Bike Love in the Time of Scandal

You knew my not writing much about cycling wasn't going to last forever

I far too briefly alluded to Tom Boonen’s Paris-Roubaix win in my last blog. I also failed to mention his wins in E3 Harelbeke, Gent-Wevelgem and Ronde Van Vlaanderen. We lifted many a Leffe Blond to his honour in this house. Like Philippe Gilbert last year, Tornado Tom seems unstoppable, and that makes me so very nervous. Ever since the 90’s, into the dubious Armstrong era and up until recently, dominance in cycling has usually been followed by scandals or at least implications. Let’s face it, positive results on the bike generally lead to positive results in the lab and that sucks.

I am not trying to mitigate the wonder that has been Tommeke and Phil Gil over the past two seasons. In fact watching these men has given me tremendous pleasure and I like them both as riders and sports personalities. If anything, I am pissed off that an endless parade of cheaters makes me so jaded that a good performance makes me immediately suspicious. The reason I get nervous is that I don’t want all my celebrations of their victories to come crashing down around me like so many have before (you broke my heart, Basso).

I understand that doping in sport is a complex issue, that the indoctrination of the needle starts in the junior ranks with coaches taking advantage of young, impressionable kids (don’t buy that for a second? How mature were your decision making skills at 18, 15, 12…you get the idea) that the pressure to win is crushing and the insular lifestyle of a cyclist, with days away from home and family probably more numerous than any other sport and the grounding elements of having some life away from the bike just doesn’t exist. I know there is no simple solution, that the problem isn’t going to go away even if the UCI adopts every suggestion WADA ever made. Someone who lives and breathes for the sport isn’t going to be convinced that winning isn’t everything – just look at the headlines when they lose.

I don’t know what the answer is. Better supervision in the junior ranks is probably a good start. Not making a sport’s governing body responsible for policing their own might be another. I’d really, really like to enjoy bike races without making wry comments that the results are going to be meaningless is 4 months (though probably good news for all those riders who finished just behind Ballan in each race. Get ready to move up, gentlemen).

Here’s to you, Tommeke. Faith on the line, I complement you on a wonderful spring campaign with cynicism shoved down to the pit of my stomach. I’ll try my best to watch Amstel Gold without a suspicious bone in my body….unless Ballan lines up.

Karma Police in Riot Gear

I do not, as my blog may suggest, get into trouble so I have something to write about. I write because, after years of the odd and the awkward happening to me, I have finally taken my friends advise to "write this $#!+ down!".

Easter weekend, a time to share and celebrate with family. Even better if you can celebrate with the friends you choose to replace your family with. After months of trying to coordinate schedules, I was very excited to have a firm invitation to the home of a dear friend, who happens to be half of one of my favourite married couples. I was especially looking forward to it as it was to be their first meeting with my guy.

In preparation for the day and to alleviate the trouble of cooking for pain-in-the-a$$ vegetarians, I spent all Saturday cooking and prepping. Vegetarian Moroccan stew, always a pleaser, and pre-ferment for fresh French loafs. Up early Sunday morning, take the dough out to lose its chill, coffee on and fire up the laptop to watch Paris-Roubaix, my favourite bike race (Chapeau Tommeka, great to see you back on form!). A fabulous way to spend Sunday morning. Post race, I whipped up some banana and hazelnut crepes, finished the dough and left it to rise and got started on dessert - my first attempt at strawberry and kiwi Pavlova. It was all going fine.

The Pavlova took longer than expected and so the baguettes went in late. I HATE being late, it really, really stresses me out. I composed a very apologetic message and started on the whip cream to top the Pavlova while the bread was baking. That I chose to use the old stand mixer would turn out to be my second error in judgment that day. The problem with kitchen multitasking is in the details. The big detail being that my old stand mixer, though small and so easier to use for tasks like whipping small quantities of cream, sucks and really needs to be babysat. As I turned to wash fruit I heard a shout from my guy. My shaky sunbeam was shooting unwhipped cream all over the kitchen. I thought this, combined with being late was the major disaster of the day, but later would look back on it as the golden period.

Kitchen cleaned, cream whipped, Pavlova topped, bread fresh from the oven and into a bag - we were ready to roll. The now spitting rain posed a bit of an issue with the delicate Pavlova but nothing aluminum foil couldn't save. We hit the highway and cottage country traffic but at least we were on our way. Then the car started to shimmy. This is not standard Subaru behaviour, at least not for this Subaru. My guy quickly navigated us off the highway and to the nearest plaza where the car died almost immediately. Horrible, right? It gets better.

I had to, of course, phone my dear friends and tell them the bad news. There was no possible way for us to get to their home (nearly 60 km from ours). We then had the problem of getting ourselves back home and what to do with the car. My guy called his dad who happened to be around the corner at his brother's house for a big family Easter dinner.

So, instead of barbeque with friends, we sat on the outskirts of a big family dinner with all the trimmings and relatives who I was meeting for the first time. Our hosts were incredibly gracious about welcoming us, particularly me, a complete stranger, into their homes. It was awkward though as we did crash the party uninvited and the family were not very impressed with my guy's new vegetarian lifestyle. Oh, and the fact that a few months ago, one of the members of the family had said some very disparaging things about me, not because of anything particular I had done, but because "I'm warning you, all women are like that." I don't know what I did in some past life that I must endure such retribution. I only hope that I can atone for it and move on soon.