Race 2: Verneuil en Halatte

Photo 1: town of Verneuil en Halatte

Bonjour à tous! (Hello everyone)


Well, this weekend brought about race number 2 for me. I was a bit hesitant about participating considering I wasn't feeling in top health and my "form" (cyclo-lingo for physical performance level) isn't quite where I'd like it be. But after a strong week of training I decided to take the advice of my Aussie friend, "No worries, mate. She'll be right", so off I went.

The course really couldn't have been taillored any better for my style of riding. It took place in the middle of a small town with one good short power climb mid-way through the course and ended with a gently sloping downhill finish that was fairly straight and wide, permitting a good sprint at the end (my specialty).

Photo 2: Vestiges of an ancient castle


This week, my legs decided to show up to the race too. I felt really good and was able to fight my way to the front of the pack to make things "exciting" for everyone else. I attacked the main group on a few different occasions which always feels good knowing you're making others suffer. But one case in particular was memorable. There was a group of about 8 cyclist in an escape group ahead of the peloton when I decided to make a move. Ok, now for a quick lesson in Bike Racing 101: The main group of riders (known as the "peloton") usually stays together in order to conserve energy by drafting each other. Drafting makes it approximately 33% easier to ride at the same speed than going at it individually. Thus the Golden Rule of cycling is "If you don't have to put your nose in the wind, don't! Draft!" So I was at the front of this peloton watching to see if anyone was going to try to bridge across to the group of 8 "escapees" up the road. It wasn't long before two riders "attacked" (attempted to separate from the peloton) and I quickly followed their draft. Now, this is where team tactics makes things interesting. One of those 8 riders ahead was a teammate of mine. Now the goal of the peloton is to ride quickly to catch up to the escapees in order to preserve your team's chance at winning the race. But if you already have a teammate up ahead in the escape group, you get to follow that Golden Rule I talked about earlier - just draft and save energy. So since I had a teammate in front of me, I had no reason to do any work with the other two guys - I simply get a free ride. Well, obviously this isn't too well recieved by the other guys doing all the work, but they knew the rules when they rolled the dice. As the two individuals begin to tire, one of them put his hand on my shoulder and began to bargin with me "Hey, you're young," he said. "If we make it up front, I'll let you ride to victory by yourself if you do some work." I started laughing.


Well after a good 50 km (around 30 miles) at about a 24 mph average the rains came down making things a bit more interesting for the finish. As the final lap unfolded, I did my best to stay in the top 4 riders of the main group. My teammate and his group of escapees managed to stay away for good but there were still points to be won in the final sprint. I came around the last curve into the straightaway in third position with a careful eye on number 2 who looked rather nervous and twitchy. Just as I thought, he got antsy, and started his sprint too early. I quickly jumped on his rear wheel to draft, getting his rain spray in the face. I quickly saw my opening on the left side of the road. I accelerated hard on the left and as I begin to slide past Twitchy, he began moving futher left blocking me out. Suddenly I realized that I was nearing the 40 mph mark and I was running out of pavement! I slided out into the 4 inch-wide stretch of cobblestones covered in a thin layer of asphalt next to the dangerous curb. You could audibly hear an "Ooooooohh" from the crowd lining the finish as they expected my glorious tumble. Freaking out, I gripped my bars hard, hoping to go anywhere but left. Tightwalkling the curb for about 100 meters, I managed to gain control and pull my bike back into the street, but alas the sprint was over and I had lost my good placing. I screamed out in frustration, but it quickly passed as I was pretty happy to still be upright. After wheeling past the line I caught up with my teammates and found that Thibaud, our young superstar, took yet another race.

So in the end, the results may not have been there, but it sure was a good time. For the first time I got to be an active player in the outcome of the race. The results will come, for the time being I'm just having fun!





Photo 3: a more modern chateau in the village

Do a little dance, flash a little glove...

Known simply as "The Catch" (haha...not really), this is one of the finer plays from the tournement. This over-the-shoulder basket catch made in the third game of the tournament proably saved a run.

Many thanks to Julien Dormard for having his camera ready. Although maybe not an Omar Visquel caliber webgem, you gotta throw a bone to some of us lesser athletic specimens right?

Somehow it felt so much more agile that it actually looks in the photo. Note for next time: the flailing right arm somehow detracts from the gracefulness of a superb play.

Cheers

Racing in Europe

I can now say "Yes, I raced in Europe!" I am now officially a member of team CSC (Compiegne Sports Cyclistes - notice the spiffy kit)

I will admit that within the first couple kilometers of the race, a big smile shone on my face. I realized that I got to experience something that most cyclists in the US and rest of the world only dream about. Sure it wasn't le Tour de France, Paris-Roubaix, or Milano San Remo (not by any stretch of the imagination). But I got the chance to race my bike in the hotbed of cycling. It was soon after, however, that the smile disappeared and was replaced with the pain, anguish, and burning lungs of racing. 10 kilometers into the 60 k race the usual thoughts begin, "Why do I do this? I spend all that time on training so I can hurt like this?!? Did I really volunteer for this?"

I, however, was not in top form today. Coming off a late one the night before, I woke up with a sore throat and gunk in my lungs causing me to cough all day. Not ideal, but at least the sun was shining.

Readying all my equipment (including changing my brake pads, saddle, and handle bar tape), I gathred my new team uniform that was given to me the day before and packed everything into my little car. I had the directions written down on a post-it note, and off I went. Everything was going well untill in true French fashion, I found out that the bridge was closed. Not closed because of construction, weather, or an accident - you know, normal things - but because Continental Tire factory workers decided to display their displeasure for the effects of the economic crisis by burning a huge pile of tires - on the bridge. And FYI, France isn't laid out like a grid like northern IN is, so I was lost. My itinerary to the race was trashed because of yet another French protest (Friday was another national day of striking). Mumbling at the French under my breath, I continued to drive in circles with no definate gameplan. In my search for the tiny village of "Tracy le Val" I hit three dead ends in a row, followed a car with a bicycle on the back hoping he might be going to the same race, drove the wrong way down a one way street, and drove through the same intersection 3 times - those were just the highlights. Finally, I just gave up the possibility of racing. I decided I could at least watch it and support my teammates if I got there late - or at all.

I finally found the course a mere 30 minutes before my heat. But the very cultural attitude that got me into the situation, got me right out of it. "Bonjour! You say you're late? Not a problem, we're not really running on time anyways. Just be at the start when you can make it. You might want to pick up your racing license if you get a chance." I pounded my peanut butter and honey sandwich and got myself ready.

"C'est parti!" Our race category (the 3's) took off with the level 1 racers already 2 minutes ahead on the course. The pace was immediately blazing. The course rolled through small lazy towns, busy French intersections, past lovely churches, and over narrow, gravely paths that divided cow pastures. It was a little taste of France in all its glory. I quicly realzed that I had my work cut out for me. Legs burning and lungs screaming for respite, I worked at trying to handle my bike at 35 mph in a group of 100 cyclists with just inches of space in every direction. Stressful is an understatement. Winning the race wasn't the goal, surviving the 9 lap circuit alive was. I attempted on several occasions to make my way to the front but I quickly got passed every time as riders would fly through the narrow corners 4-wide. This makes Nascar look like an organized parade. Then the we were lapped by the category 1 racers. To add to the confusion, I didn't know who I was racing against. "He's wearing orange, but is he a category 1 or 3?" By the time we came to the end of the race, I still couldn't figure out if our group was together or if the group up front was the other concurrent race. When we hit the narrow gravely path before the final climb, I got blocked in and couldn't make it to the front. With both calves cramping, I managed to sprint past a good number of riders on the final climb but it really didn't matter, I didn't make the top 15.

Overall, it was a good day: I had a good time, got my feet wet in European racing, and saw where I need to improve. The race commenator even introduced me as the "New American" to the crowd.

And you know, it's funny. Driving away from the race, the foregone smile returns and you can't quite remember those negative thoughts you had earlier...

Major League...not the MLB - rather the Movie

Baseball tourney in Chartres!

So, I'm trying to figure out how to best describe to you what our team is like. I've never played with a group quite so..."diverse", shall we say. The best way I can put it: Playing with the Compiegne Marlins is like walking onto the movie set of Major League.

For those of you who haven't seen it, let me describe a little bit what I mean. For many on our team, "warming up" consists of smoking a cigarette and walking to your position. If you're lucky, 70% of the team will be sober after the game. If you're really lucky, 95% of the team will be sober before the game. We have a 48 year old Cuban player that swings a mean stick but only plays when he feels like it. We have another 50 year old Cuban, who probably throws harder than I do. I once saw a teammate hit a ball in the gap and walk to first base - but he promptly stole second and third. We have a lefty from California, that showed up out of nowhere just to pitch for us. He dominated the championship game with 12 strikeouts through 7 innings. You'll find that the coach will often kiss you on the cheek. Your can hear at least three languages consistenly spoken in the dugout. Our left fielder owns his own nightclub and wears soccer shinguards under his socks. A third of our team are too young get their driver's license in the US. I once brought sunflower seeds into the dugout and had to teach everyone how to propery eat them - I thought that was a baseball fundamental on the same level as fielding a groundball? I wore eyeblack for the championship game and you would have thought I grew a second head from some of the looks I got. I spend time trying to translate baseball chatter into French. How would you translate the following: "Gett'on one and drive it! Frozen rope right here, whaddha-ya say kid?" I'm really not too sure, but some of the French guys feel left out if I don't at least try...

And then there's me...For those of you who know me well, you know that I only know one way to play the game - as hard as I possible can. If I'm not dirty by the second inning, something is wrong. A headfirst slide is acceptable in all situations. The innings start and end with a sprint on and off the field - not a jog. I am the team's biggest cheerleader (and chatter-er). And always, always, always be aggressive on the basepaths. They gave me the number 1, and I wear it with pride. So you add me to the mix and we're quite the bunch.

Welcome to another part of my adventure I'm living in. I had to smile when I stood at shortstop with the famous Cathedrale of Chartres in the background, wondering "How in the heck did I get here?"

As for the tournament. We won it rather decidedly in my opinion with good pitching and defense. I didn't hit the ball all that well, but we got it done with the glove. It was a ton of fun and also completely exhausting - 4 games in two days. I didn't think I'd ever travel with a baseball team or stay in a hotel with the guys like that again. I've learned not to use the word "never" anymore.

As always, you can follow the team on its website at http://www.cbbc.fr/ including seeing the updated photos...

Cheers

A Great Gift

The name is Chouchi....I must apologize. We also stopped by Nounours' appartment too...great memories!

Baseball tournament in Paris this weekend and hopefully my first cycling race next weekend!! I'll keep you updated...

Cheers

Uh-oh!

How to sum up the latest news concerning the economic crisis' effect on my employment... "Uh-oh"...

We need to cut costs immediately. Currently, we are trying to hold onto jobs here in Verberie (they've already fired somee in the US and the Tcheque Republic), but things are looking grim. For those of you who don't know, it is a legal nightmare to fire people here in France, very much unlike the US. Currently, our syndicate is trying to come to resolution with the heads of the company but things are looking grim. If a proposal isn't met to cut wages, then we are going to cut 25% of employees. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be here.

But despite the news, I still have a peace. I'm the only one I know of who prays openly before lunch (Adam does too, but he rarly eats in the cantine). And as usual, I did so today. This time however, one of the workers across from me said, "say a prayer for us too."

Hold on - here we go...

A weekend for the memories

Salut mes amis!

We had a plant shutdown last week on Thursday and Friday so I decided to make the best of my four day weekend by heading down to the old stomping grounds in Nantes. Ronan Durand, a close French friend of mine (who also studied in Grove City for a few months) invited me down to see Kervegans play in concert. Now, Kervegans is my favorite French band. They play a sort of Britanic celtic rock that I love (you can check out some of the songs on their website: http://www.kervegans.com/). I saw them in concert two and a half years ago with Chris Bowser when we were studying in Nantes and we received the "special treatment". We got to go backstage and meet all the band members and we got assorted merchandise given to us. So when I heard there was another opportunity to see them, I jumped all over it.

Now in true Jamie form, I had to run the 500 meters to catch the train. This time however, I missed it - always a good way to start a trip. By the way, the train system is about the only thing in this country that runs on time. And the TGV trains are simply a trip (pun intended)...crossing the countryside at 200 mph in a traincar that feels as though its moving at 20 mph is something you need experience to understand.

In short I had a wonderful weekend. Friendships in France are a bit different than friendships in the US. French people don't understand he concept of simple aquaintences; thus this is why many view them as snobby to strangers. Ronan made sure that it was a weekend to remember with wonderful meals, meeting all his friends, gifts, and making me feel as one of his own family. If you're reading this, thanks!

On my train ride back from Nantes to Paris, I decided to write down my thoughts from the weekend. I'll enclose some of those notes:

"...we spent the day driving around running errands just talking, reminiscing, and shooting the cultural breeze. One really cool story from Friday afternoon was when we just happened to pass his grandfather’s house and we saw his grandfather “Bobbi” by the window. So we stopped to say hey and in true French fashion we stayed around for over an hour. When this 80+ year old man found out that his grandson brought his American friend, Robert began telling stories about the war. From stories that included the first time he tasted chewing gum that was from an American soldier to stories of his family members in the “Resistance” against the German invasion; you could tell he was honored to have an American in his midst. Then he began to recount, teary-eyed, how his older brother had been murdered by the Germans when he was 15 years old. Hearing history from highschool textbooks brought to life by the people who experienced its original setting was “impressionant” as the French would say. Not only that, but seeing the continued thankfulness after all these years from those who lived through the hell of World War II made me proud to be an American."

"The concert that night was simply amazing. So much energy! They put on a great show and even gave a shout out and a special song to their Anglo friends (that’s me). I’m the self-proclaimed biggest fan from the United States. I doubt there are too many vying for that title – although they should."

Cheers,
J