Wii Cycling

Nintendo Wii has upset the couch-potato cart.

We have been starved for indoor exercise. Before Wii, we had Twister and Jane Fonda workouts. Most middle aged-men who participated in the lounge aerobics where mainly watching Hanoi Jane’s bouncing assets. Now we are calling out for Wii Cycling – the answer to busy roads and life schedules.

The hard truth is that Nintendo Wii and cycling are never likely to merge into a product. Some alternatives are suggested at the end of the article.

Nintendo's pitfalls are:

1. You need a bicycle – Nintendo don’t make white plastic moulds of bikes

2. You need to measure power from the back wheel – this is a specialty area that involves large investment from Nintendo

3. You need resistance – air guitar works; no-chain cycling doesn’t

4. Virtual reality software – riding along and seeing cartoon caricatures and Little Red Riding Hood is not what cyclist would like to see when they are training. The more real the better.

Never mind, there are alternatives already in existence. I happily use the Tacx trainer to web-race in virtual reality or for Real Life Video where I ride along the island of Majorca or some other pre-filmed route.

Check them out at: http://www.tacxvr.com/en

There is also CompuTrainer: http://www.racermateinc.com/computrainer.asp

Let me know if you find any others.

Tour de France Tip of the Day: Stay close to a Village

Wilderness and mountain views are some of the delights to behold in a French July. It is often a toss up to choose between heading to the top of a climb to watch the tour procession, or to make a stand elsewhere.

At least on one occasion you should be at a summit finish, or on a preliminary climb. Time, however, will not be on your side because you will only leave late that evening to go on to the next stage (if you have a car or camper van). A better suggestion is to get positioned near the bottom of the final climb in the village.

In a village, like Le Grand Bornand you have access to many activities and refreshments. There are often ski-lifts, bakeries, delicatessens, ice-cream, L'Equipe, tourist offices, bars, TV’s, shade, festivals, cool drinks, picnic spots, swimming pools, hiking paths – you name it.

A few hours before the cyclist approach then pack your daypack and walk 5-8 km’s up the climb for a good workout, especially if this exercise is additional to a morning ride.

If you are in a remote mountain top finish, you only have what you are carrying and potentially you may not even have access to a big screen or TV to watch the days approach.

Cycling Nations

Ever since the return to trade teams in the 1969 Tour de France, the thought of having national teams has been firmly buried. In the last few months this burnt Phoenix has been squawking.

Notably there has been talk of a British cycling team. There are enough pro’s of British descent to mould a team GB. Riders like Scot David Millar, Manxman Mark Cavendish, Geraint Thomas and Bradley Wiggins are all potential riders on this squad.

Katusha – the new Russki formation has also been promulgating its desire to form an eastern bloc team.

Astana is basically a national team – with a peculiar combination of a Belgian manager, a Spanish leader and baby-making Texan as the co-leader. Vino – the monosyllabic cyclist - is so popular that he could even manifest political desires in his country where its name - Kazakh - means “Man”.

The Basque riders of Euskaltel-Euskadi are a patriotic bunch of cyclists. There a no known links to ETA - the terrorist organization.

The organization of national teams is beset with polemic dilemmas:

• Vinokourov was given a 1 year ban by his fan worshipping national doping agency.
• The Orange clad riders could call on plastique explosive experts to resolve Pyrenean stages.
• Team GB will avoid races like the Sun Tour because of their lily white skins. Just look at Millar’s sun screen bill.
  

All cycling needs is another Cold War and the return of the Peace Race.

Keep national teams out of the ProTour – it will be a lot less messy and probably less bloody too.

Rock Steady Ship

When Rock and Republic tycoon Michael Ball started Rock Racing it was met with mixed feelings in the cycling community.

On the good side there was an injection of sexiness and showmanship into an otherwise traditional arena. His detractors, however, admonished him for using cycling as his own quick-win marketing fiefdom – with no regard for further sullying cycling’s name.

Most fans have stopped to dream of angels on wheels a long time ago. We have become hardened to the professionals who treat our sport with disingenuous disdain.

We understand Rock Racing's logo of a macabre skull with Gabriel’s wings. It is reflective of our sport today.

What I do have a problem with is Michael Ball's marketing men’s tagline – “Here to stay”. It reminds me of the Titanic’s claim to be unsinkable.

How many souls perished in that disaster?

Schumacker-ick-y

There is a man called Schumacker
Who is accused of being a bit of a doper
It was in the Tour

Where he won time trials galore
Whereas before he was more of a back-marker

Italian Inquisition

Cycling’s rogue gallery is swelling. The Italian Olympic Committee has recommended that Ricardo Ricco’s stick-like sidekick – Leonardo Piepoli - get a two year ban.

Piepoli is another rider along with Kohl, Schumacher, Duenas, Cobo and Ricco who treated us like fools. Forget polygraphing these idiots, they are so full of themselves and EPO that they won’t register a jot of guilt on the truth sheet.

I have come up with a plan, after studying hours of race footage, especially centered on the finale of a race, and the podium.

Here it is: any rider winning and not displaying genuine emotion after slogging over 220km’s of ragged-toothed terrain, or cyclists on the top step being indifferent will be reason enough to get Team Dracula to request a bloody sample on the spot.

This comes after watching the likes of Ricco and Piepoli soil the victory ceremony.

It may seem like a throwback to the Spanish and Italian inquisition, but cycling’s faith is at stake.

Enough of these specimens contaminating our sport!

Weight Watchers

Jan Ullrich suffered from Christmas pudding stuffing. Greg LeMond’s winter weight gain excuse was excessive cross-country skiing (adding bulk to his upper body).

Cycling is a sport as anal about weight as ballet dancing. Luckily ballerina’s can smoke as an appetite suppressant. Cyclists aren’t even allowed to take diuretics, and I haven’t seen a smoker in the professional peloton for as long as I can remember.

If there was ever a smoking contender, I would have to point at the chameleon like Dave Zabriskie. Puffing on a pipe would actually suit his All-American looks. I can imagine him pulling out a hubbly- bubbly at the back of the Garmin cruise-mobile, enticing some of his compatriots with his tentacled bong. Or perhaps he would be more (m) aligned to the Clint Eastwood style cheroot.

Regardless of smoking gammon or fat turkeys, more professionals are turning up at their off season camps as lithe as a southern-hemisphered Aussie. To me it sounds like a deprived Christmas. I, with both hands, will be eating mince pies like a Japanese hamburger-eating-world-champion.

Ode-erick to Corsa Rosa

The Giro d’Italia will start in Venice.
Rome replacing Milan for the final kermesse!
More favourites than the Tour are a gathering,
Will Basso or Armstrong be domineering?

Regardless the Giro for the tifosi is bliss.

Tour de France Tip of the Day: Go to the time trial start

Whenever there is a time trial – make sure you go to the start.

A lot of people distribute themselves along the route, or wait at the finish. However, by far the best place to be is at the start. It is here that you will be able to go to all the team buses and watch all the cyclists warming up. They are so close that you can easily get autographs and pictures.

The day is full of equipment and cyclist spotting. Keep a look out for bike customisations, such as paint-jobs and new disc wheels.

VIP's also abound at the start. It is easy to catch up with all their friends and ex-colleagues. At the Cognac start in the 2007 tour Lance Armstrong was seen in the Disco team car supporting Alberto Contador. Pat McQuaid is also often seen visiting the ProTour teams.

Being in a city or village allows a tourist to get a good cup of coffee or walk around the centre as the day unfolds. When the maillot jaune goes down the start ramp then you can dash to the brasserie and watch the excitement on a TV screen.

Wii Cyclists

Nintendo Wii injuries are becoming more prevalent in the computer household. I can imagine the emergency room nurse taking down the details of “how it happened.” No doubt the nurse will at least snicker and at worst burst out in laughter when you let on that your injury was computer-generated.

Smashing your computer rival in the face with a wireless tennis volley or putting out your back in an overambitious NHL puck-lunge have become common lounge disasters.

Just ask Mark Cavendish who recently injured his calf in the snowboarding computer game. This is almost as embarrassing as Laurent Jalabert’s light bulb changing accident.

When Wii brings out its Tour de France version make sure you and your team-mate avatars are ergonomically compatible, especially in the TTT. The emergency room nurse is unlikely to believe your version of events.

Tour de France Tip of the Day: Pack Ear Plugs

The French have a lot of culture. Their food from Provence to Brittany is heavenly, the wine is fit for Bacchus and the countryside invites picnics at every turn.

What some Frenchmen do lack though is the ability to allow a person to have a free-ride, or if someone is enjoying a situation above their station - then they will try to jeopardize that situation.

There should be a word for this phenomenon. It could well be the venomous opposite of serendipity (stumbling upon something wonderful by accident) – let me call it venomdipity.

Take the movie “Jean de Florette”. The gist of the movie is Gérard Depardieu inherits a rocky farm that apparently has no nearby spring – or water. He toils and struggles, until he almost dies from fatigue as he carries water from over a faraway mountain by the bucketful.

Short of death, and a beaten man, he discovers that the local villagers have always known that there is a spring a hundred yard from his crops. The bastards didn’t tell him. Venomdipity is what it is!

Imagine sleeping in the camper van after a hard drive over the Col du Galibier to the next mountain stage – a bottle of grungy Cahors red emptied, looking forward to the next Contador attack the following day – when at 12:45 am a car starts honking from a long way off and then hoots right outside our camper door.

This carries on intermittently as locals drive passed the camper vans and tents. Then the early morning locals – maybe they work at la boulangerie in the village – why else would the idiots be driving at 3:30 am and hooting all the way down the mountainside. This is venomdipity at its worst.

I can only think that they despise us as gypsy-like tourists.

So be warned – pack ear plugs.

Limerickazakhstan

There once was a cyclist from Kazakhstan
Who blood doped during and before le tour began
One day in July
After being caught he preferred to lie
And somehow he’s still Astana’s number one

Ban White Shorts

It may seem absurd that I want to ban white clothing from the peloton, especially since Mama wears predominantly white robes. But I am making explicit reference to white cycling shorts.

It only recently dawned on me why the Fd'Jeux team have alternate blue cycling pants (note that Agritubel are still unaware of their faux pas).

It happened in a race a few years ago that started in perfectly good African weather – hot and balmy. Dark storm clouds soon ballooned overhead and then gushed down on us.

The water-roosters sprayed into my grime filled eyes. I perched my Oakley’s onto the edge of my nose as I looked onto the rider in front of me. It was with shock that I noticed his white shorts had become see-through, completely revealing.

There is no way to rewind a memory, or erase chunks of mind data (I contemplated a pre-frontal lobotomy, but I need all the grey matter I’ve got).

Snow professionals advise new skiers in snow abundant regions - “Don’t eat the yellow snow!"

I say that it should be emblazoned on every cyclist’s short purchase – “Don’t wear white cycling shorts in the rain!”

Dumb and Dumber

It has been brewing for a while – a venting session against the dopers (another against the prepatore is to follow). My vexation this time is squarely reserved for the Teutonic pixie – Stefan Schumacher.

Not only because of his dumb and dumber antics of attacking in back-to-back mountain stages, but also for taking two stage wins while doped up to the gills. Add to this the fact that he still wants his Quick Step contract honoured for 2009! Does this man not know his own intellectual limits?

Now Bernard Kohl, his awkwardness apparent on the podium and in just about any social gathering, was a slightly more tolerable cheat. He didn’t go on a day-to-day blitz session like his Prussian counterpart. The Austrian was seemingly contrite and made a number of heart wrenching public apologies.

We will probably find Herr Schumacher and Kohl in a few years time delivering the post or selling DB railway tickets in Dresden. That is where all bad pros spend their post-cycling careers.

Last year on July 15th, Stage 8 to Tignes, Stefan Schumacher was struggling up the 20 km Cormet de Roselend climb.

I was positioned just 5km into the climb. Papa was some 60km’s away near the finish at Tignes.

Schumacher was behind the main group - alone and soundly dropped. And this is where I gleefully beat a rival fan to a keepsake that the German discarded. And now I can’t believe that I have a talisman of his – a jettisoned Gerolsteiner water bottle from his cage (probably where he belongs).

Prepatore - doctors or preparers who help cyclist's to dope

Family Tree

Allow me to introduce my fictional self. I am the product of Didi “the Devil” and the Specialized Angel. My name is Gabriel.

Papa

Mama

Prologue

Allow me to introduce my fictional self.

I am the product of Didi “the Devil” and the Specialized Angel. My name is Gabriel.

I am their offspring – their sprog. I consider myself “Cycling’s offspring.”

If you look carefully at old footage in the 1986 Tour de France on stage 15, when papa prodded Greg LeMond on the Alp d’Huez and almost knocked the Badger over, you will notice me in my diapers on the roadside. I am the one with the dummy (hey, the dummy isn’t papa).

That doesn’t mean I am some LUK – Specialized hybrid, but I am special!

It also doesn’t mean I wear the same outfit for twenty-one days on the trot, like papa does.

With these two characters as my parents, one can’t help but be a cycling fan.

Mama and Papa are not together anymore – their brief body rubbing occurred, after too many Leffe’s, in the back of a 1973 Citroën camper van parked at the entrance to the Arenberg forest in April 1985 – the day Marc Madiot won the Paris-Roubaix.

My problem with having such different parents is the strong opposite forces that drive me. The good and evil counterweights my parents have brought to my DNA results in my slightly bipolar nature.

The definition of bipolar is not a bi-sexual with a Finnish heart rate monitor – rather I am prone to scurrilous outbursts, and these outbursts are mainly reserved for errant cyclists and all things to do with cycling – or just not to my general liking.

For example, why the hell does France 2 – the French TV station – keep on cutting away from papa when he is prancing around with his trident? But I will save this particular bugbear for another time.

And then in my lighter moments – my angelic side – I can sing mellifluous cycling ditties (my own creations) as sweet as Tom Boonen’s young girlfriends can.

But sometimes my musings are one garbled mess, where I am both sickly sweet ... and generously prickly at the same time. I hope you will understand (I don’t), so have a wonderful day and ta-ta ... well, just go away!

Till later.