Well, it’s been some time since i’ve posted anything about myself, outside of racing or training. I’m amazed at how many people enjoy reading this stuff. Okay, I mean, it’s at my expense right, but I’ve received a lot of random, always positive feedback about various posts. So, in thanks, here we go. I hope you laugh at work or where ever you might be when you read this, because that is ulitmately the point. I enjoy making people laugh, and as I’ve said before, don’t mind telling embarassing stories to do so, because, we have all experienced moments like these, I just, well…tell them.

Okay, so it’s Gym Class, 9th or 10th grade so I’m maybe 15.5 or 16 years old or somewhere in that ballpark.

I used to love Gym. It was a time for me to let out pent up energy (no pun intended later on), enjoying ultimate frisbee, soccer, a bit of B-ball, and especially Swim Class! I don’t know, maybe it had to do with the chlorine or the fact that swim class was completely different than any other activity you ever did in Gym. People used to dred it, and I more or less embraced it. I think mainly for the fact that it was a coed gym class.

Now, I guess on this particular day I may have “embraced” it a tad to much. You see, I had the Coed Gym Class of GOLD. All the hot popular godesses were there, and you can only pretend to take a large sweeping “glance” 7 to 10 times to check out what time it is on the large clock, before you are that suspicious pervert. Nevertheless, i’m on probably glance 2, and already I have my hand in my pocket.

Okay, for those of you who don’t know, a man with his hands in his pocket is suspicious. What is he doing? Grabbing change, keeping his hand warm, scratching something, or does he actually have something he’s trying to hide? I always made sure my swim shorts had pockets. It was a major major issue people. I could just anticipate that this was going to happen, that I would become all “excited” as soon as I saw the female participants of our gym class. I’d have my hand in my pocket, holding you know what, looking oh so casual, “hey look at me, I don’t have a boner”. Holding random casual conversations as if nothing is wrong.

“Oh yeah, hey, Liz looking good, how are ya?”

“Yo Ben, we running later? Cool man cool”

“Hey, maybe later, can I copy your math? You can copy my Spanish”

IT WAS BOUND TO HAPPEN. THE INEVITABLE!

I’m standing there one particular gym class, chatting it up with the ladies.

“Well, yes, I use a Mach 3 normally, but last night, oh my god, I tried using a razor with two blades, and cut myself badly”

“Oh yeah, gel you say, usually I just use regular shave cream, but i’ll take your advice”

“That’s right Steph, smoother than yours”

“Have you ever used electric?” “Pfft, nah, it pulls too much, right, yeah no, use two razors, saves time”

Okay, so, like I said, standing there, hand in pocket, “talking”, while stealing quick unacknowledged glances at well…

(saying to myself)

“Dear GOD, a BOOB! Two of them!”
“Holy shnikes, when did she grow into those?”
“Maybe if I accidently slip, I can grab one”

I didn’t realize, but my buddies were handing out everyone’s kick boards and what not, and one of them yells, “Hey Friedman, Catch!” Zings a kickboard eye level, and it’s coming fast. Without hesitation I grab it from the air, with BOTH HANDS!

Standing there kick board above my head, while down below, I’m full on swinging about with a broom stick lopping off heads.

And sure enough, a handful of ladies saw it, then their friends, and now the whole damn bench knows, so I jump into the pool, and sink to the bottom. I was so embarassed, but I could not help laughing histarically under the water at what had happened.

Yeah, I was super embarassed, and yes everyone saw it, but holy crap was it ever funny.

I didn’t go single to Prom.

Caught a cold after Cobble Camp, raced Eroica, well part way, and got a bit sick.

Pulled for Tirreno on account of being sick, but no matter.

New Sched:

Milan San Remo
World Track Championships
Three Days De Panne
Tour of Flanders
Gent Wevelgem
Paris Roubaix

Break.

Hmm, think I better go train.

This race was kickass!

Rolling, steep terrain.
Rain the day before
Sunny the day of
Some hard, packed gravel/dirt
Some boggish, sloggish, muckish, “OH MY GOD, IT’s MUD, AND GUYS FREAKING OUT”
Motorcycles stopped in their tracks
Motorcycles toppled over
Motorcycles hitting cyclists
Cyclists hitting motorcycles (Amost me, as I had one foot out, unable to steer through thick mud, slammed the rear brake, flung sideways, and missed the moto by litterally a pedal.)

So, if anyone checked, I didn’t finish Eroica. Sh*t happens and that’s the way it is. At this point i’ve averaged 285 watts for almost 3 hours. Feeling pretty good, and Lampre hasn’t hit the gas yet, they were just riding tempo to keep the break within reach. For each dirt section I would move up, and lead in to with the big whigs. For this particular section I had been near the back checking on Maggy, and chatting with some other fellas. I noticed that my front end getting soft, and knew I had a flat. I also knew that this was a very bad place to get a flat. Our team car had gone to the break, so I will have use neutral. I’m also on one of the dirt sections that’s longer, and beginning to have some steep, medium length rollers. The road is only so wide, about wide enough to fit a car. There is space on either side to squeeze by, but it’s very soft mud or loose gravel, and we all know what that is like at high speeds.

Well, Maggy gives me his front wheel. He’s playing it safe today anyways, and can wait for neutral. I change the wheel as fast as possible, but am already in the cars. I begin chasing, but the cars are going much slower than the riders, and then you have the elastic effect, which means the cars speed up when they have a moment to do so, catching back up to the field quickly. This is really bad for a rider in the cars because you can’t get any draft. I’m holding the field at 25 seconds, and I can see them ahead of me. I’m taking risks, and dodging crashes here and there using my Jedi skills, but to no avail. Going through the feed, I grabbed my feed bag anticipating that I could use the miles to prep for the longer races to come. Quickly after, I realized that I was still 80km from the finish, and we were leaving directly after the race to drive to the airport, so I had to abandon.

Something has changed in the Euro field, In a good way. I think riders are beginning to realize that our team is actually a team, and that we are all “okay” enough to be up there, because they don’t yell and give me crap like it used to be if I or any other Slipstream rider got up in front and possibly in the way. Between me, O’grady, Cancellara, Bettini, Balan and a few others we would start the lead it almost 5 km out, and hit the dirt in the same positions. Safe, riding tempo, see where were going etc. In the past, I would have been throwing elbows, going through the various languages I’ve tried picking up to say “F U”.

Anywho, back to Girona.

Its 10:19 PM and I’m on the team camper after just being picked up from the airport in Pisa, Italy. We are on our way to race Eroica, a relatively new race but historic event in southern Italy. I just came from northern France where some of the boys and I had a recon of the Paris Roubaix (PR) course. We’ve dubbed it “Cobble Camp”.

The camp lasted two days and the purpose was 1.) experiece the stones\sections first hand and see what “tough” really is, 2.) learn from the 2004 champion taking whatever advice was thrown our way, 3.) test various zipp wheels (202 or 404) and various size vitoria pavé tires 24 or 27 mm), and 4.) to experience the sheer pain in the hands that makes it almost impossible to type this.

Het Volk had about 16 km of cobbles. In comparison, using two brutal days we coverd 50 km with each day involving a trip to and from an aiport. It was sunny on one section, hailing on the next, dry everywhere else except the cobbles at times, muddy, dusty, smooth, bumpy, so rough you can’t hang on to the bars, cold, hot, and eventually JUST RIGHT!

It was a rude awakening the first few sections, like being in a cave and seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. You can’t see anything because the shaking is surreal. Bones, arms, fingers, joints, backs, necks, heads, saddle regions, legs, knees, feet, ache and hurt. I quickly realized that I couldn’t ride the hoods the way I did in Het. Its not that the Het cobbles aren’t freaking hard, because they are, its that they are more rectangular shaped and laid in a “more” smooth pattern. The PR cobbles are more pentagonal and in some areas are laid in an actual pattern. Others though, as if a truck drove through a muddy field and pushed the stones out letting them lay where they landed. The gaps inbetween the stones are like well riding through a creek bed or rail road tracks if the ties weren’t so organized. Don’t get me wrong, there are smoother sections and you can tell simply by mere vision comparison. Its like driving in NYC, you point tour front end where you want to go and floor it.

Forest of Arenberg, after going through it. We will be coming the other way.

These two days were spectacular! They were very useful, as I learned and experienced a lot. While this will be my first Roubaix, I have no doubt that the learning curve that I just went through will help carry me further and longer in this edition of the race. My job is to help Maggy, and that is what I intend to do until either I crash so badly I can’t continue, or that I physically can’t go on.

Meatball

Ps: my poor license plate fell off!

I was involved in the first big crash of the day, 13 minutes into the race. Some guy hit a minivan on the side of the road and bounced into the field. This happened three guys in front of me. I was over the bars and lying behind the van in the mud almost immediately because we were going about 50kph when it happened.

I layed there and watched what seemed like the scene from Blue Brothers with the cop cars all flying into a pile while the sirens would wane off mid-air. Guys would yell, fly, land. About 30 of them, and I saw them all as I lay there in disbelief. I got up grabbed my bike, and didn’t say anything into the radio, because well, all seemed intact. I got back on, and made my way back up to the peloton and back to the front to help follow more moves.

Eventually after nothing went and after we avg 51kph for the first 1.5 hours we called a, “Pisse”, or urine break, and then regrouped and began racing again. Cozza was in the next move after this, with 8 other guys, which was great because everyone was content to let it roll as we passed through the feed zone.

I was hurting bad at this point, tired, and we still had the cobbled climbs to go, so I’m loving life. We hit the climbs and immediately I’m losing ground. When you’re tired, you hit every stone face first, and suffer every meter of it. Eventually the group split again and there were 3 groups on the road. I’m in the 3rd group with a few of my guys, Tyler is in the 2nd group, and Cozza/Masskant who is now bridging the gap to the front group are up the road. We go over another climb, i’m in the cars, I just kept fighting, eventually made it back to the group, which eventually made it to the 2nd group on the road, and now we are the field again. This is good, I mean 2 guys from Slip in the break, and i’m not dropped from the effort yesterday.

At about 150 km and back in the field, I notice my right knee is really beginning to ache. I’m trying to pin-point where the pain is, and notice it’s on the inside lower portion of my right knee. Think to myself that It’s probably nothing big, and that I can finish. It get a bit worse as we near the circuits, and I tell myself that maybe I should just pull over at the feed zone on the circuit. We only have 20 km to go though, so I finish. My knee is pretty painful. I complained to Alyssa, one of our swanny’s about it who looks at it, gives me some advice, and off to the showers I go.

Flying home I’m thinking about it, but not too seriously.

Wake up the next day, and it’s sore, really sore, and I pin point it and hit up google for some self diagnosis. It’s near the joint line, interior meniscus area. I go see the Chiro, Matt Rabin who is in town visiting. He takes a gander, some tests, and says I probably smacked it pretty good, or twisted the knee as I went over the bars while the foot was still engaged in the pedal. Either way it’s not too bad, just some severe bruising. We taped it up, and now I shall ice every hour for 15 minutes.

So, taking a few days completely off the bike. As I sit here and type this it’s about 80% better than it was yesterday, and should be better yet. I will spin for 20 minutes today, and see how it goes, ice again, and then depart for northern France tomorrow morning.

Start of Roubaix Camp #2

First off, I want to thank everyone who sent their LOVE this way, because I totally felt the LOVE all over. Head to Toe people, HEAD to TOE!

Here is a little recap from my perspective if you’re interested:

During the team meeting it was everyone’s job to try and go with moves. It’s hard to give a select few guys that task, because 1) it’s a hard job, 2) chances are better with everyone going for it, and 3) it’s a team, and everyone is capable of it.

I wasn’t feeling great, especially after arriving the day prior. All day Friday I was grumpy with a headache, sore legs, bad back etc. Saturday morning, I felt a bit better, stretched, had some coffee and ate well. Headache was gone, and legs were feeling better. Maggy had told me that I would feel terrible in the beginning, and open half way though.

Last year at the Tour of Belgium the whole team was in the second group right after the neutral because of cross winds, a high speed 50kph neutral, and being stuck behind lame guys who just give up when it hits the gutter. I WAS NOT GOING TO MAKE THIS MISTAKE AGAIN!

I lined up at the start 15 minutes early with everyone else who was there already, and stayed there as we rolled the neutral. Peter Van Petegem was in the lead car, dropped the flag and the race was on. Immediately there were attacks. I went with a few, nothing seemed to be going. I was trapped in the front point of the peloton as we were going down a long straight section of road when I saw four guys jump. Quickly I made my way out, or atleast tried, and at this point the 4 riders probably had 30 seconds when I jumped up the left and dove between a curb/car and the front guys. I took a glance back, nobody on the wheel, and I said to myself, “you’re going”. Looked at the speedo, 66 kph, going flat stick. I told myself to relax as they were getting closer and closer, but knew I had to get there especially before we made a turn into a head wind again. I see the lead car turn left, and I’m about 10 meters off the break, break goes through, I go through, WALL O WIND! OH SH!T, break at 10 m, 13 m, 17 m, 30 m, OH MY GOD, I can’t close the gap! I’m going to get dropped and end up in the field! How embarassing! At this point, I’m thinking, holy crap, my guys are going to be pissed, I’m so lame!

I look back, see two more guys coming, and the field chasing, but at a gap yet, so I sit up, breath, and sprint to latch on to these two guys. The one guys I know from Landboukredit, David Boucher, a strong, rides with balls kind of rider who isn’t afraid of hard work, and the other, Liquigas I don’t know, but find out soon enough he’s wicked strong. I latch on, and we begin swapping pulls, chasing chasing chasing. The break is not really giving us an inch, and we had to fight all the way to these guys. We were pulling at 58 and 59 kph forever before we latched on these guys, and keep in mind it’s 35 mph winds out there. My God It Hurt!

Okay, so I’m in the break, and the time is opening up. Johnny is giving me splits in the radio, and I’m happy to hear it’s gone up to at least a minute. That seems to be the breaking point for a lot of breakaways. Once that minute is breached, it usually is given a bit of slack to go out from there. We all worked really pretty well, I learned something though. The AG2R, FDJeux, and Cofidis guy would pull through, but very easily. Every time the speed would drop, and their watts had to be way lower, while the Landbo, Liquigas, and I pulled through steady and strong. I found out later why these guys were “half assing it” in the break, because it made a world of difference later on down the road.

The crowds were amazing. Every town, every corner, every intersection, and every cobbled section were simply packed with people. The chopper following the race was insane! The pilot I think enjoyed dive bombing near us and the feeling of seeing this while racing, and the crowds was overwhelming. This was for real! This is the stuff I’ve only dreamed of doing, and here I am, doing it. Crazy.

So I had this license plate that my father bought me. I had asked for it awhile ago, because it was suggested to me by a friend that I should put a license plate with my name on it beneath my seat. He was joking at the time, but I took it seriously thinking it was a great idea. Half way through the race, the fans were yelling “Meatball”, “GO MEATBALL”, “SLIPSTREAM!”. It was unreal, the Belgian Fans were AWESOME!

The cobbled sections were amazing, especially when you are semi-fresh, I cruised over them. The last uphill and last 2 or 3 flat sections of Pave killed me though. One, I would get dizzy looking right in front of me, two, once I lost speed, it was nearly impossible to speed back up, three, I didn’t know the sections so the guys who were still in the break knew when and where to hit it hard. I came off on the last climb, and fought back up to the remaining three guys. Was attacked on the next flat section and gapped off. I was 3rd on the road at this point about 25 sec. down. I knew that Gilbert, and his teammate that was in the break were coming from behind, which was a good thing because I could recover and then get on this small train back to the group.

At this point people I was hurting. Hurting bad. It’s not that I wasn’t fit, but it’s a long race, I had been out front all day, and probably did 10% more work than I needed too, but that’s what cards I had to play, so here we are. Gilbert had come across solo until his teammate dropped back for him, so he was strong, and also one of the favorites. Behind him chasing hard, about 2 minutes back was a “Super Group” containing Nuyens, Cancellara, Hoste, amongst others. Gilbert attacked on the next flat pave and was gone, none of us could hang any longer. The Super Group caught up, were organized but just didn’t have the time to bring back Gilbert before the line. The group split with 7 KM remaining, I was stuck in the the 3rd group now on the road. Cancellara, and two of my break companions, plus myself made 4 guys. At 250 meters to go I hit out hoping to get 9th or 10th on the day, but with 50 meters to go, it wasn’t to be. I was passed and ended up 12th. I was upset by that, but I had given it everything, and well, this was my first Semi-Classic, and I was elated with the ride.

So that is what it was like. Unreal!

Hanging out in Kortrijk, Belgium. We are about 6 km from Gent, the start and finish of this years edition of Het Volk. The weather outside is freaking crazy. First it rained all night, so the 13 km or so of cobbled sections both uphill and flat are going to be a slippery mess. Secondly, the wind is unreal! It’s seriously constantly windy with high gusts over 35 mph. Lying in my bed I seriously thought the house/hotel we are staying in was going to blow over. I feel like one of the Three Little Pigs, so thank god every structure in Belgium is made of bricks.

For the past two weeks, Magnus the maximus has been my drill Sergeant. I don’t mean just as a training mentor, but rather a physical I’m here to pound you, I eat little boys, I like nails for breakfast, who’s your uncle type drill instructor.

Fortunately for me, I thrive on this type of training! The raw energy and motivation as the rides begin until we begin slaughtering one another finding that each of us is thick headed and equally enjoying the self inflicted pain. Each of us driving one another until the mere language being used is nothing more than variable grunts. Grunts that have different tones, pitches, and volumes to establish how each feels or which way to go, left or right?

The training has been great, and we both successfully accomplished what we wanted to get done. For the sergeant, it was getting back on top of the training for Roubaix and for me the same plus some in order to be a force to reckon with when the time has come.

Even though the training was brutal, we had great dinners using local cuisine to our delights as planned in the mornings over breakfast. This was simply something to keep us looking forward to throughout the day haha. Following dinner, nice after dinner drinks such White Russians or a local herbal liquor, Ratafia Russet and one anothers company (Will, Maggy, and I) to enjoy as the pain subsided into well earned sleep.

Okay, time to get kitted up for todays drama!

BRING IT THE F**K ON!