09.20.2011 | 8:59 am
A Note from Fatty: This is part 3 of my retelling of the cycling trip in France we recently finished with Cinghiale Cycling Tours, led by Andy Freaking Hampsten.
From time to time, life presents you with momentous decisions. Should you move to a far-off city, or stay close to home? Should you take an interesting job with an untested company, or keep the job you have? Should you have pizza for dinner, or a burger?
On the third day of riding in France, our group was presented with just such a decision. Not the pizza-or-burger option (alas), but something equally momentous.
We were given the choice of either a beautiful, carefree day of riding around the lake, surveying gorgeous scenery and exquisite villages of breathaking antiquity.
Or, if we preferred, we could ride the Mont-du-Chat (pronounced “shot,” I think). A ride which — as Bruce, one of the guides, put it — is “brutally hard and has no redeeming qualities, other than being known as one of the hardest climbs in France.”
Most of the group chose the beautiful day of riding around the lake.
Guess which option The Hammer and I — along with six others in our group — chose.
Honestly, it wasn’t a hard choice. Part of why I was here was to indulge my Tour de France fantasy; I had been open about that. And that fantasy included, at least a couple times, going as hard as I could up famous climbs.
Preview of the Climb
It’s useful to know what the elevation profile looks like for the Mont-du-Chat climb:
Yeah, and that’s pretty much what it feels like, too. When it starts going up, it’s obvious, immediate, and steep. Like, it averages around 10% for about eight miles.
And it doesn’t really ease up ’til you get to the top.
Here’s another useful thing: a map of our ride for the day:
In particular, this is what the climb looks like:
Quite a few switchbacks there.
Climbing the Mont-du-Chat
Our group had ridden out to the base of the climb together. As we rode this flat, seven mile section, I explained my plan to The Hammer. “I’m going to go at my absolute limit on this climb, OK? I want to see if I can hang with Shawn.”
Shawn?
Yes, Shawn.
Shawn was one of the youngest people in the tour, and a seriously fast guy on the bike, especially when climbing. As in, he took 2nd in the 2011 Mt. Evans Hill climb.
So, as soon as the road turned uphill, he and I took off. Without a doubt, in my head, we were racing.
The problem was, this race was happening in my head exclusively. More to the point, my absolute maximum effort was — more or less — his “brisk tempo” pace.
And so we talked. Or rather, he talked. I gritted my teeth and rode like it mattered. Not for time — I hadn’t even checked my stopwatch at the beginning, and had no way to compare my effort against anyone else’s.
I was just riding at my limit because, once in a while, it’s great to find out what that limit is.
Well, whatever that limit is, it’s well under whatever Shawn’s limit is. My sufferfest did not equal his sufferfest.
Even as I rode — suffering alone, though not riding alone — I noticed a couple of interesting things:
- The guide was joking when he said it had “no redeeming qualities.” Maybe he was just trying to scare away all but those of us who really really really wanted to do this ride. But the truth is, it’s a beautiful road, on a beautiful mountain, with a beautiful overlook at the top. I’ll show you all three of those in a minute.
- I really like the way famous climbs in France are marked. Every kilometer, there’s a marker giving you all kinds of helpful information: what the grade is for the next kilometer, how far you have to go to the summit, and the current altitude. Here I am at the 2Km marker:
“What?” I hear you say. “You say you were riding at your absolute limit on this climb, but you stopped to take pictures?
Well, no. I didn’t. Shame on you for even thinking this. When I’m in the all-out-riding mode, there is no force in the world that could get me to dismount and take a photo.
So I’ll explain how I got this particular photo in a moment.
We continued up — me at full-tilt, Shawn in his ‘having fun and sorta kinda riding hard’ mode, ’til we got to the top, where we’re greeted by the site of the gorgeous Mt-du-Chat radio tower:
I was so cooked. I stopped, straddling my bike — too tired to swing a leg over and get off for real. Resting my arms on my handlebars. Hanging my head. Willing whatever breakfast was to stay put.
“Hey,” suggested Shawn, brightly, “What if we cruise back down a little, take pictures of the others as they come up, and then finish the ride up with our wives.”
Yes, someone else was suggesting we pull “The Elden Move” . . . to Elden.
So we did. We rode down to the 2Km marker (though I should point out that we intercepted Andy well before then; he was right behind us, in spite of the fact that he was dawdling along and had big panniers full of cookies and bread and cheese and probably a full change of clothing).
And that’s how we got the photo of me at the marker. And one of Shawn, too.
Yeah, clearly we have the same body type.
We then took photos at one of the hairpin turns. Here’s The Hammer as she comes around:
In Praise of Armwarmers and Windbreakers
Once we got the photos, we rode back to the top — that’s why my elevation profile at the beginning of this post has a little divot.
And then we began to get cold at an alarming rate. It was a cloudy day, and windy too, way up there.
So you can bet that I felt pretty proud of myself for, at the beginning of the ride, recommending to The Hammer that we carry armwarmers and windbreakers in our jersey pockets.
Just look how cozy and comfortable we look:
Oh, and we got a photo of us with Andy Hampsten, too, who was looking rather dapper in one of the three changes of clothing he had brought with him that day.
Note to self: hire a better photographer.
While at the top, I asked The Hammer, “So, what did you think of this climb?”
“It was fine,” she said. “About 3/4 as difficult as climbing Mount Nebo, I guess.”
And the truth is, The Hammer is right. The mountains we climb right out our front door here in Utah County are every bit as epic as the hard stuff in France. Perhaps epic-er.
The difference is, though, the riding in Utah isn’t in France.
Do I make myself clear?
Descent
We had finished the hard part of the ride, but still had a lot of riding ahead of us. Including a big descent down the other side of Mont-du-Chat.
It was cold at first, but warmed up by the time we were about halfway down.
And that’s when I saw something I’ll never forget.
I was bombing down, trying to keep Andy in sight, and feeling quite proud of the fact that I was succeeding.
Which was when he sat up on this extremely fast, twisty downhill, and rode no-handed. His arms stuck straight out, like he was playing “airplane.”
It was a beautiful, silly, completely insane moment.
Lollygagging
We now went on a scenic tour around the lake, exploring the roads that went by beautiful vineyards . . .
. . . and pretty little villages . . .
. . . with narrow alleys:
It was actually in this little village that we hit our maximum climb grade for the whole trip. Andy had asked a local kid where we could find a store to buy some snacks. The kid directed us up a road.
A road which became steep.
Very steep indeed.
As in, my Garmin showed 36% for a second.
Eventually, though, it did wind around through most of the town and lead us to a store. We got there at the exact moment the kid who had been giving us directions arrived, using a much shorter, direct route.
Very funny, kid.
More Lollygagging
We snacked, and then rode a few more miles alongside a beautiful canal / river.
As we rode, I began reading signs out loud, in spite of the fact that I do not know French or even any of its pronunciation rules.
I’m pretty sure I got everything right.
Then we got back to our hotel in time to change and walk over to a park, where our tour guides had set up a beautiful picnic.
We still had some of the afternoon and the whole evening to kill, so The Hammer and I walked into the city. Me reading signs aloud, both of us pointing out similarities and differences between here and where we live.
Mostly, things aren’t too different. I mean, sure, language stuff and the way that automobiles there seem to have a hard-and-fast rule that they must yield to pedestrians.
But by and large, lots of similar stuff. Except one very, very strange store.
See, we wanted to load up on food to take to our hotel room, to sustain us after our seven-course dinner. And then we walked into this:
A grocery store containing nothing but frozen food.
I felt like I was in a Star Trek movie.
Up Next
This was to be our last day staying in Aix-les-Bains (at the Aquakub, in case you’re curious). The next day, we’d be riding 100 miles to the place we’d be staying for the rest of the tour: La Grave. From there, we’d have easy access to the Alpe d’Huez and Col-du-Galibier, rides we’d be doing later that week.
“100 miles. Pish-posh,” The Hammer and I scoffed. “A 100 mile ride is just not that big of a deal.”
We were so wrong.
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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)
09.12.2011 | 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)
09.8.2011 | 10:26 am
Note: While Fatty is cycling away in France with ANDY FREAKING HAMPSTEN, Paul Guyot has been guest blogging for him.
For my final post here I wanted to get a bit more serious. Not a lot, but some.
First, I want to thank Elden for letting me come into his house and roam around, play with everything, raid the fridge and just be goofy. He is a first-class human. More on that later.
Second, I want to thank all of you. Seriously. You made these two weeks fun, and to be honest, when I accepted the gig, I was slightly terrified. I write stuff that millions of people see each week, but writing for Fatty and Team Fatty is true pressure. Anyone can write a good post here or there – but to do it day in and day out, year after year as Fatty does – well, I could never do that.
And an extra BIG thank you for all the kind words about Bucky. He loved his 15 minutes and hopefully we’ll see a lot of you in Utah next year.
So… this cycling thing is new to me. As mentioned, I only started riding in January of 2010. Since then I’m on my second bike, spent way too much $$ on gear, have had a serious mtn bike crash, done a couple of centuries, lost a bunch of weight, and became completely addicted.
I’m addicted to the pleasures of riding. Seeing, hearing, smelling things you cannot experience in a car.
I’m addicted to the health aspect of it. Addicted to the weight loss. If they’d only lock up the people who make fried food I’d lose even more weight. But it was tough in the beginning. I had to be convinced. I had to be inspired.
One of the first blogs I came across was the Amazing 39 Stone Cyclist. Who is now the Former 39 Stone cyclist. For those that don’t know – 39 stone is equal to 546 pounds. That’s what he weighed. 546 pounds. His doctor said he needed surgery or he would die. So what did he do?
He did not have surgery. He started riding a bike. A lot. And he lost weight. A lot. Now he is a local hero and motivational speaker in Great Britain. He’s won awards. And he continues to push himself. Check out the photos on his blog – if you want your mind blown. His name is Gary Brennan. I call him Gaz. And he’s one of the major inspirations on my early rides where I was learning to push myself.
I also ride because of Fatty. I found this blog in February of 2010 by googling “cycling” and “fat” together. I had no idea who Fatty was, but I was entertained by his writing, and then I became moved and inspired by his story of Susan. Everyone one of us knows what it means to Fight Like Susan.
Though Fatty and I have never met face-to-face I call him a friend. I believe he is one of the most generous, kind-hearted and dedicated people I know. I’m not sure all of you truly grasp the amount of time and effort he puts into this blog and his fundraising. And he does it all for nothing. Sure he gets some SWAG now and then, but when you do the math, he is basically doing all this for free. And a lot of people take it for granted.
I also ride for my job. As a writer, a lot of my “work” time is spent thinking. Imagining. Observing. Making up crap. Riding a bike has been the best muse I’ve ever had. Being outside just flat feels better than being inside. Being healthy feels better than not being healthy. And when one is feeling better, one is thinking better, and thus – I’m a better writer now because of cycling than I ever was before.
But what I ride most for is the suffering. I’m addicted to the suffering. I love the pain. I love the agony. I love it because I know what’s on the other side. I love it because I know – when I don’t quit, when I don’t give up, when I push through the pain – the feeling afterward is unlike anything.
I joked yesterday about what I’ve learned on the bike. Well, the single greatest thing I have truly learned on the bike is what Ken Chlouber from Leadville preaches every year.
You are better than you think you are. You can do more than you think you can.
I have not ridden Leadville. I could not. Yet. I have done nothing like it. A lot of you have not, and could not. But…
We can all DIG DEEP. We are all better than we think we are, we can all do more than we think we can.
This is an absolute truth. I have not ridden Leadville, but I have experienced exactly what Ken preaches – I have learned from the past year and a half on the bike that I can do WAY more than I thought I could. I am WAY better than I thought I was.
And so are you.
That is why I ride. To push myself. To be better. To do more. To dig deep. To hurt. To suffer. And then come through the other side. When I ride there is no red carpet at the end, no buckle, no photographers. It is just me and my bike. But the feeling is the same.
Whether it’s the 100 miles of Leadville, or whether it’s the 6% hill at the end of your neighborhood – You Can Do It. You are better than you think you are. You can do more than you think you can.
My son knows it now. A lot of you know it. And the rest of you will know it. I promise you.
Lastly, Fatty’s blog led me to Livestrong which I’ve already talked about here. And I now ride for Livestrong and the 28 million. This is the part where I post a link to my Livestrong fundraising page and ask you to donate. And tell you that you could win a new Trek Livestrong bike courtesy of Trek.
But, wait. There’s more!!!
In the spirit of all of Fatty’s great fundraising contests, the prize pool has just increased. In addition to the Trek Livestrong bike being given away, and in addition to the second Trek Livestrong bike that will be given away if I hit $10,000, there is a NEW INCENTIVE:
If I hit my fundraising goal of $10,000 one lucky donator will win a VIP VISIT TO THE SET OF TNT’S LEVERAGE – Currently being shot on location in Portland, OR.
This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to witness first-hand the magic of television. Mingle with writers, stars and dolly grips! Eat your own weight in snacks from the craft service table.
TERMS: Based on availability and to be scheduled at a mutually convenient date, you and a guest will have a 3-hour visit to the set of LEVERAGE. Please note that due to production scheduling restraints, most likely you will have approximately a two-week notice to book the trip. You will liaise with a production representative to work out all the logistical details. Airfare, transportation, and accommodations not included. Must be redeemed within calendar year of 2012. Cannot be transferred, re-auctioned or resold. Must be at least 18-years of age to redeem.
For every $5 you donate you will get one chance at the raffle for this amazing prize. Prize to only be awarded if I hit hit the $10,000.00 goal. So dig deep. Give hope. Be courageous.
DONATE HERE
Once again, thanks for putting up with me. I know we are all looking forward to the return of Fatty and his stories of France, and getting this blog back on track.
PS – thanks to everyone who donated to my Livestrong page!
Comments (43)
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