Of bikes and men

This whole business with between the USADA and Lance Armstrong has been playing on my mind a bit, I won’t lie there have been times when It’s been Lance on my bike, riding away from Pantani on the road between Tooborac and Lancefield and it seems like only yesterday that he looked back at Jan Ulrich after dropping him up a climb the night after he almost chucked in his job because his boss at the water board confirmed his ignorance with every stupid word he spoke.
I won’t go on again about my view on this witch hunt, but yeh, I would be really disappointed if any of these allegations stick or if he is ever stripped of his tour wins but it won’t change what cycling means to me. I’ll still be up in the middle of the night next July watching skinny guys attacking in the mountains then paying for it at work the next day, ‘coz I love it.
Knowing that elements of the peloton have tetra hydra glyphosate coursing through their veins won’t deter me and my pals from riding for half a day in anticipation of some volunteers standing in the middle of nowhere with a bit of fruit cake and some home made biscuits on my next Audax ride.
In a week or so a mate of ours is coming over from Tasmania and I’m hoping to be able to do a few k’s with him and no one’s B sample will mean a rats clacker when we’re talking bull shit somewhere in central Victoria, nor will it take away the joy I get from riding in the beams of my friends lights in the Oppy next March.
On a warm evening next December, when I’m riding in the pelting rain in the middle of a thunderstorm, I’ll still turn to JD or Pete and say “this is the most fun I’ve ever had”. I’ll still be getting flogged by mates that are 20 years younger or 20 years older.
There will be times when I’m climbing Falls Creek and looking on in awe as I watch the guns already coming down and being wrapped to see folk with so much talent, then later in the day I’ll watch the lantern rouge come into Bright and realise what the real meaning of grit is.
I’ll say “sneaky bastard” when one of the lads makes a dash past me on one of the hills on the way in for coffee.
How many hours will I spend riding alone just because I’ve got hours to spare? For a while my son actually believed that RDO stood for Riding Day Off.
The USADA will not be able to strip me of my PB’s on Mt Macedon, even if Joey had already finished the muesli bar he had while he was waiting for me at the top.
I see legends all around me, some days, even I’m a legend...to me.
The antics of Floyd Contaschleck won’t mean a thing as a car load of us head toward Mount Buller to spend a day frying in the sun then enjoy a beer and a laugh on the way back.
No matter what, my bike will always look awesome to me and John’s Jamis will always have me taking a second glance, on weekends I will always have a bunch of mates waiting for me to head out on another ride. I might push Glo up a hill or crack another joke about Meg’s ass, I can’t wait.
I love pro cycling and the heroes of the sport but they are not what makes our sport, our sport makes itself. It is what it is.
I reckon there will be a ride on from Lannie this Sunday at 9am, let us know if you can make it (I’m a bit iffy with the man flu but may be right).
A bit of a reminder, next Saturday means the Audax Spring into Seymour, a few of us will most likely be heading across for that, let me know if you need any details.
Janine is also hosting a ride on and around Mt Macedon, get in touch with her if you are keen to join that crew.

Steve.