Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Where's Deezy? Ok, that kind of explains it...

A footnote to the Deezy-in-the-Tour posts: For the longest time it was beyond me why Dave Zabriskie, time-trialist extraordinare and the funniest cycling voice gone missing on the internet, did so poorly in the Tour de France. Given his strong showing in the Giro, I thought that CSC would have been willing to push DZ harder to get a better overall showing for the team. So when DZ flamed out for being over time on Day Eleven of the Tour - and spent a lot of time at the bottom of the listings, it was like, what the hell?

I just read that Deezy (whose contract with CSC expires at the end of this year) has signed up with Jonathan Vaughters' Slipstream/Chipotle team - the one which has vowed to spend wild amounts of money (more than half a million dollars every year) on testing. There's a cultural element to it - Slipstream is pretty much going to be made up of cyclists from Anglo-Saxon, English-speaking countries - but the emphasis on being clean is a huge thing, too.

Here's hoping that the higher standard set by Slipstream will spill over to the other teams participating in cycling. Cycling will survive the dpoing scandals, if only for the contrary element that goes against what all the talking heads are screaming about. Having a group of riders who purposely put themselves in a "clean from the start" position from the start. And let DZ kick some a** after all.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Welcome to León! Here's your COFFIN!

Generally speaking, the Camino de Santiago is pretty well marked. It's evident from the amount of maps, paint and signage that the various regional governments value the money that tourism brings in from the Camino de Santiago.

So it's a bit of a surprise to arrive very close to the lovely city of León, where the architecture is wonderful and the tapas are unforgettable, and find yourself in the middle of a gap in a four-lane highway, where pilgrims are expected to dodge four lanes of heavy traffic, only to end up in the gutter of the other side, which is full of broken glass and more than one dead cat.

After walking across that stretch, you then resume the regular Camino path - but I will be DAMNED if I can figure out why the hell the Junta de Castilla y León thinks that it's basically OK to get pilgrims - who may not be walking all that quickly, who may be tired or have low blood sugar, and require them to dodge traffic which can be going as fast as 80 km/h.

So being basically North American (and having a genetic disposition to cause trouble and get things changed), I decided to send a photo of the situation to the EL PAIS newspaper, who have started a "send your photos" section. And damned if they didn't print it. Now admittedly, I got the name of the town wrong (it should be Puente Castro, not Puente Fitero) but hopefully this should get things changed, because really, it's only a matter of time before someone gets killed here:

http://www.elpais.com/yoperiodista/articulo/Periodista/Espana_Leon/N601/peligro/peregrino/Santiago/trafico/trafico/Camino/peregrina/peligro/elpepuyop/20070729elpyop_1/Ies

If you've done the Camino, have found yourself caught in this intersection and want to make a bit of noise to decry the situation, the person to write to complain about the situation is:

María José Salgueiro Cortiñas
Consejera de Cultura y Turismo
JUNTA DE CASTILLA Y LEÓN
Avenida Monasterio Nuestra Señora del Prado, s/n
47071 Valladolid
ESPAÑA

Ms. Salgueiro has just taken the position over from Silvia Clemente who was a very nice woman, but not necessarily all that interested in developing initiatives regarding green tourism....

Sunday, July 29, 2007

Cinderella rides a Trek

I know, I know. I really, really did want Dave Zabriskie to win the Tour, but I can't say that this year has been that much of a disappointment (come on, did you really think that anyone as anorexic as Michael Rasmussen or as banged up as Alexandre Vinokourov really had a chance of making it to Paris in one piece??)

I can't say that Alberto Contador has been that big a disappointment, though. I mean, what's not to like about the kid? Everybody loves a Cinderella story, and Contador is the kind of Cinderella who could actually inspire more people to get riding - in Spain, anyway. He's a nice guy who's been dating the same girl since before he went pro. He loves his mom and keeps pet birds and would've become a vet had he not gone pro. And in Madrid, everyone's holding their breath collectively, waiting to see if anything goes catastrophically wrong -- a blown tire that takes out the peloton, a fall, a (God forbid) positive drug test. Once he's on the podium and gets the trophy, Spaniards will go positively nuts and start honking their horns and going mad. But until then, everyone is waiting with baited breath, waiting to see if he tests positive (sad but true).

WE MADE THE MOVE

I love free tech. I love being able to have some consumer choice when it comes to free services (if you don't pay for it, does it still make you a consumer?) but after six months of fighting with the, um, other blog service, a decision was made at the highest levels of management within SPANISH CYCLEPATHS to move stuff over. So here we are, new clients of Blogger...

Over the next few days, I'll move the other entries over, so those of you who are new to the SPANISH CYCLEPATHS world can read some of the stories of the stuff we get up to. And with this new site, we'll be able to put up new photos and stuff, so stay tuned!

Dawn

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Camino Take Two: Be it ever so humble....


I'm back. I'm psyched to be back. I don't know if I'm just not that good at being away from home, or if I do better when I travel with other people, or if it was maybe the really gross weather that Galicia was suffering from. The feeling of relief that I felt when the train pulled away and I knew that I was on the way home was like being dunked in a warm bath.

It's not that I don't like doing this job, writing about cycling destinations: to me, sitting on the bike and pedalling is like sitting zaizen, achieving a level of flow that I find is missing in the rest of my life. But the entire pilgrimage thing gets kind of lost when you realize that you're in the process of developing a very dysfunctional relationship with everyone else who's on the Camino. It's strange because you really don't mind seeing other people on the road, and it's fun to chat with others who are doing the Camino. As long as they're not barreling down slender paths on mountain bikes, six at a time...as long as their horses are not refertilizing paved surfaces in the rain. As long as they come two or three at at time -- not sixty of them getting up at one go at 4:30 in the morning.

And cycling is exhausting, too. Not taking care of what you eat, not getting enough sleep - it all takes a toll after a week or so. Having to do three mountain passes on a fully loaded touring bike... exhausting. Having to be up and going and riding by seven in the morning... exhausting.

I'm not sure how long I'll sleep in tomorrow morning, but as long as I can stay in my own bed, with my own sheets, no one snoring in the background, I think I'll do just fine.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Camino Take Two: Sahagún to Hospital de Órbigo

The rattling around the albergue starts early - about 6AM - and by 6:30 the majority of people staying in the refuge are up and moving, with the exception of the three guys sleeping in my area who have to stay in Sahagún since their bikes are locked in the shop until 10:00 AM. At 6:57 exactly, I push the bike out into the parking lot of the refuge/town hall/tourist office and, bleary-eyed, consult the map to find the nearest cup of coffee down the road, and head off.

I don't mind early-morning riding if I don't have to do it on a highway. Luckily, the section of the N120 highway that runs this close to Sahagun is essentially deserted, most of the traffic choosing to to use the A62 motorway instead. Five kilometres later, pilgrims are deflected off onto a secondary road - paved - which provides almost thirty kilometres of quiet bliss until they're forced, just after Mansilla de las Mulas, to dodge highway traffic until you get to León, at which point you face endless and pointless directions across the city (more on that later.) If you're not staying in León, it's almost a relief to get out of it and get back into the wide-open country and head westward, and watch the mountains come closer and closer.

I hadn't stayed in many of the private refuges on my previous Camino de Santiago attempts, so it was nice to stay in the professional, clean and very relaxed (if that's not too much of a contradiction in terms) (http://www.alberguesanmiguel.com/documents/96.html)
If you've hear nasty things about Camino refuges, that they're all dark and dirty, take a look at this video -- you'll be pleasantly surprised!

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Camino Take Two: Castrojeriz to Sahagún


Flat.

Well, not griddle-flat, Kansas-flat, kitchen-counter flat, but flat enough that I know that I would never be interested in walking this part of the Camino de Santiago. There are hills, but they're like Eastern Ontario hills, barely 50 metres high and with inclines so gentle that even the kids romp up them on their little pink and red bikes.

The sky looks as if it could stretch on forever, which is good: it's when you start seeing the mountains ahead of you and to your left that you're reminded that, in a couple of days, you'll end up crossing two main mountain ranges. This is territory for going fast when you can, stopping off to see the churches and monuments that interest you, and not worrying about the ones that don't.

I love the plains, but I can understand why they drive the walkers insane. What must it be like, I wonder, to be out there, day after day, nothing but heat and wind and not being able to arrive in a town until ages after you first see it? What must it be like to walk endlessly, just clocking your progress by every town you pass and every monument you don't see? That's what's so great about biking the Camino: these flat roads become planes for practising Zen, just sitting on the seat of the bike and pedalling and not doing a whole hell of a lot else.

I'd already seen a lot of the monuments from the past time I was there, so there wasn't anything I particularly wanted to see, except for the churches in Frómista (got very disapproving looks from the church warden -- for wearing bike shorts? Never did figure it out) and Sahagún, where I stopped for the night. Sahagún made for a pleasant stopover. The municipal albergue has been built into the attic of the town museum (which is itself located in a reclaimed church) and has good, firm beds, a big kitchen, and lots of French pilgrims who don't seem all that interested in talking to pilgrims if they're not French.

Whatever. I end up spending a lot of time nosing around the Iglesia de San Tirso; I wanted to see San Lorenzo, but there was a funeral on at the time (surprising, the number of people who wear beach clothing and white high-heels to a funeral in Spain). And then a quiet night, just two or three lights broadcasting onto the ceiling of the church, the occasional sound of someone's sleeping bag rustling in their bed.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Camino Take Two: Burgos to Castrojeriz


The sun is intense, but not hot, as I pull away from the train station in Burgos. There's a slight breeze coming out of the west; the sky is filled with puffy clouds, making it look like the very beginning of the opening sequence of "The Simpsons". The fields, which were Irish-green, boggy and fertile at the end of April, have been toasted to a lovely blonde colour, and every so often, the silence of the Camino de Santiago gets broken by the sounds of combines taking in the wheat and leaving braids of hay as far as the eye can see.

I thought the trail would be full of people walking to Santiago, but that isn't the case: in the stretch between Burgos and Castrojeriz, I only meet a dozen walkers and a handful of cyclists. (I later find out that the numbers of pilgrims are down this year - fewer Spaniards are attempting or doing the Camino, and most Germans have decided that they'd rather do it in the spring.) Not that that's a hassle: Several times during the afternoon, I stop, get off the bike and just listen to the sound of distant combines, wind rustling the drying hay, and I become acutely aware of how silence is such a physical feeling - almost the same feeling as when you arrive in a new land and all you can feel is the pressure around your temples that comes from a noise you're not accustomed to.

The riding is generally smooth, except for the descent into Hornillos del Camino (which is always too washed out and too eroded to safely go down on two wheels.) The sun is suave, the wind just enough to keep sweat and bugs from being a problem. If it keeps up like this for a couple of days more, at least until I get to Astorga, then I'll be well on my way to forgetting all the crap that I had to endure at the end of April.

Cherry tomatoes and getting picked off by the cops!

THERE ARE TIMES when I think that the toughest thing about trips like this isn’t the acutal trip itself; it’s getting your butt out the door in the first place. It’s lugging your bike down the stairs as you try not to wake the neighbours, try not to smudge tire marks on the wall, get down to the street and not get paranoid that people are staring at you from their cars (which, let’s be honest, they probably are. Especially if you’re lugging yellow-and-black panniers that make you look like a Barcelona taxi.) And once you’re on and actually riding, then it’s not quite so bad. It’s just that the initial push to get yourself going really, really sucks.

************

I FORGOT the cherry tomatoes, the red pepper and the big bag of M&Ms in the fridge. Well, at least one thing won’t be green and fuzzy when I get back from Galicia.

************

ONE EMBARRASSING episode on the train between Ávila and Arévalo: I was sitting in my seat, minding my own business, when a young-ish looking couple, claiming to be members of the Policía Nacional, came up to the two tourists beside me and asked the couple for their passports.
Now, I should mention that nothing, nothing angers me more than people who try to screw tourists. It seems craven, at best, to rip people off when they’re making an honest effort to see and know a country, so I found the behaviour of this couple very, very strange. Both of them were in their early 20s; she wore hiking pants and a white t-shirt; he had long hair and an Adidas backpack. They spent about ten minutes going through his and her passports, and the whole time I kept wanting to shout over, in English, “Be careful – you don’t know for sure that they’re cops!”

Once they’d left, several of us went over to the couple and asked them if they were all right. The guy who was sitting behind me talked to the girl, who turned out to be from Bolivia, and asked her what had happened. I think he went to find the conductor to explain what happened. I told them that they should go right to the police station located within Valladolid’s Campo Grande station – all in all, everybody seemed to agree that the entire episode was more than a little weird.

Well, with a couple of strange people wandering around the train, I decided to give my seat up and go up to the front, where the bike was stored. Generally speaking, very few people want to get that close to a fully loaded touring bike, but at a moment like that, you never know. The couple came up to me about ten minutes later, and I gave them a very surprised look – not a dirty look, just more of a visual “Yyyesssssssss?” that had a clear undertone of: “Back off.” They decided not to approach me and went back to where they were sitting.

Five minutes later, the revisor (ticket collector) came up. I’d had enough.

“Excuse me, sir?” I said in Spanish. “I’m not sure if anyone has mentioned this but there’s a couple of young people in the other car who are going around, claiming to be police officers and I thought you should be aware of the situation.”

The revisor looked at me kindly and said, “Don’t worry, they are cops.”

Excuse me?

“The police got word that some of the human-trafficking mafias were taking prostitutes all through Spain through the trains, so they put plainclothes police officers on board the trains to check suspicious couples.”

Oh.

[SFX: Deep blushing; mad scurrying under bike in embarrassment.]

I wonder what the Belgian-Bolivian couple thought of that when they talked to the cops in Valladolid?

Friday, July 6, 2007

Go Deezy!

After the last couple of years, admitting you're looking forward to The Tour de France is kind of like admitting you like the films of Fassbinder - only a select few know what the hell you're talking about, and even then, those who do know what you're talking about could very well consider you to be some kind of weird obsessive...and obsessive about something that could be worthy of scorn. Lots of drugs, f'instance. And lots of perceived lying about drugs.

But I keep hoping. I wasn't a Lance fan, so I can't say that I was angered one way or another when the French tried to stick EPO doping charges on him. Roberto Heras broke my heart when he got busted after the 2005 Vuelta; until recently, I had a picture of Heras riding in Vuelta 05, blood pouring from a knee-area gash and the doctor of the Liberty Seguros team trying to affix gauze and cotton to Heras's knees, even though they're both travelling at 40 km/h. Heras's face is the color of cookie dough in that shot, but he still went on to try his best. And for what?

Then Floyd. Being Canadian, I have a weakness for underdogs, especially those with a comically chippy sense of humour and an undercurrent of rage that gets things done. I want so much to believe that Floyd didn't do it. But I like Pereiro, too: I don't know who will technically end up winning Tour 06, but I do find it depressing that it's the day before the Tour 07 and the matter has still not been settled.

So that leaves David Zabriskie. I know that the easy way out is to give into dimestore cynicism, that I should just say screw it and ignore the whole damn Tour. But I can't. There's just something in me that wants to believe in the entire, beautiful Tour, every gutbusting minute of it. So this year it's Dave Zabriskie: great legs, brilliant time trial results, sense of humour like a producer from The Simpsons. Gotta cheer for someone. And boy, would I like to see DZ win it, clean and simple, and deny the French another winner.