Cycle Like You Mean It

When All Is Said And Done...

2010-12-17T20:59:00.018+10:30

Curacao
So, another year, another Curacaon holiday. Another gathering of the Cool People in Cycling. Too bad this year was kind of a wash out (or shall we say a ‘blow out’?) because of various cyclones and tornadoes and hurricanes in the area. Those pesky forces of nature really affected the amount of scuba diving that could be done, but at least it didn’t stop the boys from doing anything serious, or anything original, like prancing about in print board shorts (again), or staring poutingly into the sunset (again), or swimming with flippin’ little dolphins (again), or riding on flippin’ little dolphins (again), or flippin’ with flippin’ little dolphins (again), or making sandcastles (again), or perhaps even posing on one of those sandy beaches (again).

Yeah. Curacao sure had changed this year. I was shocked. I was shocked by the change in the Schlecks’ activities, and I was shocked by the staggering array of activities Curacao had to offer. I’ve got to get me there one day, because I don’t think my life will be complete until I ride one of those flippin’ little dolphins and make it flip for me. At least six times.
Curacao is Da Bomb. Who needs any of the other, say, six thousand tropical tourist locations around the world when you have Curacao? No one, that’s who. And certainly not Frandy.

Training camps
I’m fully prepared to jump ship and swoon over luxo-coloured lycra for the next cycling season rather than gawk in horror as a certain Spaniard plays the maracas clad in the ultra sexy saxo colours. But there has been a complete FTA of information regarding the Luxo-Leopard team and their kits/name/race schedule/whatever the hell else is all being kept a ‘secret.’ Newsflash, dudes. No one cares as much as you think. It’s not the unveiling of the bloody Mona Lisa. Sure there’s curiosity and excitement from some corners, namely from chubby middle-aged men who don’t shave their legs as much as they should, but from the rest of the world, there’s a big, fat ‘who gives a shit’ factor that Nygaard doesn’t believe could possibly exist. Get over yourself, pal. It’s not like Branjelina adopted another starving African baby. It’s just a cycling team. Get some perspective, dude.

Saxo Bank Sungard, on the other hand, courtesy of Tim de Waele (happy snap extraordinaire), has been busy capturing every glorious moment of sun, surf, and man-tower building you could hope for. The newly Spanish Armada-ised Saxo Bank team has windsurfed, paddled, and rescued fair maidens Baywatch-style to the delight of Tim de W’s lens. Also captured for all eternity are the ‘balance-the-plate-on-the-stick’ sessions that looked fun as anything, plus ‘touch-the-fire-and-therefore-overcome-your-fear’ sessions. I’m pretty sure I never saw these activities in any Saxo Bank team camp before, so maybe Bjarne thought he’d pull out all the stops to give Da New Boyz a treat. A bit of a stiff middle-finger salute to the Schleck boys. Bjarne: “Did I ever let YOU BITCHES have ‘balance-the-plate-on-the-stick’ sessions? I don’t think I did, Frank and Andy. I don’t think I did.”

Another thing Bjarne has treated Da New Boyz to that he never liked the Schlecks enough to bother with is the Man Towers. Wow. How much fun do they look? Pile three dudes on the ‘ground-floor,’ then add two more on the ‘second storey’, and then one more for the ‘penthouse’. That is really something. And not only is it a bonding session for Da Boyz, being that they have to get close to each other (as in, on top of each other), it is also LITERALLY team building. Get it? As in, ‘I’m building a team’s morals, and I’m building a team’s talent, and I’m building a team TOWER!’

Take THAT, Schleck bitches! (courtesy of Bjarne)

Oh, and there was Bjarne in Budgie Smugglers. The Schlecks could never look that good in Budgie Smugglers. No Siree. Hot, Bjarne. Hot.

With regards to The Luxo-Leopards, we do know that the training camp was ‘awesome, everyone was amazing and friendly, we have such good management, and we’ve just got a great bunch of guys together.’ Everyone who ever goes on a team camp will always, until the end of time, say the same thing. If a volcano erupted and took out the village they were staying in, or a serial killer prowled about the premises, or Jakob and Andy had a punch-up, they’d say ‘the training camp was awesome, everyone was amazing and friendly, we such good management, and we’ve just got a great bunch of guys together.’ EVERYONE was amazing and friendly? Even the serial killer? Hmmmm. It’s called sportstalk - designed to never get you sued for telling the defamatory truth. Not that I’m suss of Team Luxo-Leopard – I’m just saying sportstalk tells regular Joes like us abso-bloody-lutely nothing. Just saying.

New Riders
With new teams clearly come the abandoning / desertion of various riders, as well as the arrival of new ones. Saxo Bank Sungard has turned into an All American (Spanish) Affair, and the Luxo Leopards are semi Italian, French, Luxo, Belgium, German, Nederlandical (Dutch), Australian, and probably even Tongan. You name it, they’ve got it. No trend to speak of, nor riders that I know, or care, about. This opens up a whole lot of opportunity for random unwanted people to use up Tour Down Under spots. New riders on Saxo Bank include most of Astana, like Jesus Hernandez, his boss Bertie Bott and various other Spanish dudes that ride bikes. They’ve also got a new Italian called Manuel Boaro, who I’m scoping, if I’m honest.

In fact, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say it; I think Saxo Bank Sungard’s team is hotter than Luxo Leopard’s Team. Sure, Frandy is aboard. But who else that is actually good-looking? Saxo Bank Sungard have the Haedos. And this Boaro dude. And Bertie Bott, obviously. And the best and second best looking Sorensens.

Take THAT, Schleck bitches! (courtesy of Bjarne, again)

Tour de France as a wrap:
Frank was good. For three days. Cheers, Frank. I mean, it’s not like Andy blames you for losing him the Tour, but it helped him about as much as a poke in the eye with a sharp stick helped him. So thanks, Frank. Cheers for nothing.
Andy impressed me, the little tacker. He’s just growing up so quickly, isn’t he? Turning into a real little man, winning bike races, and being a gracious winner / loser like a true gent. God bless his “my stomach is full of anger” statement. I would have liked to see the ‘behind-the-scenes’ locker bashing (or team-bus-bashing, I’m sure he had rage enough for both), but alas, we only got to see a pissed Andy stomp past the camera, jaw set, eyes blazing. And; unimportant sidenote - did anyone ever tell Andy that it’s not proper English to say one’s ‘stomach’ is full of anger? Oh well. It was cute. Sportstalk after all.

I developed a rather healthy loathing of Contador in this year’s Tour. That Chain Moment was disgusting. A champion should never win a Tour through someone else’s bike chain coming off. A champion should win the Tour by waiting, and attacking at a later point when the playing field is level. A dirty cheat with no morals should win the Tour by attacking someone’s mechanical failure, and then pretending he had NO IDEA about it. What, Contador? You rode right past Andy yanking at the bike and hollering at the team car, but you thought he’d just stopped, on a mountain, in the yellow jersey, for a perusal of the scenery? Contador, Contador, Contador...

Relevant disclaimers and all. Photos from Tim de Waele, thanks dude. And Corbis and someone else. Please dont sue. We're broke.

Sussing le Tour de France 2010

2010-07-04T14:32:00.019+09:30

As in every year, we suss the Tour de France. We rip it, we roll it around and then we slaughter it. And when the slaughtering is over we come back here and ring that victory bell……..Well, the winner does anyway (courtesy of Grease, for those who aren’t so culturally aware). Which is what brings me to The Potentials Of Le Tour. The Favourites. The Fully Loaded Men. So, who is going to win this years Tour, I hear you ask? Here is where I conjecture, speculate, abuse, discount and, ultimately, champion the various potentials.

The Obvious Dudes

Alberto Contador (nn. Bertie Bott, Best Cyclist Of All Time, Spanish whiz-kid on the two-wheeler, and so on). I don’t want him to win his millionth TdF, but unless you’re totally retarded, you’ve probably noticed he’s a bit of a Favourite with a capital F. The Favourite status would probably have something to do with the fact that Contador wins every Grand Tour he’s ever looked at, and even the ones he hasn’t. But I’m not daunted by his undeniable Favourite status. I think, in the words of the indomitable Kevin Rudd, “it’s time for a change, Australia”. So, if Schlecks F and A can work together up mountains, and Cadel can beat his arse on timetrial bikes, and Masterlance bitchslaps him one just for luck, then hopefully Contador won’t kill this year’s Tour like he’s killed every other.

Andy Schleck. (nn. Schleck Jr, etc) If Andy strikes form like a vein of gold in a mountainside, then Eureka! He really could win. Unhappily, Andy striking said form so damn quickly is about as likely as me striking a vein of gold in a mountainside, not least because there aren’t any mountains where I live. Andy’s lead-up to this year’s Tour has been dismal, to put it generously, and so if Andy doesn’t have a sudden and unexpected form-strike, then he can’t win. Contador is seemingly in better form, has a more effective kick when climbing, and is more consistent overall. And everyone knows how the episode entitled “Out-of-Form Andy vs In-Form Contador” ends. Answer: Not well.

Frank Schleck. (nn. Franklin, The Other Schleck Brother). Less attractive, less youthful, less talented and less confident than Andy, Franklin seems like the outsider of the Main Pack. The outlier. The unwanted. The red-headed stepchild. The Other Brother. But this year, more than any year, is Form Time for Schleck Brunette. He’s been spanking that tarmac a lot more effectively than his little bro, and hell, if he can beat Andy, then beat Andy. If Franklin can also take on Bertie Bott Contador and win the actual Tour de France itself, then go for gold. Frank is the Dark Horse of this year’s Tour. Watch out, Unsuspecting Plebs, coz he could take it.

Lance Armstrong. (nn. Masterlance, The Boss. THE BEST CYCLIST OF ALL TIME) The Big Man is back in business now that he’s got Loveshack and a new team of Bitches to do his every bidding. Life is good for Masterlance. A new Babychild on the way too. But can he win the Tour de France for an eighth time? Can he relive his glory days? Can he pretend he’s 28 again and get something more out of those tired old pensioner’s legs of his? Can he take back the title of Best Cyclist In All The World from his BFF Bertie Bott? Is his team good enough? Is he stronger than Contador, stronger than the Schleck brothers combined? Is he The Lance Of Old? No, dude, he aint. But he’ll give it a fair crack, bro. He’ll try his ASS off, and he’ll do what it takes to come out on top. But that ‘top’ probably don’t mean a TdF win is on the cards, man. He’s Masterlance, hell yeah. But he’s also a human, dude, and he’s, like, 39. Unlikely, bro.

Ivan Basso. (nn. Not applicable) I have to acknowledge Mr. Basso’s position as a Tour de France favourite here. I can’t get away with ignoring it, because a handsome 6” Italian dude charging up the Italian Alpes in lime green lycra is hard to ignore. Especially given the fact that he’s only recently returned from a 3-year drugcheat suspension. That’s also hard to ignore.

Cadel Evans. (nn. Cadellio, Little Aussie Battler) Yes. You’re right. Last year’s Tour for Cadellio sucked. But everyone has their bad days, months, even years. And he’s obviously not having one of those this year: this year he’s got a Fleche Wallone under his belt, as well as roughly 40 second-places to various Italian drugcheats. He’s also World Champion, in case anyone forgot, and did I mention he’s Australian?

The Not So Obvious Dudes and the Dudes I Cant Stand The Thought of Winning

Bradley Wiggins. (nn. Friggins) Will Not Win. I’ll shoot myself first. He needs to get back inside his cozy velodrome and stop pretending he can road race like the real men.

Denis Menchov. (nn. Deni, Rampaging Russian) I love Deni for the simple fact that he has so much personality. He’s just so emotional, so outspoken, and so good-humoured. And he’s Cadel’s partner-in-shithouse-form (of last year’s forgettable TdF fame), so perhaps he and Cadel can, together, bring the house down with twinsets of bitchin’ good form.

Carlos Sastre. (nn. The Sastrinator, Boringest Waste of Time To Ever Win A Tour De France). Ha, that was a joke, but a joke I did not, and still do not, find very effing funny. Go suck off Cervelo’s wheel, and see how far that gets you, pal. Not far at all, I can tell you, because a lucky strike on a lucky day with the lucky addition of being thrown up the mountain by two much better teammates only comes around once in a blue moon. And you’ve already had your blue moon, buddy, which is more than even the luckiest loser in the world should ever have gotten. Not that I’m bitter.

Christian VandeVelde. (nn. V-da-V) V-da-V is one of those dudes who I’ve heard a lot about, but never actually seen doing anything worthwhile. It’s like he decides to suck when I’m watching. Which, if you go by that way of thinking, means that if I’m watching the Tour de France, he can’t possibly win it. I’m sure he’ll be respectably placed in the top twenty again, along with all the other bridesmaids, and I wish him luck.

Kreuziger Roman. (nn. He wishes) He’ll keep up on a few of the big mountain stages, but then he’ll falter on one that really matters, at which time he’ll watch his AMAZINGLY TALENTED BUT TOTALLY NOT ON DRUGS team leader Ivan Basso shoot off the front and leave him to die on the roadside. If its Kreuziger or Nibali, it doesn’t really matter. They’ll come roughly 7th-ish, give or take ten places.

Well, it’s a few days before the Biggest Cycling Race Of Them All, actually tonight for Southern Hemisphereans like moi. Time has flown since writing and posting this, so let’s barricade ourselves on the couch with our hot chocolates, croissants, and Haighs, and enjoy a Tour de France that is actually worth enjoying this year.

Pictures from Tim de Waele and Roland Miny if you couldn't tell. Hope its not illegal.

Curacao Dreamin'

2009-11-28T01:23:00.005+10:30

See Blog “Frank and Andy’s Curacaon Vacation”, the 2008 version.

So, another year, another Curacaon Vacation. The location is the same, the trees and beaches are the same, the kissing dolphins are the same, the attempts to even out Cyclists’ Tans are the same, the awkward tangles with diving gear and fishing lines are the same, the fishing in the deepsea and Da Boyz are the same. Everything is pretty much the same, give or take a few variations of frightening print boardshorts. Some (*cough*BertieBott*cough*) are barbie pink, with complimentary purple and turquoise stripes. But apart from those eye-catchers, everything is pretty much identical to the last three trips to Cycling Tropicana Central.

You may be thinking “Jolly Moses, wouldn’t four trips in a row to the same place at the same time of year with the same people doing the same things get a little old?” Well, the long and short of it is, no, not really. Andy loves himself a Curacaon Vacation, that’s for sure, so don’t be expecting his end-of season race-holiday to change scenery any time soon. Curacao is the shiz. It’s the End-of-Season Cool Young Cyclists’ Hang Of Choice. As if Andy’s going to branch out and do something radical like change locations. He’s a Cool Young Cyclist after all. Where else is he gonna hang?

And anyways, there have been one or two changes from last year. Bertie Bott’s barbie boardshorts, for one. Andy had a pina colada instead of just a plain old corona. Brice Feillu hung about getting sunburnt and wrestling madly with his flippers in the shallows of Curacao Bay (I made that up btw). Cav the Gent did the chivalrous thing and brought his new lovely lady with him to paddle about looking sexy together. And the whole Schleck Fam (minus the Schleck Patriarch) rocked up to party like its ’99 in the tropics. Oh, and Frank proposed to Martine.

Gotta love the Curacao Dreaming’...
Relevant disclaimers and all.

As the Wheel Turns... And the Gears Click...

2009-11-27T23:59:00.006+10:30

This blog is a long time coming. And what has happened in the four months that transpired between this post and my last?

Well, Bertie Bott Contador won the Tour de France. Yay for him. Actually, not yay for him. His winning was a boring, predictable, anti-climactic formality. Just one of those little old TdF wins, a maillot jaune to go straight to the pool room along with all the hundreds of other leader’s jerseys. Andy, could you kindly win next year, please? I want someone to win the 2010 Tour who is not totally brain-dead boring. And who doesn’t have teeth like terrible tombstones.

Big Jens obviously won the Maillot Man Classification. Obviously. I mean, who else could?

The Vuelta happened. At some point. Some Spaniards won. I think.

Trade Month happened. Cadellio left Silence-bloody-Lotto at-bloody-last. I was starting to worry – after all, it was meant to have happened three years ago and never did. Oh, and half of Saxo Bank bailed. Well, Kurt Asle did, anyway, as I was scandalised to see. Maybe I’m retarded, but why would Kurt Asle leave Saxo Bank? Yeah, I’ve heard all the ‘new horizons’ and ‘changes of scenery’ and ‘wanted different things’ excuses, but underneath all that, what was the real reason Kurt Asle would possibly leave the best team in Pro Cycling at the moment?

Jonny Bellis came a gutser. And I don’t want to trash the boy, but aside from all the forensic investigations, what does a little old thing called Common Sense think a 21-year-old guy was doing at 3am Saturday morning, on his scooter, hitting an unmoving WALL at high speeds? Hmmmmmm. Let me think about this one. It’ll come to me eventually.

Cadel won the World Championships. Haha to the doubters (no names). But haha anyway. Now, you see, if Cadel did more of that ‘attacking business’, he would be sort of unstoppable. So here’s hoping he remembers to attack when he’s going up hills, coz it pays like a dole-bludger’s payday.

Andy did a bit of Twittering. Not much, but a bit. And he showed us he’s not great at spelling or grammar. No offence. On that note, I don’t know who writes Andy’s blogs, but I’m pretty sure it aint him. The spelling is too good. The sentences make sense.

Mark ‘Look at Me’ Cavendish upgraded his girlfriend. What a gentleman. Cav: “Hey, you know what? I’m like the best sprinter in the world, and everyone damn well knows it. I have a new, bigger paycheque. I have a new villa in Italy. I have a new Audi R8. I need a new girlfriend too. A hotter one than my childhood sweetheart FIANCE. How about Miss Italia Monde?” Words can’t describe how proud I am of Cav. He’s just such a classy guy.

Andy rocked up to the Unveiling of 2010's TdF Route. In high-waisted jeans. Belted. I think I'll leave it there.

The O’Grader showed us that tiny squeaky-voiced Casey Stoner is more man than him on an 800cc motorbike. That’s got to hurt.

Andy and Frank did something weird and decided to go to Curacao this year. Out of character or what? I was pretty floored by that decision. Curacao: Since WHEN?!

Frank's getting himself hitched after all. Like I prophesied he would during last year's Curacaon Vacation. I so knew. I have a fifth sense.

2009-07-20T22:38:00.003+09:30

Man of the Tour Classification

(Main article: The Maillot Noir, or in colloquial terms, “The Maillot Man”)

The Maillot Noir is awarded to the rider who is the Most Man during a stage. Inspired by the unsung heroes of the peloton – The Hot Ones. The Hardcore Ones. The Fully Loaded Men. They need some kind of thanks for lifetime services to lycra. This jersey – the Maillot Noir - is that thanks.

The competition gives points to the Real Men of the peloton. Points can be awarded on flat stages, mountain stages, half-and-half stages, intermediate stages, time trials, team time trials, rest days, you name it. If it’s Manly, it’s on the board.

Points for Maillot Noir Gained By:
10cm+ expanse of chest showing whilst riding.
Jersey tails flapping and bibshorts straps exposed.
Cycling Like You Mean It. Hah.
Crashing and getting back up and going for it with broken bones and blood running down your limbs.
Being Drinks Bitch. It’s manly, alright.
Not getting dropped. Like Cav on mountains.
Breaking away and doing all the work. Like Big Jens.
Not being on Astana. Like Astana.
Being on Saxo Bank. Like Saxo Bank.
Having a brother in your team (that wins). Like Frank and Andy. Or Romain and Brice.
Being Australian. Like Cadel. And Heinrich. He’s ours Germany
Wearing armwarmers.
Wearing crosses.
Filling out your lycra (saggy arse-areas result in minus points).
Not wearing skivvies underneath jerseys. (An unexposed chest area is a big minus.)
Not posing stupidly for Tim de Waele.
Leaning on the Manbar.
Beating Cav.
Winning. It’s hot.

Man of the Tour Classification
As It Stands After 2 Weeks of Le Touring
1. Big Jens: Because he is Big Jens. And he breaks away like a Bat out of Hell and then does all the work because he’s Too Much Man to do otherwise. And he has 5 kids. What a man.
2. Heinrich Haussler: A Little Aussie Battler. He also broke away from a breakaway and WON. He makes a hot drink’s bitch. And he gets up mountains like no other sprinter can. Hardcore.
3. Brice Feillu: He broke away from a break away and WON. He consistently wears his jersey open and flapping in the breeze, with bibshorts exposed. He is also rather nice looking.
4. Andy Schleck: Has really gotten Manly this year when he started to open the jersey and expose his lucky medallion and gold cross. But he has a way to go. Breaking away BEFORE Contador would be Tres Manly. Beating Contador would be Tres Tres Manly.
5. Sexy Sorensen: WON on a broken-away breakaway. These Men are hot. And he’s a totally forgotten hero, so winning was just so good and Manly for him.
6. Frank Schleck: Hasn’t done much, but he will, so he’s on the list. And he gets points just because he always has his jersey unzipped, and he has a brother in the team. Masculine as.
7. Cadel Evans: Everything’s going horribly wrong for poor Cadellio, but it’ll get better. And if anyone tries hard against the odds of Crappest Team Ever, it’s Cadel. And that’s Manly.
8. Fabian Cancellara: He’s usually fairly safe on the Manly standings, but Fabian’s taken some hits recently. Anyone who bitches at fellow breakers-away to ‘go back coz it’s not fair, we’ll get caught coz of you’ is not okay in my books. And it’s not like he won that stage anyway.
9. Rinaldo Nocentini: He’s not on here coz he’s good, or even that he’s particularly Manly. He’s on here coz he kept the Yellow Jersey away from Masterlance in laughable style.
10. Masterlance Armstrong: Better than I gave him credit for, and able to keep up with the young whipper snappers on the climbs, thus far. At 37, I’ll give him some Manly credit.
NOT LISTED. Bertie Contador. He’s not squeezing one Manly point out of me because, while he might be winning and he might be a little savage on those pedals, he’s not pretty, he does ultra-lame pea-shooter gestures when he wins and he’s NOT Manly. And this is the Man of the Tour Contest after all, so Bertie Bott aint gonna win this one, at least.

Sussing Le Pre-Tour

2009-06-28T12:03:00.010+09:30

Well, we’re getting close now. It’s about that time of the year when friends start shooting suss looks at each other and polarising to opposite ends of the table. It’s when the colours come on and the gloves come off. When the sly digs at other people’s favourite riders emerge like rats from a flooded drainpipe. And when perfectly rational adults are transformed from “supporters” to hysterical teenage fangirls at a Jonah Brothers concert. Jonas Brothers, whatevs.

Yes... it’s Tour de France time...

I’m excited. Well, I’ve been excited for about 11 months and six days, but now I’m getting REALLY excited. This is the highlight of the year for any cyclist or cyclist fan. Especially if you’re a cyclist fan who has been denied her fix of cycling all year because her TV stations don’t show fricken anything. Except Paris-Roubaix, but that was a waste of time because Boner won and he’s gotta be the World’s Biggest Cycling Bimbo Of All Time. So anyway, point is, I’ve been unjustly deprived of most of the cycling calendar and consequently am very much looking forward to live, unedited, Phil Liggett-commentated 5-hour long stints of pure Tour de France. Bliss.

Top Five Cyclists Who Will Probably Win the Tour de France.

CADEL EVANS. I don’t care how much he’s loathed (unjustly I might add – all he did was bash people), Cadellio deserves a break. He’s thankfully not the favourite this year, which will remove the pressure that was obviously chaffing a bit last year. So with the spotlight on The Favourites, Cadel should be free to breakaway on Mont Ventoux with his ever reliable silence lotto boys. Sweet sweet justice.

ALBERTO CONTADOR. I don’t want him to win, but I’d be living under a rock not to have noticed his undeniable favourite status. So, Bertie, you do what you have to do; use up the old ones first (as in Masterlance), and have some sprint-offs with fellow youngen’ Andy Schleck. While you’re there, you and Andy can have a text-messaging competition – first one to text 100 girls in a mountain stage wins. Hopefully then Bertie won’t notice Cadel slipping away on Ventoux...

DENI MENCHOV. The Legendary Russian is just getting started. After a stellar Giro, he’ll be on the angry Russian rampage and gunning for the overall. And he’s so interesting that he really doesn’t need any more superlatives than that.

FRANK SCHLECK. He’s been a little overlooked with all the Team Masterlance and Andy Schleck Is Mercx Incarnate excitement, but underestimating him would be retarded. He’s done almost as well as Andy this year – won a few stages here and there, then the Tour of Luxembourg. He’s going under the radar because he doesn’t look scary and because he isn’t particularly aggressive. But give him a chance and Team Masterlance will be staring at Frank’s (and Saxo Bank’s) burnt rubber. And I mean, simply on a personal level, how hard must it be for Frank? I’d be such a jealous asshole if I was him.

[Picture it: Your little bro Andy swans straight into CSC/Saxo Bank (and Overlord Riis’s good books) at a much younger age than you at the time, and never has to go through various Italian drug-cheating teams before making the Big Break. Then, after you having been the best-looking in your family for most of your life, Andy suddenly blossoms into undeniably The Hottest Schleck Ever. Then everyone calls him Mercx Incarnate, interviews him, and ignores the fact that you’re STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO HIM AND PROBABLY DID BETTER IN THE BLOODY RACE ANYWAY. Then Andy goes and receives all the marketing deals, and the plethora of fangirls abruptly stop ogling you and go and mob your little brother instead. Frank’s been updated, methinks. There’s a Younger, Hotter, More-Talented and Possibly More Interesting version in town, and Frank’s been relegated to the shelf. Until he wins this year’s Tour, obviously.]

LEVI LEIPHEIMER. So he’s a good rider. So he can win some things now and then, namely the Tour of California. He doesn’t seem to be able to win anything else, and while I’m sure he is a serious contender for the overall, I just can’t take him seriously. Usually, I forget he’s on the planet, let alone in the peloton. And while I won’t discount his riding ability, if he wins the Tour I’ll be mighty annoyed. It’ll make the Tour de France just as boring as last year’s. SURELY someone with a personality can win; is that too much to ask?

Top Five Riders Who Should Win the Tour de France But Wont.

CARLOS SASTRE. He’s washed up without a Schleck Express. But that’s not the only reason he won’t win. I’ve really come to dislike this man. It started when he callously pinched the Maillot Jaune off Frank. Then he went on to not even bother thanking him and Andy for winning him the freaking Tour. It got worse when he deserted. I was on Overlord Riis’s side for that. Riis: “Hey, Sastre, we won you the Tour! Let’s party like it’s 1999!” Sastre: “Or not. I’m throwing a temper tantrum STRAIGHT AFTER I won the Tour de France because the Schlecks are your priority. Coz you totally backed Frank and not me on Alpe d’Huez. You bastardo. I’m off.” But there’s more. Sastre went on to defect to Cervelo, a team far too good for him, and then he selfishly and single-handedly destroyed a teammate’s dreams of winning a stage during the Giro. Unforgiveable. And then – wait for it – he prevents Simon Gerrans (a stage winner in both last year’s TdF and this year’s Giro) from riding in the freaking TOUR DE FRANCE because Sastre (and I quote) “wanted a Spanish rider”. *stunned silence* That’s why Sastre won’t win the Tour. He’s a selfish little man who ruins hopes and dreams of young riders. And he’s already won a Tour. Move over and give someone else a go.

ANDY SCHLECK. He’s good, but I don’t think he’s going to win this year’s Tour. He’ll win some other year’s Tour, and maybe more than one, but not this time. Too young, too inexperienced, too unpredictable. If Frank gets a millisecond ahead of Andy, Bjarne will bank the whole team behind older bro. And that means Andy’s relegated to domestiquing. Because I think, while the public adore Andy the most, Bjarne won’t ignore Frank because they’re best pals and Frank is still Maillot Jaune-experienced. Sorry Andy. Book in early for next year’s Tour. It’s probably yours already.

ROMAN KREUZIGER. Good – really good - but probably not good enough. He’ll get close. He’ll challenge for stage wins and he’ll challenge for the white rider’s jersey (again), but he won’t win. His team is not equipped for supporting a champion. Even if Roman gets himself into a yellow jersey, Liquigas won’t help him keep it because they simply don’t have a bloody clue how to. Instead, they’ll help Bennati win (and lose) sprints (to Cavendish).

KIMMI K. I don’t care enough to even comment. He won’t, just coz.

MASTERLANCE ARMSTRONG. He’s in decent enough form, but let’s face it: he’s not going to challenge the leaders. He’ll have a few flashbacks to his glory days over the 3 weeks, where he’ll break away in the mountains, looking sort-of invincible, but they’ll probably only last 1 or 2 kilometres and then he’ll get caught again by a sniggering Bertie. Or Andy in between texting all his girlfriends. Or Roman K. No matter who, Masterlance will be upstaged by the young upstarts. It just will happen.

So crack open the tia maria and put on the footy franks - its Tour de France time! For me it means 3 straight weeks of graveyard shifts because the TdF starts, for Australians and other southern hemisphereans, at 10pm and finishes at 2am (if you include Taste Le Tour, which any sane person would because Gabrielle Gate is just such a freaking legend). So I’m going to stock up on numerous forms of caffeine (coffees, mochas, hot chocolates, cold chocolates, hard chocolates, soft chocolates, every chocolates), and incalculable packets of chips, and then I’ll pull up a rug and entrench myself on the couch for 24 days. Sounds good to me.

...Relevant disclaimers and all... photos aren't mine, big surprises...

Some Other Cyclists Worth Looking At

2009-04-17T23:20:00.008+09:30

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.

And anyway, the Schlecks are getting pretty commercial now. Every man and his dog knows who the Schlecks are and that they’ll be Tour Favourites. Every man and his dog in the Eastern European Advertising Company wants them for their shaving cream or their mobile phone deal, or their hairdressing salon.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my boys, but I think there comes a time when a person’s Attention Quota is full, and you need to start giving it to someone else. Share the love, so to speak. I mean, Andy Schleck isn’t the first and last pro Cyclist to have nice fluffy hair and smooth skin and a pretty pout, after all.

Oh no…

More specifically, three Danes have stolen my attention and taken it hostage. They are as follows: Matti Breschel, Alex Nicki Slyvest Rasmussen, and Michael 'Morks' Morkov.

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.

Alex Nicki Sylvest Rasmussen (what a name), 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.

So what about you ladies in the Cycling Blogworld? Anyone catch your eye who is worth mentioning that isn't a Schleck? Now don't get me wrong - I love myself a Schleck. And I'm not about to turn on them and stop caring or staring. I'm just being fair to the rest of the hotness on Saxo Bank and acknowledging the Good Looks That Be outside of Mondorf-Les-Bains. So, anyone? You may go Peloton-wide if Saxo Bank is too limited.

[Oh, and none of the photos are mine. Relevant disclaimers and all that]

Meeting The Sexy Bankers. Or, Running Into/Stalking Big Jens

2009-04-16T23:04:00.012+09:30

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.

Tour Down Under '09: In the Beginning

2009-01-31T15:07:00.001+10:30

Team Saxo-Bank
Originally uploaded by Silentiium

Okay, so this wasn’t actually a stage of the Tour Down Under, but it was probably the best as far as watching the cyclists go. They did 30 laps of a 1.7km course so they whizzed by 30-odd times and gave the 130,000-odd spectators something to continually cheer about.

When I arrived, Da Boyz were doing laps of the course to warm up because they needed warming up, seeing as it was only 35 degrees C at the time. But some teams were just boppin’ around in nearby cafes sipping Farmers Unions and checking out the local produce. Others were sitting on their man-bars in the middle of the road, chatting and pretending they couldn’t hear the roadside fans yelling at them.

I cheered and waved to a few Notable Riders, and most were nice enough to cheer or wave back. Saxo-Bank, for instance, were nice enough, despite the fact that the Schlecks had totally snobbed this Tour. Not that I’m bitter. So anyway, I got a decent-sized smile and wave from Frank Hoj. Oscar Pereiro was doing the rounds, just coming into the circuit, so my sisters and I yelled to him and received a look of sheer terror in return. That was somewhat sobering. We didn’t cheer quite so loudly after that.

The Team Presentations came sometime after, and Mike Rann (South Australia’s premier), prattled on for a fairly lengthy period about the ways in which South Australia Is Better Than Victoria. Because we got the Masterlance and Victoria didn’t, you see. There’s a bit of tension between our states, you could say. They stole our Grand Prix.

Anyways, Saxo-Bank received a huge cheer, the O’Grader receiving the loudest among them (surprise! He’s a South Aussie). It seems that Saxo-Bank are more popular than I knew in SA. So they got a healthy cheer, but still, it wasn’t as healthy as Team Masterlance’s. Sorry, Astana’s. As you could imagine, the crowd went off their nut over the Masterlance Arrival. Good ol’ Lance had a quick chat about the things he’d been chatting about in the paper all week, and then he was ushered off out of the reach of grasping fans.

The race itself started at 7pm, and if you saw it on TV, you’d see it was still pretty sunny and rather warm. As it was my first race attendance ever, I was pretty surprised about a few things. One, the cyclists whiz by seriously quickly. Two, if you’re close enough to the barrier, the wind from the peloton sweeps your hair back. Three, you can actually smell the cyclists’ aftershave/deodorant with that wind. Four, you can clearly hear the buzz and whirr of their chains and the clicking of their gears as they pass. Five, it was a beautiful thing.

Oh, and Robbie won, which sent the South Aussie crowd into hysterics yet again. Thank God the Masterlance stayed quiet, coz there would have been riots if he’d come anywhere near winning. Lucky he was placed roughly 70th. Correct me if I’m wrong.

So that was Day One. Day Two is next… and that was a good day ;).

[If anyone’s wondering why the photos are sparse, it’s coz my photo upload button has gone FTA. Anyone else’s done that? Or am I just missing something obvious in my own stupidity?]

Teamwork with a Capital T

2008-12-04T23:42:00.007+10:30

Is anyone else jealous that Frank and Andy and Da Boyz get to have a week of Rambo-esque playtime with guns and explosives and high-speed boat chases and round-the-campfire Kumbayas? In Denmark?

Well, I am. I wanna join Da Boyz Club, coz it looks totally fun. And I know the key word here is ‘Training’ camp, but who are CSC kidding? That’s a week of Boytime right there. A testosterone-filled Boyz With Toyz camp.

So, getting down to the nitty gritty of their little ‘training camp’, and just for fun coz I like to. I decided to break a day of Training Camp fun and games into timed increments to make it more legible. I also have absolutely no evidence to back this up, so don’t actually take my word for it. I made most of it up. Pictures are sparse therefore. :D

A Typical Day of CSC Saxo-Bank Training Camp 2008 with Da Boyz, focusing on Teamwork with a Capital T.

5:30am: Wake up bright and early. Well, not bright. It just aint bright at that time in northern Europe. But early anyhow. They’re probably woken up by the bugle blowing. Or a lieutenant coming in and ripping their bedsheets off and yelling in their faces. Or a bucket of water. All sound pretty fun to me.

5:45am: Brekkie for Da Boyz. A quick one in the barracks and it’s straight out into the field. Would be a hearty meal this time, none of that carb-pasta crud like they eat during Tours. Bacon, eggs, sausages, the whole pullava. Gotta get ‘em through the day.

6:10am: Let’s Get Physical (physical…) At the Athletics Field. Jogging for x amount of clicks (chanting ‘R is for Ranger, A is for All the Way..’), then one hundred push-ups, chin-ups, lunges with weights, starjumps, knees up running, arm presses, beep tests. All in the marl grey jumpsuit, obviously.

9:00am: Obstacle Courses next. Muddy rope course with tyres, log lifting, middle distance running, army crawls, army rolls, army running in formation (‘slow is smooth, smooth is fast’) for increased discipline. I didn’t actually see any of Da Boyz doing this, but I’m sure it would have been in their programme somewhere. No pictures to back that up, naturally.

11:30am: Downtime after a strenuous morning. Time in which to listen to cool music, and compare a range of festy headwear, some of which are actually cool, like Fabian’s Moskvian legionnaire’s , and Andy’s mustard ‘Redhead’ cap. The Furry Muffler is awesome too, in a roadkill kind of way. They also use this time to chill in the mess room and have some manly male bonding moments over games of Uno.

12:00midday: Lunch for Da Boyz. Gruel and bread for disciplinary reasons. Builds character. Or normal food, maybe. We’re not fussy. Who knows, really.

12:30am: It’s back to training and on come the Army Fatigues for Ranger Training. Da Boyz practice their building infiltration techniques, clear rooms, break locks with gel explosives, and have lessons about understanding the chain of command. Andy, surprisingly, does not find this difficult.

3:00pm: Advanced Weapons Training. Andy pops caps like you wouldn’t believe. The other Boyz could still use more practice, though there’s no sign of the Kevlar vests, which is a worry. Specific focus on assault rifles, pistols and sniper rifles. No doubt Andy came up trumps in all aspects coz he’s a dead-eye dick (which means really accurate, by the way), and is wearing The Furry Muffler for good luck.

4:00pm: AFL-esque semi-Recovery Sessions on Some Damn Freezing Danish Beach. They are here to haul their cold, wet arses up onto speedboats and supposedly help each other at the same time because this camp is all about Teamwork with a Capital T. But… Directeur Man: ‘Help each other up, this is all about Teamwork with a Capital T’. Big Jens: (in less words): ‘F**k Teamwork with a Capital T, I’m helping myself out of this f**king freezing water plskthnx’. Now there’s Teamwork with a Capital T all right. A beautiful thing.

5:00pm: Cross Country hiking/bushwalking/walkabouting. Backpacks packed and it’s into The Wild. Along the way, they are taught the Ancient Art of Surviving in the Danish Wilderness. They are coached on how to make a fire, how to hunt for rabbits (bunny bashing with spotlights on the hummers), how to find bush tucker, where to dig for water, how to suck poison from a snakebite, how to keep dingoes and feral kangaroos away, how to build makeshift huts, and how to keep warm when one dude loses his sleeping bag or swag.

6:00pm: Reach Clearing and Set Up Camp. A suitable spot is chosen and sleeping bags are rolled out, a hearth set up with a ring of rocks, and a BBQ slate shoved on top. This is the O’Grader’s territory, because he’s an Australian, so the others are warned not to come anywhere near his barbie or his tongs. Or else. So while the O’Grader chars the steaks and snags - beer firmly in hand - the others set up the Billy Tea and make the damper. All serenaded by various renditions of camp-fire-lit Kumbayas with the ukulele strumming softly on Fabian’s knee.

9:00pm: Lights Out for Da Boyz. It’s been a hard day’s work and everyone’s spent. Until tomorrow, obviously.

[You'll possibly have noted some sarcasm in this post. But truth is, despite the above, I'd still love the whole Training Camp adventure. Fun as. Oh, and the photos aren't mine, of course... relevant disclaimers and all...]

Frank and Andy’s Curacaon Vacation

2008-11-03T22:05:00.013+10:30

Andy won at Curacao! Yay but random. I was under the impression the Schleck Bruvvies had knocked off work early this year and were having sleepovers in the Luxembourese mountains together. Obviously not. They’re having sleepovers in Curacaon bungalows together instead.

So, The Curacaon Vacation. Well, they certainly seem to be enjoying themselves outside of the drug-ring debacle in Europe.
Here’s what I noticed the Schleck Bruvvies doing AGAIN this year:
• They’re doing lots of swimming with lots of dolphins again, just like last year.
• And wearing pretty hideous print boardshorts again.
• They’re drinking more Cruisers in sunset-bathed lagoons with Other Notable Pro Riders [otherwise known as ‘Da Boyz’]. See fig 1.
• Imitating Sunkist/Coca-Cola adverts with chilled beverages splashed over hot faces. fig 2.
• Doing the Superman Pose in front of poolside bungalows with Da Boyz. fig 3.
• Posing half-naked whilst staring pensively at Caribbean sunsets and displaying collar-bone injuries. fig 4.
• Deepsea-diving in ridiculously complicated equipment that Andy has a lot of trouble negotiating. fig 5.
• Fishing for laketrout and then taking Rex Hunt snaps like they actually caught the fish themselves. fig 6.
• Posing in/on/and around various sunny palm-covered beaches.
• Working on evening-out those sexy Cyclists’ Tans, in the meantime turning brilliant shades of fuchsia and scarlet.
• Paddling around in the shallows with electric-blue plastic floatie-dolphins. fig 7.
• Showing us just how good they are at non-European sports like beach volleyball - Oakleys firmly in place.
• And dragging Tim de Waele along to every single event to take happysnaps of their skinny little selves and ludicrously happy faces. Again.
• Don’t forget half-naked. They do all these things half-naked, sometimes with a posed ‘come hither’ look in their narrowed eyes. Not that anyone’s complaining. fig 8.

A couple of differences this year:
• Frank’s Artistic Sandiwork. What a talent he possesses. Pity he doesn’t get much opportunity to practice, seeing as Luxembourg doesn’t have any beaches. Must be tough. But maybe he could try out gravel driveways. Or, wait a minute, I just had a stroke of genius: how about snow?
• Frank’s Baywatch Run. I swear that was a real-life slow-motion moment, with corny music playing like Chariots of Fire across the cove. And truly, if in that moment Frank really was a Lifeguard splashing out to save me, I’d freestyle the bloody hell away quicksticks – coz those boardies are just frightening. And I’d only be in trouble in the first place coz I’d be laughing too hard. And Frank wouldn’t be much help anyway, coz he didn’t bring his electric-blue plastic floatie-dolphin with him. And actually he can’t swim remember – no beaches in Luxembourg. fig 9. fig 10 is there for the hell of it.
• Andy’s Smug New T-Shirt. I’m pretty sure I never saw that shirt before. I saw the teal wave-print boardies before, but not that shirt. Ten bucks Frank saw it on the rack and told Andy to buy it coz Frank may not be Man Enough To Wear Pink but Andy might be. So Andy bought it. Coz he is Man Enough.
• The Other Woman. We won’t go into that. And actually she’s the one and only woman, but we won’t go into that either. But is she? I swear to god she looks different from two years ago. Wasn’t she blonde?

And not that I’ve done a 180 and am going into it, but what’s the dealio with Frank’s Yo-Yo Relationship anyway?

I’m not such a fangirl that I’ll cry if he gets married. In fact, I’ll consider that a good thing because then at least some Schleck babychildren might rock up on this earth like any good-looking kids with great genes should. And we all like additions to the Schleck Dynasty, even if we’re not a direct part of it.

So, hurry up and get married or something, Frank, and set a good example for your bruvvie. And if Andy does what he usually does and copies bruvvie, then you never know, he might bride-shop too. And that can’t be a bad thing.

Cycling’s Dopage Debacle: Or, Answering Some Tricky Questions

2008-10-17T23:19:00.000+10:30

So Kohl is a loser. A doped-up, dishonest, cheating loser.

The reason I’m so annoyed is that I trusted Kohl. I thought he was a really top-quality rider who (no surprises here, girls), I’d hoped would help get Cadel up mountains in the 2009 Tour de France. I thought he’d be Silence-Lotto’s saving grace.

Well, I thought wrong. The Kohlmaster has personally admitted to taking CERA, first to ‘help him get over an injury faster’, and then (my words) ‘just to help him go faster’. He had a bit of a cry in that press conference (hopefully, he’s woken up to himself) and I almost felt a slight pang of sympathy for the man, or I would have, if he wasn’t such a doper. He brought it on himself and he deserves his ban and his null-and-voided SL contract. At least now he has two solid years of Nothing To Do in which he can watch Tour de France DVDs and have a good hard look at what makes a true cyclist a true cyclist. Let’s hope it dawns on him that it aint CERA after all.

I would have loved to hear Cadel’s response when he heard that his Go-To Man for the Mountains got called in to the Anti-Dopage clinic to answer some tricky questions. I imagine it would have been something along the lines of “thanks for nothing, you bloody stupid fool” plus swearwords, plus threats, plus screaming, plus throwing of kitchen sinks + plates.

And I don’t blame him. Hell, if I wanted to win the Tour de France in the year that had the Albertinator, MasterLance and Schleck Junior to contend with, and my team couldn’t leg it with me past the foothills, I’d be pretty cranky too. I’d be thinking “Crap, I’m pretty stuffed.”

Maybe Silence-Lotto needs to put an ad in the local paper. It would have to be something like this on the left.

I’m getting to the stage where I’m dreading every news update in the morning because there might be something on the Latest Cycling Doper. And if that Latest Cycling Doper is ever a favourite of mine [Cadellio, Schleckers senior and junior, Fabster, O’Grader], I think I’ll just about renounce this pucked up, helmeted, Phil Liggett-commentated world for good. Can’t promise anything, but you never know.

BTW, does this now mean Frank or Sastre 'inherits' the King of the Mountains jersey?

[Oh yeah - Stuart O'Grady is gonna win the Jayco Herald Sun Tour! What a champ. Today he won “the first timetrial he’s ever won in his life”. Tomorrow he’s off on his ‘Champs-Elysees” ride in Melbourne. God love him.]

What Makes Hot Cyclists Hot?

2008-10-12T00:36:00.000+10:30

What Makes Hot Cyclists Hot?

So, I’ve been thinking. What makes hot cyclists hot? Is it their tight lycra-clad bods? Their be-mulleted hair tufting out of helmet-holes? Their nut-brown limbs in contrast to their pasty-white chests? Their slinky bibshorts glimpsed when they’re cycling like they mean it up mountains? Or is it the fact that their legs – and arms, and faces, and chests - are smoother than yours?

Personally, it’s the shaved legs that do it for me. It just looks so carpetburn-free, and it speaks volumes for how far cyclists are in the cycling world – the less hair, the better the cyclist. Which is why Frank and Andy are so bald. And I’m just such a sucker for the mental image of Andy bent over with Gillette in hand, shaving cream at the ready and his leg up on the bathtub. Hot. See photo for Andy's look of concentration that would surely extend to his trusty Gillette.

But then, I also like the Cyclists’ Tan a fair bit. The way their Hawaiian Sunset legs give way to blinding porcelain thighs in a definitive cut-off point. I’m a special fan of the Helmet Strap Tan; the line of nylon that cuts through the Egyptian Bronze below the jaw and above the neck. As exhibited by sexy Austrian Bernie Kohlmaster. Look to see what a beauty he possesses.

And oh the bibshorts. They say clothes maketh the man. And they couldn’t be more right. In particular, bibshorts maketh the man. There’s nothing more swoon-worthy than the sight of nude-coloured bibshort straps glimpsed between the flapping jersey-tails of a cyclist while he’s working hard up a mountain. And bibshorts are such a dinky invention because not only do they look hot, they also keep their bikeshorts up. Genius.

This leads us on to the lycra-clad bodies. There are two categories for this and I’m a fan of both:

1. The Fabster Cancellara.

2. The Schleck Bruvvies.

The Fabster obviously represents the Not Quite So Scrawny category. He just manages to bypass the Scrawny Cyclist Tag with his beefcake shoulders and v8 thighs. All slathered firmly with CSC-themed lycra. One could say he looks quite good in it.

The deliciously skinny Schleck Bruvvies represent the Quite Scrawny category. The sign of a good climber is the fact that there isn’t much sign of them – they’re barely there. Sure, the Bruvvie’s BMIs might be 6-8 points off 19, but who even notices when their faces are so pretty? And their tight CSC-themed lycra emphasizes their climber’s muscles (so well shaved and tanned, I might add) rather than their bones, so all’s fair in love and war.

The difference between The Fabster Cancellara and The Rest (we'll leave Frank out of this one) is clear. He's certainly in the Not Quite So Scrawny category. The two little dudes either side certainly are not. Which isn't to say either one is better, because a Hot Cyclist is a Hot Cyclist, no matter what the body size, type of bibshorts, colour of the Cyclists' Tan, or size of the mullet. This is what I think makes a Hot Cyclist Hot. Not even the shaved arms, legs and chests can take away a Hot Cyclist's Hotness.

Druggies, Hotties and Cadellio

2008-10-08T22:40:00.000+10:30

Okay, better make my first blog memorable. Or at least not totally forgettable.

My blog won’t be only about cycling, The Schleckers, The Fabster, Cadellio and all the other random plebs. I’ll also mention other sports – cricket, AFL football, tennis, swimming, the Olympics in general, soccer… but only occasionally.

So mainly I’ll be putting my spin on the cycling world. This time around it’s Stefan “The Hotdog” Schumacher and his drugcheat ways. Oh yeah, and Piepoli too – who saw that one coming? It’s not like he’s bunkbuddies with Ricco Suavez or anything. Weird.

So, the Hotdog. What. A. Cheat. I could feel that one coming like a train wreck. As if he was good enough to beat The Fabster on his hometurf in the first place. Twice. And then, to make matters even more suss, he goes on to DB (that’s dog’s breakfast) in the Beijing Olympics, as if he’s never seen a timetrial before in his life. Well, he hadn’t – not without a body chock-full of EPO, anyhow. Too scared to cross the Beijing Dopers ey? He must’ve thought France was going soft. Well, wrongo. The cycling world’s better off without him, I say. Oh yeah, and Piepoli too.

Now for Frank. I wouldn’t have a clue what’s going on at the moment. But I’m sure he isn’t involved in all that EPO Fuentes Burillo pet dog friend swiss bank account cheating pullava. You get what I mean. I just don’t believe he’d do that to his brother, who adores him almost too much. Put Andy’s career in jeopardy? He couldn’t – he shouldn’t – he mustn’t – wouldn’t! (wow, had a Grinch moment there) So I hear Andy’s also taken the rest of the year off to recuperate from the emotional trials, because it must have been grueling for him too. Either that, or he saw the great opportunity to have three months worth of race-and-responsibility-free sleepovers with bruvvie Frank. And can you blame him?

Lastly – Cadel Evans. Cadellio. I see a lot of Cadellio-hate circulating in the blogspot world, and frankly I’m not comfortable with it. He’s a little Aussie battler who tried his arse off without a team 90% of the tour and 100% of the mountain stages, with a pucked body and certain CSC’ers playing puckups on certain mountains. And he only lost by less than a minute, and frankly, while Sastre displayed some impressive tactics, he didn’t put in the hardyards like Cadellio. And it helped that Sastre had a team to help him up mountains and keep him up mountains. Cadellio had no such luxury.

And so Cadellio’s got big eyebrows. And he headbutts cameramen. And he threatens people with decapitation. And he punches motorists. And he gives anyone close enough the stiff middle-finger salute. So what? Got to admit it sure makes the guy interesting.