Pics: It’s the 3rd annual X-mas photo challenge!

We’re welcoming submissions for our 3rd annual Christmas photo contest. Check out last year’s winner and send your images to wafflesandsteel@gmail.com.

Living in a college town is wonderful. There’s the young vibe. Funky shops and eateries. Smart people. The game day buzz. The sleepy summer when the town empties out. One of the few downsides is witnessing – almost daily – the various ways the kids abuse their bikes. There is a student who rides around town on a vintage pink 3Rensho that she borrowed from her mother. I’ve seen it carelessly chained to a bike rack, the paint job on its top tube touching the rack’s rough metal.

A couple weeks ago, I noticed a LeMond ‘cross bike locked to a rack outside a bookstore in downtown Ann Arbor. The rear derailleur is digging into the pavement. The downtube is touching the bike rack. When I passed it on my way to work, I was hopeful that the bike had not been abandoned because it was locked down with a helmet. I figured the owner cared enough about it to remove the wheel to be on the safe side. But the bike was still out there when I walked by on my way home. It was there the next day and the next and the next. A week went by, and the bike was still braving the elements. It was heartbreaking and painful to watch a machine bearing the name of the greatest cyclist in U.S. history being abused in such a way. I started scheming about ways to cut the lock and rescue the bike. I would leave a note urging the owner to call me if he wanted it back.

Thankfully, when I walked by the bike rack yesterday, the LeMond was gone. Who knows why it was out there so long? Maybe the owner got drunk and forgot where he put it. Anyway, I’m the one who tried to spruce it up with the fake poinsettias from the basement of my workplace. For the photo contest, this is the image to beat.

Musings: Revisiting Armstrong, LeMond and Hinault

I used to believe Lance. I respected Greg LeMond but thought he turned churlish in recent years. I liked Bernard Hinault because I have a soft spot for crusty, pugnacious, anti-social, extremely talented people who don’t really give a damn what others think of them.

Now, my opinions of them are changing.

I’m not so sure about Lance anymore. I don’t want to get into a debate about the issue, but I have my doubts now, especially about the first couple of years of the comeback. Still, I won’t deny he’s an incredible athlete and symbol for the sport.

I’m a big LeMond fan again because I think he’s just an all-around likable, good guy. This article influenced my new appreciation of LeMond. It’s wonderfully written. The author shares my favorite observation of LeMond. In most of the photos I’ve seen of him winning a race, he’s crossing the line with this wonderful “Jeez, I can’t believe I won!” expression of wonderment on his face. The article also points out that the French public loved LeMond because he had a certain panache. He often found himself in some sort of crisis or trouble and managed to dig his way out of it. I wish the article explored why LeMond decided to speak out against Lance. He did it at a great cost. Perhaps LeMond knew something that he couldn’t publicly bring up because of libel issues.

One more thing about LeMond. If you haven’t yet, check out this clip of LeMond beating Fignon in the Worlds in 1989. Fignon attacks on a hellish climb and Phil Ligget says it appears that the Frenchman is going to win the race. Then, seemingly out of no where, LeMond pops up on the screen and catches Fignon. Ligget pronounces, “That is a fine piece of riding by the American.”

Now for the “Badger.” Lately, I’ve been watching the three-disc set of the “Red Zinger/Coors Classic.” It has been fascinating for me because I know a bit about Euro racing in the late 70s and 80s, but I’ve never paid much attention to the race scene in the U.S. during the time. Last night, I was watching the 1986 edition of the race, with Hinault riding in the last stage race of his career. He’s on LeMond’s team, of course, and they battling it out again. LeMond says something like he spent the Tour fighting with Hinault, and he was hoping to come to the U.S. to just race without all the extra drama.

There’s a classic scene in a mountain stage where Hinault is in a three-man breakaway with Davis Phinney and someone else I didn’t recognize. I don’t think the third guy was on Phinney’s team. Anyway, Hinault declines to pull and spends the entire time sucking wheel. In the final few meters, he rockets off Phinney’s wheel and wins the sprint. He crosses the line with a huge grin on his face, as if it’s the first victory in his career (It is his first win in the US). In the post-race interview, Phinney is obviously angry and agitated. As he wipes his face with a towel about 20 times in five seconds, Phinney says something like, “If you want to win a race like that, you can win like that.” When Hinault is asked why he didn’t help out in the breakaway, he says something like, “It would have been stupid to do that. I wanted to save my energy for the end.”

I’m not an expert on race ethics and honorable cycling behavior. But Hinault was already a legend, and his tactics seemed desperate, far beneath him. For me now, Hinault = Jerk.

Book Review: Thumbs up for "A Dog in a Hat"

Joe Parkin sums up his professional career in Belgium this way: He could ride hard when called upon, but at the end of the day, he had more desire than natural ability. The American journeyman never had a win while riding on mostly second-tier teams in 1987-91. But he left Europe with loads of fascinating, colorful anecdotes about the sport’s personalities, customs and its holy land – Belgium. These descriptions and insights make his book “A Dog in a Hat” (VeloPress, US$21.95) well worth reading.

Parkin won a few races as an amateur in Minnesota and California before he decided to skip college and try to turn pro in Belgium. He was taken in by a bike mechanic, who rented him a room and served as his coach in the town of Ursel. Pro teams got interested in him after a few good results, including a third place in the amateur version of the Het Volk Classic.

He says he achieved a high degree of fluency in Flemish, and he sprinkles phrases from the language throughout the book. One of them is “een hond met een hoed op” or “a dog in a hat,” from which the book gets its title. The phrase means something that looks out of place, like an American racing with the pros in Belgium in the late 1980s.

One of my favorite anecdotes comes from Parkin’s description of his first pro classic, the 310-kilometer Paris-Brussels. Parkin said he was still in the peloton with Sean Kelly as the riders were sizing each other up for the final push with 20 kilometers left. But at the 10- kilometer mark, he got dropped and eventually got swept up by the bus just kilometers away from the finish. The winner – or the “man with the hammer” – was Wim Arras. Parkin ends the chapter with a great statement about how cruel life can be – how the sport and world move on no matter how fast you were on the bike. “Four years later, he (Arras) would be turning wrenches on my bike,” he says.

Parkin can turn a nice phrase when he’s inspired. In a chapter about kermis racing, he says, “If the grand tours are like classical music, kermis racing is punk rock, Belgian style.” He notes that the races are all about the same length, between 150-180 kilometers, and involve circuit courses of about 10 kilometers. He says he figured out why the circuits are this length after watching a race from a café. “The time it takes for the pros to cover 10 kilometers is almost exactly the time it takes to order, receive and drink a beer.” The drinkers can hear the race coming, drain their beer and step outside to watch the riders speed by.

In 1989, he signed up with the ADR team, which also featured Greg LeMond, who pulled off his amazing Tour de France victory that same year. But LeMond rode on the A team, while Parkin was relegated to the B team – a bunch of misfits he describes as ADR’s “redheaded stepchildren.”

Another of my favorite anecdotes involves the Belgian great Eddy Planckaert, who also rode for ADR. Parkin says he once arrived at Eddy’s farmhouse about 9 a.m. for a ride and had to wake him up. It was January and Eddy’s last ride was sometime in November. His bike was still caked with months-old mud. But as soon as Eddy started riding, he began complaining about the speed wasn’t fast enough. “A few minutes after we started, he attacked …. Less than a minute after the attack, Eddy was back with us, cursing his bike, his legs, the food he had just eaten, the cold, everything.” He complained they were riding too fast so early in the season and that he wouldn’t train with them again. Parkin insists they were only going 25 kph.

Parkin ends his European career with the IOC-Tulip team. He he constantly battled anemia and low testosterone levels. He recalls that after one tough climbing stage in the Tour de Suisse, he was famished and searched through his jersey pockets for leftover snacks – “squished little sandwiches and pastries in foil wrap” – when he returned to his hotel room. Still hungry, he began digging around in the trash can looking for food that his roommates had discarded. He passed out while still wearing his race kit and later woke to the sound of the team doctor trying to wake him up. The physician said, “This is not good,” before leaving the room. He returned shortly to give Parkin a big injection of Intralipid, which was mostly fat.

After going back to America for good, he rode for U.S. pro teams, including the Coors Light squad. When his road racing career ended in 1994, he recorded some solid results as a mountain biker. Unfortunately, the book doesn’t provide many details about how Parkin settled into a civilian life and how he earns a living now. It’s also a shame that Parkin didn’t stay in touch with many of the people he knew in Belgium, so the book provides no updates about them.

Next: Parkin’s low down on Euro doping.