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Viva Las Vegas indeed. If Danville, IL is the armpit of our great nation, then Las Vegas is its ass-hole. Las Vegas sings a siren song to coax and tempt the White Trash of this land with an aria more clear and melodic than that of even The Jerry Springer Show. I sit at this point of my life by the Gods ill conspiring against me in the "Budweiser Lounge" of the Las Vegas International Airport. I should be in Santa Barbara, but for a 150 mph headwind that delayed my original flight from Hooterville International to Phoenix Sky Harbor, missing my connection to the Land of Beautiful People, I have been rerouted via our nation's ass-hole due to arrive on a red-eye into the Land of Beautiful people at 1:17 a.m. Most White Trash burgs come to such a state through events unwanted. The Auto Parts plant shutters itself and the jobs go to a third world nation such as Mexico or Mississippi. The Coal mine yields no more bitumen. The silica hole coughs up no more fine sand and the glass factory closes its doors. The Gypsum board factory is shut down because MKA has sued its owner into oblivion. Such is life. Las Vegas on the other has CHOSEN to become a Mecca to which White Trash make pilgrimage much the same as Muslims to Mecca, but with far more frequency. This is a disgusting place. The advertisement campaign would make you to believe that Las Vegas is a destination for financially and socially sound individuals who come for a sense of adventure, naughtiness and perchance, to max out the credit card in a VIP room. In truth, this dive is a collecting point, like the low point in a sewage system where deluded White Trash gathers, where dreams of un- worked for riches pull at them like a magnet. Las Vegas PURPOSELY attempts to market itself to the dregs of humanity. Danville, IL and Flint, MI are armpits as a result of economic circumstance. Las Vegas is the Ass-Hole through choice and marketing. The reader is free to draw his/her own conclusions about such a place. I personally find that at this un-godly hour of the evening, the people coming and going at this airport are for the most part sad, empty, ugly folk who are either searching for a better life in an illusory world or are disappointedly leaving the illusion, broke and beaten, back to the hopeless, hapless lives that they'd hoped to leave but for that God Damned Cherry when a bar would have meant a Jackpot. Check the record. Every movie or book written about this cesspool ends with the author/main character coming to the conclusion that it wasn't worth the effort/money/anticipation and they leave as quickly as possible. Enough about that. I'm supposed to be asleep before a six hour ride tomorrow. However, the morrow will arrive with me bleary eyed waking late in Santa Barbara, without a bike or luggage. It seems that it takes a month or more to get a bike from San Diego to Santa Barbara. Luggage tends to get lost when flights are re routed. DAY ONE AND SO ON Rode the bike a lot and got into my brother's secret stash of Amarone that he doesn't know I know is hidden in his wine cellar. That's training. Who cares? CYCLING IN THE LAND OF BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE 60 people show up for a 7:00 a.m. group coffee shop ride. The scene can best be described by paraphrasing H.L. Mencken. "The disparity between aspiration and equipment runs through the whole of the Santa Barbara cycling scene; material prosperity and e-mail coaching have made it a sort of Southern California disease. Two thirds of the riders are simply cans full of undigested physiological jargon and power output parameters, mechanically acquired; they cannot utilize it; they cannot ride." The equipment I see underneath the lean, tanned and well dressed riders in the Land of Beautiful People appears to be directly off the floor of the Bike Show in Las Vegas. The attire is the same as the rollout of a Spring Classic in 2005. Quick Step, Lotto, Phonak, Discovery are all represented. It's all rather intimidating when a man dressed in Quick Step attire, riding a carbon Time bike, reeking of wild onions and garlic rides past you looking every bit like Olympic Champ Paolo Bettini….That is until the road turns up and 55 of the 60 riders get shelled within 500 meters of the first 4% grade. Once again the realization arrives that the majority of the sinewy, well attired riders on $6000 machines are simply Hubbards and posers. It's no different than any Masters race I've ever done. I enjoy the company though. It's not like Orange County. The Hubbards down that way have chips on their shoulders. The Santa Barbara crowd is much more content, therefore mellow. They have no need to attack at stop lights in order to win a town sprint here. They live in a happier place. I'm asked every time I ride out there what I do for training in the winter. Bear in mind, this is a land where if the skies are overcast, the ride size shrinks by at least 50%. "Well, if the temps are in the 30's and it's not too windy, meaning over 20 mph, it isn't too bad if you're dressed right." "Really?" "Yeah" "I can't imagine." "Clearly and how would you?" I was once asked what I do for hill or resistance training in IL. My answer was simple. "The roads are heavy, the air is dense, the wind never stops blowing and the climate is severe on both ends of the spectrum. Resistance? Every fiber of your being resists exposure to such conditions." This situation isn't any nobler and I don't believe I'm a better person or rider for the suffering I suppose, just a bigger fool. Southern California is a paradise for cyclists. Every road from San Diego to San Luis Obispo has a wide shoulder and the towns have bike lanes on every street. The weather and terrain is conducive to training year 'round, the average rider has plenty of companions to ride with and the wind rarely blows. That said, if I lived in such a place, I don't believe I'd be nearly the racer that I am. This was pointed out to me on a recent weekend ride with my team mate Stone Pony. Stone Pony and I went on a 100 mile ride; 50 miles into a 5-10 mph wind and 50 miles back. The ride was virtually flat with the exception of a few interstate bridges and rolling hills over creeks. How is that more difficult than mountain passes and climbs? It isn't. The difference is that on a 5 hour ride in the homeland, we NEVER STOP PEDALING. My 5 hour rides in the California are 1.5 hours of coasting in an aero tuck down the mountains that were labored to get over. I think there is something to be said about that. It isn't any more fun, but I believe a rider has on average 25% more pedal strokes per hour out here. THE TOUR OF CALIFORNIA The Amgen Tour of California came to Santa Barbara at the end of stage 5 and the beginning of stage 6. 100,000 people lined the streets to watch the finishing sprint. On the next day the race went through Ojai up Dennison grade. Fans lined the roads the entire way, even hours before as we rode the parcours from Santa Barbara to Ojai. This is what I observed. I volunteered in the VIP Hospitality tent. A fat little troll wearing cotton sweat pants and a stars and stripes ball cap showed up as co-worker in the hospitality tent. He introduced himself to a co-worker and immediately launched into a story of an airline Pilot Friend with whom he traveled to Thailand. The Pilot Friend, we were told, had a petite Thai girl friend with him. We were then regaled with a story of an off-color joke that backfired into revealing that the pilot was not the most "well endowed" man the petite Thai woman had been with. The troll in the stars and stripes cap told the story with mouth full of peanuts and brownies that were reserved for the VIPs. He was a rich turd with no couth, likely the type to run up large charge bills at VIP rooms in Las Vegas. He was wearing the same $300 Oakley sun glasses that the Euro Pros wear in time trials these days. He was likely the only Republican in Santa Barbara County. I watched most of the race on flat screen TVs in between separating the glass and plastic cups in the garbage bins and bussing tables for the VIPs, one of which was Dylan Casey and two were likely Pro Mountain bike racers that I did not recognize but came to the conclusion based on the shaved legs, tight fitting skull caps with sunglasses on the outside and unlaced combat boots with paratrooper shorts. It's just wild speculation though. It was cool to see Nick Reistadt in the stage 5 break of the day with Eki and Jens Voigt. In 2004 I carted Nick around Salt Lake and Park City when he was doing the Espior Nationals concurrent with Masters Nationals. He's a good kid and I was thrilled to see him receive the aggressive rider of the day jersey. Other than his 3 hours in the sun, the other domestic pros were persona non grata, equal to the Cat 2's in a Pro 1, 2 field at Superweek. Levi Leipheimer did the descent off of San Marco Pass on Highway 154 with his forearms draped over his bars, aero style…at 55 mph. Kids don't try this at home. It's highly likely that we'll witness some poser on a $5000 bike in a Master's race attempting to emulate this move just prior to his lights going off. Maybe we'll read the sad story in Velo News. I met Floyd Landis' family in the VIP tent. Landis and I share the same Mennonite heritage. I spotted his sisters wearing Mennonite prayer caps and introduced myself. Most Mennonite women no longer wear the caps, but Landis' family is from the more conservative arm of the faith. It's fitting in a cosmic way that Landis is riding for a Swiss domiciled team, as Switzerland is the homeland of the Mennonite denomination. Landis is a most underrated rider. Most of the Tour talk from the fans centered on Leipheimer and Julich and Zabriske, while Landis convincingly won the TT and did what was necessary to maintain his lead with a deceptively strong team to support him. Sounds like a familiar recipe for winning Tours. We witnessed the peloton come out of Ojai going up a 6% grade to the final KOM sprint on the way to Thousand Oaks. The peloton raced past at roughly 20 mph though there was still 1K to go before the sprint line. No one was dropped. It was humbling and impressive. With the exception of the new Toyota United cycling team, the US domestic teams were a non factor. Health Net and the rest had their collective ass handed to them. It made me realize just how difficult it must be to race in Europe. Health Net, United Cycling, Jelly Belly, Navigators absolutely rip the legs off of Cat 1 racers in NRC races. Very, very good riders get shelled in droves when even Jittery Joes or Kodak go to the front and hammer nailing back a break or creating gutter splits in a crosswind. It was remarkable to witness the speed and power of world class racing. I hope it remains here in the States. NOTHING TO DO WITH ANYTHING On Sunday I was channel flipping and saw of Fox TV (Not Fox News) the Mexico City NASCAR race. The race was run with one of every three laps under the yellow caution flag due to drivers being unable to keep their cars out of each others bumpers and on the track. These guys flat out cannot drive. This is why I cringe when I hear a race announcer describe US Criterium Racing as NASCAR for bikes. Perish. Flail
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