bottle of water? Sounds good!).
We checked into the hotel, got a decent night’s sleep (thanks, Ambien!), and then — the next morning — got on a bus with all our stuff and — along with the other 25 or so (I never counted) tour-ers (I say “tour-ers” because I don’t want to call us “tourists,” even though that’s what we were, on at least two different levels) rode to Aix-les-Bains.
When casually standing at the side of lakes, I often smile and cast my eyes skyward. This is only one of the reasons I am so photogenic.
We unpacked the bikes — everything was fine — and built them up.
Andy helps one of my fellow tour-ers build up his bike, while on the right, I kowtow to the toolbox.
We were ready to ride.
But first, we’d need to sit down for lunch — all five courses of it. If I cared about fine dining, I’d probably remember what we ate. As is, I mostly remember thinking, “I am going to gain thirty pounds during this trip.”
A Nice Little Ride
As we gathered together for the beginning of the ride, I looked around. It was a distressingly fit-looking group. I sized up the riders, and became concerned. Was I about to have my corn kicked? Most of these people had been on tours with Andy before and knew he has a fondness for climbing. I really had no idea whether I could hang with them.
Luckily, I had on my Fat Cyclist jersey, the perfect inoculation against riding with others who may or may not be faster than you. After all, if they pass you, well, you’re the guy in the Fat Cyclist jersey and so they have nothing to brag about.
If, on the other hand, you pass them, well: they just got passed by someone in a Fat Cyclist jersey.
I had looked at the ride map and decided today wouldn’t test me too hard anyway.
It was just a ride around the lake. A chance to get our legs used to riding again after all this plane, train, and bus travel.
Probably not a lot of climbing.
Ha.
Before we took off, Andy addressed the group. “A lot of you like to hammer pretty hard when you ride,” he said. “You maybe sometimes stop to eat some Shot Bloks, and then keep going.”
“Well, guess what,” continued Andy. “Now you’re on vacation.” At the moment he said this, I noticed something: Andy was the only person there wearing baggy shorts.
“When we stop for an hour for a picnic lunch,” concluded Andy, “Chill. Enjoy it.”
I was struck by the truth of this: I was actually on a biking vacation. I resolved to — at least most of the time — keep my head up, my heart rate down, and to have fun.
Although I also reserved the right to go hard and indulge my Tour de France fantasies whenever the mood struck me.
The Part Where I Actually Describe The Ride
We rolled out, nice and easy, on a beautiful bike path by the shore of the lake.
I’m pretty sure we’re riding across what must have been — judging from all these chalk outlines — a truly horrific crime scene.
The group rode along, talking, getting to know each other. All of us relieved that the bad weather of the day before — and even through the morning when we arrived — had turned into blue skies.
We rode out of town, through narrow streets and over a few cobblestones. I looked at The Hammer, and said, “Hey, guess what. You and I are in France. Riding our bikes on a beautiful day through a quaint French village, on a group being led by Andy Hampsten.”
We both started laughing. It just sounded unbelievable.
A Surprising Turn of Events
Then — honestly, without warning — the road turned up. “I thought we were just riding around the lake,” I said, to anyone who would listen.
And we were. It’s just that the lake has a big ol’ mountain right on its shore. And to get around, you’ve kinda gotta go up.
And as it turns out, this was a good thing, because The Hammer and I found out that we didn’t have too much to be concerned about, hanging-with-the-group-wise. More to the point, The Hammer turned on the gas and rode up from the back of the group up to the front, and I hung on. “Isn’t it nice to be riding at low altitude?” The Hammer asked. “It’s so easy!”
I would have answered, if I could.
There were switchbacks. And there were more switchbacks. There were surges. There were fades. There were people who gave other people “The Look,” after which people who were given “The Look” responded by riding past the giver of “The Look.”
As it turns out, it’s more important to have “The Legs” than “The Look.”
And in short, I had completely not understood what the ride would be like. Far from flat, the elevation profile was like this:
That’s about 1300 feet of climbing in about four miles. And I loved every bit of it. So green. Such nice pavement. Such cool old houses.
The Hammer and I got a picture of ourselves near the top:
The awesome thing about a black jersey is it hides your gut, even when you’re breathing too hard to suck it in.
And took photos of an abby, hundreds of feet below, on the shore of the lake.
And then I began to gorge myself on the cookies and pastries the follow van had brought along. “Hey,” I thought, “I’m on vacation. I’ll eat egg whites and avocados when I get back home.”
A Lesson From Andy
We descended back down to lake level and regrouped. Andy was watching as people rode up; he mentioned he was getting a sense of how people rode, where the groups would form, and so forth. He then interrupted himself to pull someone aside and say, quietly, “You really need to stop cross-chaining.” The rider didn’t know what Andy meant or what cross-chaining is, so Andy explained. Not sarcastic, just explaining.
It occurred to me that Andy isn’t just an ex-pro who happens to do tours. He’s actually a natural guide and leader who also happens to be one of the real heroes of the cycling world.
We started rolling again, and this time Scot Nicol — AKA Chuck Ibis, the founder of Ibis Cycles — took the lead, pulling a large train of folks. (Yes, that’s right, Chuck Ibis — an MTB Hall of Famer — was one of the guides on this trip.)
And he took it upon himself to show us what he could do. Which is to say, he pulled us — without taking any breaks or letting anyone else take a pull — at around 24mph for the next ten miles.
As it turns out, Chuck has some legs.
Very Important Things
And then, suddenly, a detour. Andy moved to the front of the group and guided us to a lakeside fair. Where we watched a powertool-wielding pirate make stump sculptures.
Look, a dolphin is trying to escape from that tree trunk!
And then Andy found a cheese seller and promptly forgot that the world existed. Here he is as I yelled at him to smile for the camera.
I’m pretty sure Andy’s giving me “The Look.” On the left, Chuck Ibis is cooling down following a monster pull.
Not satisfied, I asked Andy and Scot to give me something I could work with:
Hey, I think I see a scar on Chuck’s left shin. Where do you suppose that came from?
Andy bought some cheese, and then moved on to the next booth where he bought some wine. And let me tell you, when Andy is thinking about / shopping for / consuming cheese and wine, he goes into a meditative state that is as terrifying as it is beautiful. I mean, I never focus that much on anything.
The problem was, he had no easy way to carry the wine he bought. The solution? Turn the bottle upside down and put into his bottle cage.
I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest that from the casual way he did this, he’s likely done it before.
The Math
At the end of the ride, we had gone around 33 miles, with around 2100 feet of climbing. Not really a big ride. And in fact, it would be the shortest ride of the trip. But it gave us a taste of what to expect the following day, where we were told there would be “extra credit” options for those of us who liked climbing.
And then we had a five-course dinner, completely eliminating any chance of my having some kind of caloric equilibrium for the day. “I am not going to fit in my jerseys by the end of this week,” I thought.
But hey. We were on vacation. I was going to chill. Enjoy.
And if necessary, I’d buy a couple larger jerseys at a local bike shop.
PS: A huge thanks goes out to our camera-toting guide, Arnaud Bachelard, for many of the photos in this (and upcoming) posts.
Comments (38)
09.13.2011 | 2:18 pm
Here is the story so far, as it developed yesterday:
- Giddy and jet-lagged, I said some things about Levi Leipheimer’s (well-documented) propensity to throw his weight around that some might call outrageous and libelous, if they were all cranky and were spoiling for a fight, I mean.
- Levi hired a lawyer that seems perfectly happy to use decidedly unsavory tactics to quiet me.
- We found ourselves at an impasse, staring at each other. Giving each other the stink-eye. Wondering who would blink first.
What would happen? Who would prevail? Neither party seemed willing to budge in this epic battle of wills.
The tension was simply too much to bear.
Luckily, a third party has stepped in, acting as a calming influence. A voice of reason. Specifically, the good folks in the staff at Bike Monkey / Levi’s GranFondo sent this letter:
And for those of you who don’t like reading the text in jpegs from scanned letters, here’s the text of what they said.
13 September 2011
Mr. Fat Cyclist, Mr. Levi Leipheimer:
Alright, everyone just take a deep breath.
In.
And out.
Again, in.
And out. Big exhale this time.
That’s better.
There’s a lot of mud being slung here; one side thick with allegations of extortion and abject thuggery; the other piled with thinly veiled threats and intimidating innuendos. This little dance has gone from zero to crazy at a speed that’s no good for anyone. We here at Levi’s GranFondo are butting in before something happens that someone’s going to regret.
Fatty, you’ve stuck your neck out. You felt compelled to expose something you thought was a danger to the sport of cycling and the health of anyone within arm’s (or leg’s) reach of Levi. It was a bold move but, considering what you alleged, you’re kind of nuts. If you’re wrong, you’d have bad-mouthed one of the best riders in the saddle today. If you’re right, then, by your own definition, you’d be in traction, dining via a straw, and blinking one for yes, two for no. You set yourself up for a loss, so you had to see this coming.
Patron, we get it. You’ve inspired a certain…discretion amongst your colleagues and team members. You’ve been very clear about how you’d like things handled, especially when describing the consequences of failure in precise detail. We here at your GranFondo appreciate that clarity and prefer not to ask questions. After all, you said it best yourself just a couple of weeks ago: “Just don’t make me angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” You then turned a pale green, grunted a bit, and won the US Pro Cycling Challenge.
We just hate to see two guys go after each other like this in such a brazen display. It seems counter productive and someone could get their knees cheekbones teeth feelings hurt. So we’re going to turn this around in the fairest way we see fit.
Fatty, you’re going to be our honored guest at Levi’s GranFondo again. Bring the Hammer. Relax, drink the wine, enjoy the mid-autumn sunshine. Come to our Festa fundraising dinner. Eat. Be merry. Do not lick the auction items, as we agreed last year. Ride your bike at the GranFondo, exalt, smile a lot, etc.
But remember, you’ve abused our trust with your painful allegations. We need to know that you’re still a vested member of the GranFondo community and the best way to do that, of course, is to help us with the primary goal of the GranFondo: fundraising for our charities. We know the kids (and the animals) at Forget Me Not Farm would appreciate it. We’re positive that LIVESTRONG could do some good with any money you could raise. The schools, fire departments, and other programs we support for the communities along the GranFondo route would certainly appreciate it as well.
On our side, because our main man might have given somewhat questionable direction to his legal representation, resulting in a letter that could’ve been construed as maybe a little hostile, we’ll throw in some help for your fundraising push. Let’s say a few GranFondo jerseys by Capo? Shoot, maybe even a couple of full GranFondo kits, from Giro helmets to socks and everything in between? While we’re at it, why not a full ride for two: airfare, lodging, a couple of seats at the Festa dinner, a pre-GranFondo spin with Levi, and two spots in the sold-out GranFondo itself? You’d know what to do with something like this, yes?
There. That’s better. Doesn’t this seem fair? After all, everyone gets something great out of it. Especially you Fatty, since you get to keep your ribs intact.
Win win!
Sincerely,
Your pals at Bike Monkey/Levi’s GranFondo
What This Means
So let me get this straight. If I be what passes for nice in these parts, as well as help fundraise for some really great charities, The Hammer and I get to come to the GranFondo? And bring a couple folks from Team Fatty along? And give away some awesome second prizes?
OK, I’m in. Let’s do this.
What You Can Win
The prizes for this contest are pretty simple to explain, really. There’s one first prize (for two people) and two second prizes.
First Place: A VIP Trip for Two to Levi’s GranFondo
You and a guest (Sorry, US Only) get to enjoy all of the following:
- Airfare to the GranFondo
- Lodging
- Tickets to the Festa del Fondo gala and auction (Sept 29)
- Ride with Levi and a small group the day before the GranFondo (Sept 30)
- Tickets to ride in the impossible-to-obtain, sold-out GranFondo itself
Second Place:
Two second-place winners will get the super-swank full 2011 GranFondo kit. That’s about a $475 prize, and is guaranteed to make you look exactly like this:
Specifically, you get all of the following:
- The 2011 GranFondo / Giro Aeon Helmet (below image is the top-of-the-line, $250 Aeon helmet, but doesn’t reflect custom GranFondo design):
- The 2011 GranFondo Jersey (made by Capo):
- The 2011 GranFondo Shorts / Bibshorts (made by Capo):
- The 2011 GranFondo Arm Warmers (made by Capo):
- The 2011 GranFondo Cycling Cap (made by Capo):
- 2011 GranFondo Socks (made by Capo):
How To Enter
Want a chance at winning a trip to ride in the GranFondo? I thought so. It’s easy. Here’s how:
- Go to the Team Fatty Fundraising Page for the GranFondo.
- Donate any amount, in increments of $5.00.
- For every $5.00 you donate, you get a chance at winning either the first or a second prize.
- The contest begins now, and ends Midnight (PT) Sunday, September 25. I’ll notify winners on Monday.
Sorry, but all prizes are available in the US only. What with customs and the logistical issues of trying to fly someone here from Lithuania in time. You understand, right?
Why You Should Enter
There are a couple of really good reasons for you to enter this contest. The first, of course, is the possibility that you’ll win a trip to Levi’s GranFondo. Which is an amazing experience, with fancy food, and an incredible ride. With breathtaking scenery.
Apart from that, though, is the fact that Levi’s GranFondo does a lot of good for a lot of people, and when you donate, you’re doing a lot of good too. Your donation goes to benefit all of the following:
- LiveStrong: What could I say about LiveStrong that I haven’t said ten thousand times before?I’ve seen firsthand the good that it does, and I’m really pleased that Levi’s GranFondo is supporting it too.
- Forget Me Not Farm: Forget Me Not Farm helps thousands of at-risk children and youth break the cycle of abuse.
- Local help: The GranFondo helps local schools, cycling programs, emergency services and community services.
So, whether you win or not, you’re doing something good for someone who needs it. That’s awesome.
So please, donate. Maybe you’ll win something awesome, and for sure you’ll be doing something good.
And you’ll probably help me avoid having Levi punch me in the throat (again).
PS: Tomorrow I start up with the France trip storytelling. Honest.
Comments (29)
09.12.2011 | 1:22 pm
Earlier today, I posted “An Open Appeal to Levi Leipheimer’s Sense of Decency.” Imagine my surprise when a couple hours later, I saw this in Twitter:
I assumed this “response,” if any, would be in the form of an email, or a comment in my blog. But then about half an hour later, Leipheimer tweeted this:
Exactly one minute later (suggesting these actions were coordinated), I got a knock at my door. I answered it, and I got served the following letter, which I was required to sign for.
(Scanned letter below, transcribed version follows):
And here’s the text of the letter:
Dear Mr. Fatty,
This law firm represents Levi Leipheimer and we have been directed by our esteemed client to write this letter to you. Many of your statements about Mr. Leipheimer in your blog postings are untrue, defamatory, and sufficiently vicious as to suggest you have a serious death wish. You made them maliciously to injure Mr. Leipheimer in his trade, office, and profession. As such, they are defamatory per se, and generally aggravating to the conduct of our client’s rarefied profession. Under the California Civil Code, Sections 44 through 48, this letter constitutes a demand for immediate retraction in writing of these false and libelous statements. Or else we make a little visit to Utah. And we bring the chihuahuas. Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what we mean.
In accordance with the aforementioned statute, Mr. Leipheimer demands that your retraction and correction be accompanied by an editorial in which you specifically repudiate your libelous statements. Such an editorial better be sincere, you stinking rat, because we’re not asking again.
Your web postings and conduct also constitute tortious interference with the business and contractual relations of Mr. Leipheimer. As such, they are actionable and expose you to the imposition of compensatory as well as punitive damages. By damages, we’re referring to the propensity of smart-aleck bike-bloggers to fall down stairs and get hurt. Real hurt.
Below, we have noted some of the more patent, malicious, and libelous comments made by you on your blog. We are also in possession of sworn statements from Mr. Leipheimer’s “colleagues” regarding your general lousy, snake-belly no-goodness. Best we figure, some of these evidence your tortious interference as well. If Mr. Leipheimer is forced to file suit to stop your wrongful conduct, he will also seek an award of his attorney fees and litigation expenses, on top of a tooth or two, just to make sure the memory sticks.
1. In your posting of September 28, 2008 (http://goo.gl/WsXSg), you suggest that my client had a endorsement association with The Ultimate Cyclist Sports Hypnotism CD Series. This is completely fabricated and the further ancillary suggestion that my client was under the influence of a unique Spanish brand of this product during the 2008 Vuelta de Espana is deeply damaging. Your allegation that he was uncontrollably clucking like a chicken and mooing like a cow at a press conference indicates that someone needs to teach you the meaning of respect, you bastard.
2. In your posting of August 11, 2010 (http://goo.gl/p1GV), you condescendingly and with considerable sarcasm disparaged my client’s ability to successfully operate a mountain bike on a long-distance course at high altitude in Colorado. While my client assumed your sincerity and responded in kind, his reputation and ability to excel as a cyclist constituted mental anguish, hampering his performance that day. That said, he still nailed that race, set a course record yet to be broken, and was having a brandy by the fire when you drug your sorry keister across the line.
3. In your posting of October 7, 2010 (http://goo.gl/5m4ja), you are photographed licking a premier auction item that was to be sold at the stunning and exceptionally glamorous Levi’s GranFondo charity auction to benefit a variety of youth-based and cycling-forward beneficiaries. The Trek Madone in question was an actual Team Radioshack frame and fork that was rendered useless due to the corrosive effect of your reptilian saliva on carbon fiber. Should my office file suit, we will be seeking damages to cover this loss as well. We’ll skip snapping a pinky finger this time, since you clearly were raised in a cave by a pack of dogs who never taught you manners.
4. In your posting of October 10, 2010 (http://goo.gl/dSj2Y), you accused my client of bearing the responsibility of an unsightly divot in your forehead after his most amazing 2010 GranFondo cycling event. My client is a man of deep feeling and was quite hurt by this suggestion, especially when it’s clear that this was the result of your inability to install the helmet cam on your own big head.
5. In your Vimeo posting of September 8, 2011 (http://goo.gl/ZlE1F), in conversation with Andy FREAKING Hampsten, you suggested that my client goes around “punching people in the throat,” including Ibis Cycles founder Scot Nicol. While this is clearly a malicious allegation with no basis in reality, I will advise my client to punch you in the throat as soon as possible.
6. In your posting of September 12, 2011 (http://fatcy.cl/leviletter), you forgo all previous restraint and issue slanderous and libel speech in such volume as to render it unreferenceable in this limited space. Suffice it to say, my client is four-alarm pissed and you are about to enter a world of pain. Ask Jens. He knows.
While this is indeed the first actionable correspondence from our office to your attention, we fully expect you to repudiate the above statements in a sincere apology and editorial. The nature of the above statements satisfy the requirement of malicious speech under California Civil Code, Section 44 and 45, further adding to civil damages and criminal penalties Mr. Leipheimer and the State of California may seek against you.
My client is a stone cold honey badger and the idea that a mole like yourself would even stick his head up from his dank burrow only proves you just want to get whacked. As a guy who’s felt the “Leipheimer embrace,” I’d have thought you’d have more sense.
If you do not immediately publish the requested retraction, and cease and desist from tortious
interference and making false and malicious comments about Mr. Leipheimer, his officers, and his programs, we will file suit against you, for starters. Please govern yourself accordingly. Or we’ll do it for you, you putz.
Sincerely yours,
Frank “The Necktie” Ragano
cc: Levi Leipheimer, Scot Nicol
I’ve started my response to Misters Ragano and Leipheimer several times, but I just don’t know what to do. Should I give them what they want — a retraction and apology? Should I pretend that my original post was satirical and therefore protected by free speech? Should I tell Levi that I’ll be nice, but only if he gives me an awesome bribe?
I don’t know. But I expect I’ll have to reply soon. Any ideas on how I should handle this?
Comments (103)
09.12.2011 | 12:01 am
A Note from Fatty: Huge thanks go out to Paul Guyot for his extraordinary guest-posting for the past couple weeks. I now look forward to the next time I head out on vacation not just for the sake of the vacationing, but for another chance to have Paul write here. Paul (and Bucky), thanks!
Dear Levi,
I have been in France for the past couple of weeks, riding with The Hammer and Andy Hampsten. It was a fantastic trip and I have a lot of stories to tell. In fact, I had hoped I would be able to begin telling those stories today.
But I can’t. Because this simply cannot wait.
You need to face the facts, Levi. And the facts are that while others in the pro peleton are content to use their legs to do the talking, you have adopted considerably more brutal tactics to facilitate your “win at any cost” mindset.
Choke-holds. Kidney punches. Strong language expressed in a loud voice at inopportune moments. It’s as if nothing is off-limits to you.
Oh, don’t go and give me that innocent look, that “Hey I weigh 112 pounds and spend my free time smiling next to cute little doggies” face.
That face doesn’t fool me for one second.
And judging from that look of terror in the little dog’s eyes — notice the way it’s doing its level best to look away from you — it’s not fooled, either.
You may look like a friendly, unassuming pro cyclist, but the evidence of recent public events, photographic evidence, and my experience all tell a very different story.
A very different story indeed.
2010
I remember — all too clearly — the events at the Festa del Fondo last year that gave me the first inkling of your strategy of force and intimidation that is now all too clear.
I was walking around, meeting people. Eating an occasional h’ordeuvre. Signing autographs. Enjoying the ambiance.
And then I heard my name called. “Hey, Fatty!”
It was you, of course. Smiling. Always smiling. “Come on over here and let me get my picture with you!” you called, smilingly.
I’m used to this request, so patiently complied. We got that first photo.
I remember registering surprise at the way you sucked in your gut, but said nothing. You were with an internet cycling celebrity; of course you wanted to look good in the photo.
And then, suddenly, I was doubled over, my air supply cut off. My head was being pounded, relentlessly. Noogie after noogie.
The pain was incredible, and — I confess it — I screamed for mercy.
You smiled and tightened your grip. And the noogies kept coming.
My agony was such that I nearly blacked out. Just look at me, for pity’s sake.
Is that not the face of agony? I submit that it is.
Finally, as my knees were about to buckle, you released me, shoving me away. “Take it easy on the h’ordeuvres, would you?” you sneered (while somehow still smiling). “Other people might want some too.”
2011
My next set of evidence of your brutish behavior is much more severe, and reveals the scope of your reign of terror over your fellow professional cyclists, both within your team and without.
Let’s consider the 2011 Tour de France.
Team RadioShack started the Tour with approximately nineteen GC contenders, of which you were one.
First, Brajkovic conveniently exited the race. And then Chris Horner crashed out. Mysteriously. How curious that we all saw the aftermath of his crash, but not the crash itself.
And how surprising that his concussion has rendered the events surrounding the accident rather fuzzy.
Oh, and then there was Kloden. Kloden, who everyone was supposed to get behind and work for.
Kloden, who retired from the race with a “sore back.”
Pff.
From four GC guys down to one. And who was that one? Levi “All Smiles” Leipheimer, that’s who.
When you consider all this, is it any surprise that you’re no longer wanted on Team RadioShack, Levi?
But it wasn’t just inside Team RadioShack that you were beating up on others, wasn’t it? Here you are with a rider some have called one of the toughest men in cycling, Jens Voigt:
I tell you, Jens should have started running as soon as he saw that smile. Instead, he hung around, and before long, you were up to your old tricks:
That poor guy never had a chance. Oh, and your smile here looks positively sinister.
Additional Evidence
As I have mentioned, Levi, I have spent the past couple weeks in France, riding in France. While there, I got a chance to interview Andy “Freaking” Hampsten, a former pro cyclist of some renown. The entirety of this interview will be presented later this week, but for now, I think this part is pretty telling:
Clearly, Mr. Hampsten was too afraid to come right out and say it, but I think it’s pretty clear that he’s afraid of the repercussions of admitting that he — like all too many others — has been punched in the throat by you.
Please, Levi, seek help. Your anger issues are quite obviously severe, and only getting worse.
If your unchecked aggression remains … well, ummmm … unchecked, who knows where it will eventually lead?
Will you one day smile as you spin-kick Phil Liggett?
Will you smile as you strike Andy Schleck with a blackjack, thereby quite likely breaking him in half?
Will you someday snap entirely and yell at one of the pot-bellied pigs in your petting zoo?
Frankly, I shudder at these thoughts, and hope never to find out.
Do the right thing, Levi. For others. For yourself.
Kind Regards,
The Fat Cyclist
Comments (34)
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