I realise this is like 1 gazillion years late. But better late than never, right?
So anyway, back to the Tour Down Under. There we were, bopping around Glenelg, shopping, browsing, cheering random Cyclists as they buzzed past on wannabe ‘I’ve dusted off the old Repco coz the Tour Down Under is on’ bikes. And then the Cyclists ceased to be random Cyclists and started to be Notable Riders. Lampre pedaled past in their Barbie-pink and we hollered and waved and got a holler and wave in return. Then we ventured into Moseley Square because there was just too much accumulated lycra to ignore.
But we were disappointed. Sure, Fuji was there, sitting around a table enjoying some sunlight and the odd iced coffee. Sure, Quickstep even rocked up. But they didn’t matter. Alas, we left feeling less than hopeful. But we figured we’d run into someone we really wanted to run into the next day, so we left to fight another day.
In the car, we turned left so we could roll past Moseley Square for one last quick perve. Nothing had changed, so we continued on past Magic Mountain and the numerous marinas. Turned down Anzac Highway and ran smack bang into a mini Peleton of Saxo-Bankers. Well, we didn’t actually run into them. That wouldn’t have been very funny. Coz even though we were in a 4WD diesel Landcruiser, we probably still would have come off second best against Big Jens wait no sorry I think I mean Sexy S the Alpha M.
As you could imagine, brakes squealed, tyres went bald, and we perfected the instant 180. We were all into finally meeting Da Boyz until we arrived back at Moseley Square and were struck down with stage fright. It was okay until we saw them entrenched inside a café looking all united and imposing and downright unapproachable. So we sat down and pretended we had things to do like put on sunscreen and check our phones for imaginary text messages and glance furtively at the cafe window. It was actually quite pitiful, really. None of us could work up the courage. And the Schlecks weren’t even there to make us feel self conscious about our less-than-prepared-to-meet-hot-dudes appearances. Or less-than-prepared-to-meet-the-Alpha M appearances.
So we left.
Nah, not really. Eventually we stood up on shaking legs and walked towards the cafe. It was a long walk, too. Seemed to take far too long. The boys were all sitting inside sipping on their iced coffees and browsing through the ‘Tiser and chatting away. Anders Lund, a youngin’ on Saxo-Bank, was closest to the door so we spoke to him first and he was lovely and took pity on us coz we were terrified and couldn’t remember the word ‘team’. We asked him to sign our CSC jerseys even though they weren’t CSC any more and from him, the jerseys got passed around from man to man. We chatted to Anders until the jerseys reached the last man on the line, Big Jens. After that, it was one huge Big Jens Party. He is just such a bloody legend. He gave us training tips for god’s sakes. And he told us he’s “maybe a little crazy, yes, to be a cyclist.” Coz he loves pain. He’s so hardassed. Later he asked us if we were going to put the pictures we took on youtube and when we said we probably wouldn’t he nudged us and went all sooky.
Then it was time for the Saxo-Bankers to cycle like they meant it back to the Hilton. As they were leaving Big Jens said it was good to meet us and that he would pass on the message to the Schleck Bruvvies from us. My sister then ran round frantically taking happy-snaps before they did a runner, and called The O’Grader “Buddy” in the process and got herself freaked out by Frank Hoj’s peace signs - seriously he was weird, but cool weird.
We walked out of the cafe or rather floated out - by then we were on cloud nine and almost ran smack into Robbie McEwen and the Katushan lads right outside the cafe. We would’ve gone to get a signature but Big Gert (as in Steegmans) looked too scary and we didn’t want to look like cycling groupies after we had just spent the last 20 minutes getting cozy with the Saxo-Bankers. So we left, for good this time.
The last stage day dawned and we were on the tram trying to find out where the hell the race actually was coz we had forgotten our program guide. Luckily, the tram stopped outside the Hilton. We weren’t going to get off for another stop or two but when we saw a few Notable Cyclists making their way to the Tour Village across the road we re-evaluated. Here we waited and took a few pics of some of the riders that went by. Some peeps stopped a few cyclists for signatures, us included if we knew the cyclist’s name and whatnot. So we got Allan Davis’s (he was the winner, by the way) and were this close to getting Pereiro’s but the he did a runner before we could. Deliberately, we’re inclined to think. As we walked back to the tram we saw Robbie barreling through traffic so we bailed him up on the tramline and got a signature after all. He didn’t stop for anyone else either so that felt special =). Then all of the riders got their bitchin’ Specialized and Pinarello’s and whatever else they had and peletonned their way down to the next stage. Us following closely behind.
Because this stage was like the Cancer Council Classic, some of Da Boyz were warming up, others were standing around team cars or socialising on the nature strip or on their manbars. Picking our way along, my sister won a gold medal in elbowing people out of the way to get to a few Notable Cyclists, including Oscar Pereiro (who’s signature we finally got, albeit grudgingly - don't be fooled by the congenial smile), Luis Leon Sanchez, Adam Hansen and Big Jens- again. While my sister was elbowing, she held out a jersey for him to sign coz he was talking about a barbie at Overlord Riis’s and he took it, glancing for a sec to see who gave it to him. He stopped talking, gave her a funny look and said: “Hey, I’ve seen you before” in his cool German accent. She said yeah seen you before too. He said “yeah at the coffee shop”. He actually remembered us from a week earlier. We must have been freakier than we’d thought. Jeepers. Or just plain cool.
So then we let him go back to his team and watched the race. Afterwards we saw Big Jens waiting at the stoplights with his bitchin’ Specialized, but enough was enough. We didn’t want to look like total stalkers after all.
There are a few cyclists in this hallowed Team of Saxo Bank that find their unique brand of Hotness overshadowed by Frank’s sideburns+mullet combo, Andy’s overbite and Fabian’s hair. But these three lads are not, despite such astounding physical attributes, the only Cyclists Worth Looking At In Saxo Bank.
Matti Breschel deserves attention because he’s a New York ex-model. And a decent sprinter. He has that Cold But Hot thing going and really lovely curvy lips. He’ll be big one day soon. And he came tenth in Paris Roubaix. I know tenth is still tenth and not first, but it was a hardcore race and he did better than Fabian after all. And everyone knows Fabian is supposed to rock the cobblestones.
deserves attention because he is a very big man and therefore hard to miss. Eight kilos more man than Fabian himself and a similar set of v8 thighs. And refreshingly, Razza doesn’t actually look much like a cyclist. He doesn't have inch-thick upper arms and a bony chest and thighs slimmer than mine to make me feel fat. He actually looks more like a Bouncer than a mountain-climber.
Morks deserves attention because he’s Razza’s mate. He’s a semi-cool Dane and he and Razza are bff's so he has an automatic VIP pass into Club Danmark. He isn't actually the hottest thing since sliced bread but he and Razza come as a sort of 'buy one get one free' deal.
