The official journal of the
Bayside Bandidos Mid-Life Crisis Cycling Gang
The ALPINE CLASSIC 2001 *
TOUCHY GETS A FEEL FOR IT *
Stuart O Gradys Roubaix Diary *
A Bandido’s guide to the real
meaning of "bike talk". *
Audax Australia Calendar 2001 Rides *
PROPOSED VENUES *
It’s Not About the Bike *
NO MORE FAT ELVIS SUITS FOR ME!! *
How to Sprint Faster and Climb Harder *
ARMSTRONG SECOND AT AMSTEL GOLD RACE *
Hey Look Elvis, I’m Wearing Bandido Socks *
NORCO FORZA (circa 1995) *
DNF or Dead & Fucked *
Best Presented Couple *
SPECIAL DEAL ON HRMs *
Bandido Clothing *
Bandido Rules *
Weekend Exercisers *
CLIVE MEMORIES *
ELVIS MEMORIES *
An Ode to SUPERROUBAIX *
Training Sessions *
Let’s do it
On January 27 I had the privilege to take part in the Audax Alpine Classic -appropriately described as the mother of all rides. It was 200kms with mountain passes - start at Bright, climb over Tawonga gap on the way to the top of Falls and then back to Bright before riding to Mt Buffalo. It's really tough—especially the return climb over Tawonga Gap. But it was a great day along with some 500 plus riders and the first time I had ever ridden 200kms. At least you get an idea of what it's like to ride a mountain stage of the Tour de France.
The best bit has to be the ride down Mt Buffalo - 20 kms of non stop rolling at 45 to 50 kph. A great way to finish off what is being recognised as Australia's toughest one day mass start ride. A well organised ride if anyone is interested in attending next year's event.
Steve
I first rode with The Bandidos in about July last year. I had done a little bit of cycling over the years, but mainly in triathlons and many years ago ! I hadn't ridden seriously for about 6 years, but I was convinced I should get back on the bike by Cossie who had started working with me a couple of months earlier. He had told me of this "great" group of guys (and one girl) called the Bandidos and that I should come and join in for a casual Saturday ride.
The first time I actually met some of the Bandidos was at Cossie's birthday party. Boy what an eye opener that was! Elvis - half dressed, the bikie moles, the viagra, the air guitar playing ....
Despite that encounter I still thought I would give it a go. I remember the first brisk morning I turned up with my old and much loved Berretto bike, which I had hurriedly dusted off the night before at the " Bandidio Corner". I looked around at a bunch of old guys all looking and touching each others bikes and thought " this will be easy - absolutely no problem ! "
Well someone gave the command to start and we were away. My strategy was to start at the back and just watch the pack, before I would move to the front and settle in.
Well the rest is history as they say. I started at the back and finished at the back. The Saturday ride is approximately 55k - I lasted generous total of 700m. We rolled down past Rickets Point and up the other side - before we reached the top I was lactate overdosed, struggling for air and my legs were screaming.....I managed to hold on to the top of the first rise and rolled, gasping for air and some self respect, down to the Black Rock Clock. By the time we started the small rise on the other side of the Clocktower I was shot out the back of the pack like one of those Mambo cartoons.
Well a little bit of pride, a touch of competitive spirit and some good old aussie mateship kept me peddling. Since that day, and due to the Bandidos, I have ridden over 3000 kms, completed one Bay in a Day race, and recently climbed Arthur's Seat ! I have thoroughly enjoyed every minute of riding with the Bandidos over the past 10 months - a more passionate bunch of bastards I've never met !!
Thanks Guys.
Go Hard and Ride like a Bandido !
Touchy.
Hello Bandidos, how are they hanging?
Well, well, well...! What a weekend that was, racing from Paris to Roubaix! Only one word can be used to describe what we went through: CARNAGE!
The rain hasn't stopped falling in the north of France since last November, so you can try and imagine the state of the small cobbled farm roads which traverse the fields, but you probably still couldn't believe just how muddy they were!
The organisers sent tractors and cars over the route a few days before the race to try and clean the roads up a bit, but that was going to be to no avail, because the whole night before the race it poured down once again. It was more like a mountain bike race than a World Cup road event.
I was really looking forward to the adventure, bit of a change from the normal, but unfortunately crashing was always going to be difficult thing to avoid. And not many did! On one section there must have been 20 guys go down in front of me, I was trying to see through my Oakleys, but the mud was just covering my whole body, even my teeth were covered, like I'd just hooked into a Nutella sandwich! Lovely.
Then, right in front of me, a Telekom guy went down... I had no where to go, the back wheel flew sideways and I was power sliding in the mud, and on 25mm tyres that doesn't leave you much hope to make a recovery. DOWN I went...
I smashed my knee on the head stem which kind of paralysed my right leg with pain. It was a few minutes before I could remount and continue, that was after a spectator had put my chain back on for me and gave me a hand to get going again. The spectator fixed the bike up and pushed me back into the war zone... By the time I got going again, the bunch had disintegrated into small bunches of guys spread over a few kilometres.
I caught up with a small group continued on for a while, but with another 130km to go -- and no hope of catching the front group -- there was no point continuing. We waved a car down that was behind us, piled in and got dropped off at the feed zone.
That's the last place you want to stop the race, otherwise you have to do the rest of the race with the risk of not seeing another car again, because once the team cars go past to stay with the front group,there's no one left to look after the guys who've been dropped. No spare wheels, no more food or water... nada!
It's better just to quit and get to the showers while they are still hot!
Only 50 guys made it to the end after 200 took off from the start -- not good odds.
It was just one of those races that will remain in your memory for a long time.
So now after I have finally got the mud out of my ears, I'm at home in Toulouse recovering.
I'll be here for the next three weeks while I have a break.
I have been rolling along at a steady pace since January, so now it's time for some rest and to get the body back to a healthy state before building my fitness back up for those big Tour de France sprints-- now that's what I'm looking forward to. But that's another ball game!
Well, hope you had a good Easter; I've got a delayed one, my Belgian chocolate is being consumed as I type this... Take it easy,
Stuart O'Grady
A Bandido’s guide to the real meaning of "bike talk".
by Arthur Sebastian Bandido
(It’s really someone who rides yellow wheels)
"We had a great ride on Saturday"
Translation- I thought my heart would stop and my legs would fall off
(Pick one) I was glad I held on and got to the end with the bunch
Another two years and I wont make it
I wish these guys would get less sleep on Friday
They may need to install hospital emergency facilities at the Rockpool.
"I feel so much better since I’ve been riding"
Translation- I’ve lost so much weight I’ve had to buy a whole new wardrobe
(Pick one) Between new clothes and the bike gear we can’t make our credit card payments
When my wife finishes berating me for never being around she starts at me about all the "$35" purchases. At least we’ve started talking again.
My friends think I’m a moron for insisting on being in bed at 10.00pm.
"I’m starting to get somewhere in the sprints"
Translation- I managed to glimpse the person who came third at Black Rock before they disappeared
(Pick one) around Ricketts Point
If I put a motor on the bike I could eventually keep up with Leon
I’ve broken 35km/hr twice last week
"I’m starting to look like a bike rider"
Translation- People I don’t even know are telling me off for not stopping at red lights
(Pick one) I’ve lost so much weight people at work think I have aids and my hairdresser wants to do coffee.
I buy so many disposable razors the checkout chick at Safeway has given me one of her old mini skirts; and it fits.
I’ve started reading advertisements for breakthrough depilatory products.
I’ve concluded Captain America wasn’t dressed so strangely after all.
I’ve worked out the difference between Mario Chippolini and a small breakfast sausage.
I know the rationale for five European bike brands and why Lance Armstrong doesn’t like his father.
"I’m thinking about a new bike next year"
Translation- My wife’s car now looks like four new racing bikes to me.
(Pick one) We’ve put up with the kitchen this long what’s another fifteen years?
Darling, did you see that the Commonwealth bank has fixed interest loans with no application fee?
Darling, did you see they sell their children in West Africa?
"One day I’ll ride with the Hell Ride"
Translation- When hell freezes over.
(Pick one) To Reserve Road
On Dennis’ mates’ motor bike.
Audax Australia Calendar 2001 Rides
Sunday 13 May - West Gippsland, VIC
West Gippsland Dirt Series (3)
100km - Dirt - Supported
Contact: Kevin Ware Tel: (03) 5625 1228
Brief Description: Easy terrain around the Grand Ridge Road and Mount Worth. The Completer.
Sunday 20 May - Bright, VIC
Bright, Bewitched, Bedazzled.
50/100/200km - Road - Unsupported
Contact: Peter Shennan Tel: (03) 5755 1449
Email: [email protected]
Brief Description: A late autumn tour along the picturesque valleys of north east Victoria.
Sunday 20 May - Mt Macedon, VIC
Dirt on Macedon
35km - Dirt - Supported
Contact: Andy Moore Tel: (03) 5429 1751
Email: [email protected]
Brief Description: A ride through the Macedon Ranges on dirt roads and bush tracks with some climbing and fast descents
Sunday 27 May - Werribee, VIC
Southwest Match & Mix
50/100/200km - Road - Supported
Contact: Bob Bednarz Tel: (03) 9529 8748
Email: [email protected]
Brief Description: Match the distance to your energy level and mix with like minded riders. Select from a flat 50, an undulating 100 or an exhilarating 200.
Sunday 3 June - Kinglake, VIC
A Fling in the Dirt
70km - Dirt - Unsupported
Contact: Peter Cole Tel: (03) 9576 5339
Email: [email protected]
Brief Description: This ride will open new routes for self planned adventures for Melbourne MTB'ers
Sunday 17 June - Lancefield, VIC
Lazy Legs
100km - Road - Unsupported
Contact: Andy Moore Tel: (03) 5429 1751
Email: [email protected]
Brief Description: Mostly quiet and scenic country roads, country towns in the centre of Victoria, Specially designed to get you on your bike for some easy winter riding.
Saturday 23 June - Ferntree Gully, VIC
Marysville Meander
200km - Road - Supported
Contact: Bob Bednarz Tel: (03) 9529 8748
Email: [email protected]
Brief Description: Climb the Black Spur after a warm up in the Dandenongs.
Sunday 8 July - Wandong, VIC
Wandong Winter Wander
50/100/200km - Road - Supported
Contact: Lorraine Allen Tel: (03) 5783 2427
Email: [email protected]
Brief Description: North to the hills and plains with a tingle in the air-Bonza! A huge turnout for this popular and well organised ride.
Skiddy Meets the Wankers
(And becomes one)
It’s been almost 12 months since I became aware of "the Bandidos". I started back on the comeback trail September 1999 when one of my cycling heroes invited me to join him for a ride one Saturday morning.
Daryl Perkins was a senior (over 18) when I was 15 and we met on my first trip to the Aussie titles in 1966. Daryl went on to become a track Australian sprint & time trial champion with trips to the Olympics, Commonwealth Games and World Titles.
He then spent several years living in Belgium.
I was fortunate to meet many other stars of the era, two went on to become World Champions for Australia, being Gordon Johnson & John Nicholson. "Nicko" was sponsored by Shimano after the Worlds. I remember John as being a little eccentric in the late 60s.
Nicko devised a way to attach his shoes directly to his pedals. He would come to the starting line in his socks, slip into his shoes and lace them up while sitting on the bike.
When Nicko offered the idea to his sponsor, it was rejected.
Getting back to those early days, my first cycling competition was racing my mates (about 10 to 12 years old) around the block in time trials aided by our bedroom alarm clock.
In 1963 we became aware of the Schoolboy’s Cycling Championships, (a chauvinistic era) an era of girls playing netball and other typical girl stuff.
I rode these with some success and then a fellow student invited me to joined his cycling club. Well I rode a few road races as spring was drawing near and I thought this was OK but not immediately excited about it too much.
Then the road season came to an end and the track season began. This was whole new ballgame. This was fast, exciting and dangerous but thrilling.
I enjoyed the speed, the tactics and the close riding, the flow of the track, each one having a characteristic of its own.
It wasn’t until about this time that I became fully aware of the previous family involvement in the sport. I knew that there was some family history, but as a teenager I had my own world to keep me amused. Those "round the block" time trials were on scrounged bikes, but when I started "real racing" my father pulled down his old Healing track bike that had been sitting in the rafters of our garage. He attached a pair of real racing wheels to the frame. These wheels were singles, tyres with sewn in tubes and stuck to the rims with glue.
The rims were made of split cane, wheels that my father rode before his retirement prior to WWII as a 17 year old.
He raced with a couple of other kids, Ken Stewart (Elvis bought his track bike from him) and Les O’Mara (Jai’s grandfather).
At 15 years of age a group of Sub-Junior (under 16) cyclists were invited to try out at the Olympic Velodrome. The track was built for the 1956 Olympic Games but had been remodeled to 250 metres and the concrete coating over the timber base was taken off. The timber boards ran vertically creating a rumble as the cyclists rode across them. When arriving at the track, one could not be impressed by the sound of the boards.
We were given our first opportunity as support events for the big guys, local, national & international cycling pros. It was great, we were known as the "Melbourne Midgets". Most of the guys grew except me!
Cycling took me from 1963 to around 1985 before I retired. As mentioned earlier, Daryl invited me out and I got the bug again.
Starting with shorter rides and I began to meet other more challenging groups until when one morning I heard this voice say, "G’day Leon".
It was a past customer of mine in the Hamster,. What a small world.
I found myself meeting this group of enthusiastic, but hairy legged riders on several occasions, initially resisting their invitations to ride more regularly with them. (After all, I was a serious cyclist).
After a while, due to the often chance meeting, I discovered these guys weren’t too bad in their form and bike handling skills. They had strange nick-names but that added to the charisma. They even asked me to join them for Mugacino, well that clinched it….Love that cuppa.
I remember sitting at the Rockpool and one Bandido (Nuggetty Phil I think) rider asking what the "serious cyclists" thought of the Bandidos. I answered "seriously! They think you’re a bunch of Wankers." This was greeted with much laughter and I thought, this is the group that I want to spend some time with. Why, because they know how to have fun, they talk to anyone and they stop at red lights.
I’ve even taken pride in wearing my Bandido colors to the point of racing in them. Recently I rode the Vic & Aussie masters in my Bandido socks just for good luck.
With Trevsy, Ricardo & Elvis taking out racing licenses, I can see more of you indulging in the thrill of this great sport as racers.
It’s been a great experience, one which I hope we will enjoy for many more years to come.
Skiddy
CYCLING BOOKS available from the Technical Book Shop
Serious Cycling—Edmund R. Burke
Human Kinetics
Cycling Past 50—Joe Friel
Human Kinetics
Lance Armstrong Performance Program
Lance Armstrong & Chris Carmichael
Rosedale
It’s Not About the Bike—Lance Armstrong
Allen Unwin
Inside the Cyclist—Ed Burke
Velonews
Training Techniques for Cyclists—Ed Pavelka
Bicycling Magazine
Road Racing Skills—Ed Pavelka
Bicycling Magazine
Road Racing Technique & Training—Bernard Hinault
Velonews
TRACK
Vodafone Arena (New velodrome): Sprint, Scratch, Pursuit and Track Time Trial
ROAD
Ballan Road,Wyndham (Werribee): Road Time Trial
Docklands (Melbourne): Criterium
Domain Gardens (Melbourne): Road Race
MOUNTAIN BIKE
Officer: Cross Country
(Officer is 45 minutes south east of Melbourne)
PROPOSED PROGRAM
Saturday 5 October
Criterium
Sunday 6 October
Mountain Bike Cross Country
Monday 7 October
Track Day 1
Tuesday 8 October
Track Day 2
Wednesday 9 October
Track Day 3
Friday 11 October
Road Time Trial
Saturday 12 October
Road Race
AGE CATEGORIES*
Men:
30-34, 35-49, 40-44, 45-49, 50-54, 55-59, 60-64, 65-69, 70-74, 75-79, 80-84, 85-89, 90+
Women:
30-39, 40-49, 50-59, 60-69, 70-79, 80-89, 90+
*Age determined as at 31 December 2002.
For Details contact Leon or check the Web
WORLD MASTERS GAMES –Melbourne
October 5-13, 2002
A chapter from Lance Armstrong’s Book & his life
Before and After—Chapter 1
I want to die at a hundred years old with an American flag on my back and the star of Texas on my helmet, after screaming down an Alpine descent on a bicycle at 75 miles per hour. I want to cross one last finish line as my stud wife and my ten children applaud, and then I want to lie down in a field of those famous French sunflowers and gracefully expire, the perfect contradiction to my once-anticipated poignant early demise.
A slow death is not for me. I don't do anything slow, not even breathe. I do everything at a fast cadence: eat fast, sleep fast. It makes me crazy when my wife, Kristin, drives our car, because she brakes at all the yellow caution lights, while I squirm impatiently in the passenger seat. "Come on, don't be a skirt," I tell her. "Lance," she says, "marry a man."
I've spent my life racing my bike, from the back roads of Austin, Texas to the Champs-Elysees, and I always figured if I died an untimely death, it would be because some rancher in his Dodge 4X4 ran me headfirst into a ditch. Believe me, it could happen. Cyclists fight an ongoing war with guys in big trucks, and so many vehicles have hit me, so many times, in so many countries, I've lost count. I've learned how to take out my own stitches: all you need is a pair of fingernail clippers and a strong stomach.
If you saw my body underneath my racing jersey, you'd know what I'm talking about. I've got marbled scars on both arms and discolored marks up and down my legs, which I keep clean-shaven. Maybe that's why trucks are always trying to run me over; they see my sissy-boy calves and decide not to brake. But cyclists have to shave, because when the gravel gets into your skin, it's easier to clean and bandage if you have no hair.
One minute you're pedaling along a highway, and the next minute, boom, you're face-down in the dirt. A blast of hot air hits you, you taste the acrid, oily exhaust in the roof of your mouth, and all you can do is wave a fist at the disappearing taillights. Cancer was like that. It was like being run off the road by a truck, and I've got the scars to prove it. There's a puckered wound in my upper chest just above my heart, which is where the catheter was implanted. A surgical line runs from the right side of my groin into my upper thigh, where they cut out my testicle. But the real prizes are two deep half-moons in my scalp, as if I was kicked twice in the head by a horse. Those are the leftovers from brain surgery.
When I was 25, I got testicular cancer and nearly died. I was given less than a 40 percent chance of surviving, and frankly, some of my doctors were just being kind when they gave me those odds. Death is not exactly cocktail-party conversation, I know, and neither is cancer, or brain surgery, or matters below the waist. But I'm not here to make polite conversation. I want to tell the truth. I'm sure you'd like to hear about how Lance Armstrong became a Great American and an Inspiration To Us All, how he won the Tour de France, the 2,290-mile road race that's considered the single most grueling sporting event on the face of the earth. You want to hear about faith and mystery, and my miraculous comeback, and how I joined towering figures like Greg LeMond and Miguel Indurain in the record book.
You want to hear about my lyrical climb through the Alps and my heroic conquering of the Pyrenees, and how it felt. But the Tour was the least of the story.
Some of it is not easy to tell or comfortable to hear. I'm asking you now, at the outset, to put aside your ideas about heroes and miracles, because I'm not storybook material. This is not Disneyland, or Hollywood. I'll give you an example: I've read that I flew up the hills and mountains of France. But you don't fly up a hill. You struggle slowly and painfully up a hill, and maybe, if you work very hard, you get to the top ahead of everybody else.
Cancer is like that, too. Good, strong people get cancer, and they do all the right things to beat it, and they still die. That is the essential truth that you learn. People die. And after you learn it, all other matters seem irrelevant. They just seem small.
I don't know why I'm still alive. I can only guess. I have a tough constitution, and my profession taught me how to compete against long odds and big obstacles. I like to train hard and I like to race hard. That helped, it was a good start, but it certainly wasn't the determining factor. I can't help feeling that my survival was more a matter of blind luck.
When I was 16, I was invited to undergo testing at a place in Dallas called the Cooper Clinic, a prestigious research lab and birthplace of the aerobic exercise revolution. A doctor there measured my VO2 max, which is a gauge of how much oxygen you can take in and use, and he says that my numbers are still the highest they've ever come across. Also, I produced less lactic acid than most people. Lactic acid is the chemical your body generates when it’s winded and fatigued--it's what makes your lungs burn and your legs ache.
Basically, I can endure more physical stress than most people can, and I don't get as tired while I'm doing it. So I figure maybe that helped me live. I was lucky--I was born with an above-average capacity for breathing. But even so, I was in a desperate, sick fog much of the time.
My illness was humbling and starkly revealing, and it forced me to survey my life with an unforgiving eye. There are some shameful episodes in it: instances of meanness, unfinished tasks, weakness, and regrets. I had to ask myself, "If I live, who is it that I intend to be?" I found that I had a lot of growing to do as a man.
I won't kid you. There are two Lance Armstrongs, pre-cancer, and post. Everybody's favorite question is "How did cancer change you?" The real question is how didn't it change me? I left my house on October 2, 1996, as one person and came home another. I was a world-class athlete with a mansion on a riverbank, keys to a Porsche, and a self-made fortune in the bank. I was one of the top riders in the world and my career was moving along a perfect arc of success. I returned a different person, literally. In a way, the old me did die, and I was given a second life. Even my body is different, because during the chemotherapy I lost all the muscle I had ever built up, and when I recovered, it didn't come back in the same way.
The truth is that cancer was the best thing that ever happened to me. I don't know why I got the illness, but it did wonders for me, and I wouldn't want to walk away from it. Why would I want to change, even for a day, the most important and shaping event in my life? People die. That truth is so disheartening that at times I can't bear to articulate it. Why should we go on, you might ask? Why don't we all just stop and lie down where we are? But there is another truth, too. People live. It's an equal and opposing truth. People live, and in the most remarkable ways. When I was sick, I saw more beauty and triumph and truth in a single day than I ever did in a bike race--but they were human moments, not miraculous ones. I met a guy in a fraying sweat suit who turned out to be a brilliant surgeon. I became friends with a harassed and overscheduled nurse named LaTrice, who gave me such care that it could only be the result of the deepest sympathetic affinity. I saw children with no eyelashes or eyebrows, their hair burned away by chemo, who fought with the hearts of Indurains.
I still don't completely understand it.
All I can do is tell you what happened. Of course, I should have known that something was wrong with me. But athletes, especially cyclists, are in the business of denial. You deny all the aches and pains because you have in order to finish the race. It's a sport of self-abuse. You're on your bike for the whole day, six and seven hours, in all kinds of weather and conditions, over cobblestones and gravel, in mud and wind and rain, and even hail, and you do not give in to pain.
Everything hurts. Your back hurts, your feet hurt, your hands hurt, your neck hurts, your legs hurt, and of course, your butt hurts.
So no, I didn't pay attention to the fact that I didn't feel well in 1996. When my right testicle became slightly swollen that winter, I told myself to live with it, because I assumed it was something I had done to myself on the bike, or that my system was compensating for some physiological male thing. I was riding strong, as well as I ever had, actually, and there was no reason to stop.
Cycling is a sport that rewards mature champions. It takes a physical endurance built up over years, and a head for strategy that comes only with experience. By 1996 I felt I was finally coming into my prime. That spring, I won a race called the Fleche-Wallonne, a grueling test through the Ardennes that no American had ever conquered before. I finished second in Liege-Bastogne-Liege, a classic race of 167 miles in a single punishing day. And I won the Tour Du Pont, 1,225 miles over 12 days through the Carolina mountains. I added five more second-place finishes to those results, and I was about to break into the top five in the international rankings for the first time in my career.
But cycling fans noted something odd when I won the Tour Du Pont: usually, when I won a race, I pumped my fists like pistons as I crossed the finish line. But on that day, I was too exhausted to celebrate on the bike. My eyes were bloodshot and my face was flushed.
I should have been confident and energized by my spring performances. Instead, I was just tired. My nipples were sore. If I had known better, I would have realized it was a sign of illness. It meant I had an elevated level of HCG, which is a hormone normally produced by pregnant women. Men don't have but a tiny amount of it, unless their testes are acting up.
I thought I was just run down. Suck it up, I said to myself, you can't afford to be tired.
Ahead of me I still had the two most important races of the season: the Tour de France and the Olympic Games in Atlanta, and they were everything I had been training and racing for.
I dropped out of the Tour de France after just five days. I rode through a rainstorm, and developed a sore throat and bronchitis. I was coughing and had lower-back pain, and I was simply unable to get back on the bike. "I couldn't breathe," I told the press. Looking back, they were ominous words.
In Atlanta, my body gave out again. I was 6th in the time trial and 12th in the road race, respectable performances overall, but disappointing given my high expectations.
Back home in Austin, I told myself it was the flu. I was sleeping a lot, with a low-grade achy drowsy feeling. I ignored it. I wrote it off to a long hard season.
I celebrated my 25th birthday on September 18, and a couple of nights later I invited a houseful of friends over for a party before a Jimmy Buffett concert, and we rented a margarita machine. My mother Linda came over to visit from Plano, and in the midst of the party that night, I said to her, "I'm the happiest man in the world." I loved my life. I was dating a beautiful co-ed from the University of Texas named Lisa Shiels. I had just signed a new two-year contract with a prestigious French racing team, Cofidis, for $2.5 million. I had a great new house that I had spent months building, and every detail of the architectural and interior designs was exactly what I wanted. It was a Mediterranean-style home on the banks of Lake Austin, with soaring glass windows that looked out on a swimming pool and a piazza-style patio that ran down to the dock, where I had my own jet ski and powerboat moored.
Only one thing spoiled the evening: in the middle of the concert, I felt a headache coming on.
It started as a dull pounding. I popped some aspirin. It didn't help. In fact, the pain got worse.
I tried ibuprofen. Now I had four tablets in me, but the headache only spread. I decided it was a case of way too many margaritas, and told myself I would never, ever drink another one. My friend and agent attorney, Bill Stapleton, bummed some migraine medication from his wife, Laura, who had a bottle in her purse. I took three. That didn't work either.
By now it was the kind of headache you see in movies, a knee-buckling, head-between-your-hands, brain-crusher.
Finally, I gave up and went home. I turned out all the lights and lay on the sofa, perfectly still.
The pain never subsided, but I was so exhausted by it, and by all the tequila, that I eventually fell asleep. When I woke up the next morning, the headache was gone. As I moved around the kitchen making coffee, I realized that my vision was a little blurry. The edges of things seemed soft. I must be getting old, I thought. Maybe I need glasses.
I had an excuse for everything. A couple of days later, I was in my living room on the phone with Bill Stapleton when I had a bad coughing attack. I gagged, and tasted something metallic and brackish in the back of my throat. "Hang on a minute," I said. "Something's not right here." I rushed into the bathroom. I coughed into the sink.
It splattered with blood. I stared into the sink. I coughed again, and spit up another stream of red. I couldn't believe that the mass of blood and clotted matter had" come from my own body. Frightened, I went back into the living room and picked up the phone. "Bill, I have to call you back," I said. I clicked off, and immediately dialed my neighbor, Dr. Rick Parker, a good friend who was my personal physician in Austin. Rick lived just down the hill from me. "Could you come over?" I said. "I'm coughing up blood."
While Rick was on his way, I went back into the bathroom and eyed the bloody residue in the sink. Suddenly, I turned on the faucet. I wanted to rinse it out. Sometimes I do things without knowing my own motives. I didn't want Rick to see it. I was embarrassed by it. I wanted it to go away.
Rick arrived, and checked my nose and mouth. He shined a light down my throat, and asked to see the blood. I showed him the little bit that was left in the sink. Oh, God, I thought, I can't tell him how much it was, it's too disgusting. What was left didn't look like very much.
Rick was used to hearing me complain about my sinuses and allergies. Austin has a lot of ragweed and pollen, and no matter how tortured I am, I can't take medication because of the strict doping regulations in cycling. I have to suffer through it. "You could be bleeding from your sinuses," Rick said. "You may have cracked one." "Great," I said. "So it's no big deal." I was so relieved, I jumped at the first suggestion that it wasn't serious, and left it at that. Rick clicked off his flashlight, and on his way out the door he invited me to have dinner with him and his wife, Jenny, the following week.
A few nights later, I cruised down the hill to the Parkers' on a motor scooter. I have a thing for motorized toys, and the scooter was one of my favorites. But that night, I was so sore in my right testicle that it killed me to sit on the scooter. I couldn't get comfortable at the dinner table, either. I had to situate myself just right, and I didn't dare move, it was so painful.
I almost told Rick how I felt, but I was too self-conscious. It hardly seemed like something to bring up over dinner, and I had already bothered him once about the blood. This guy is going to think I'm some kind of complainer, I thought. I kept it to myself.
When I woke up the next morning, my testicle was horrendously swollen, almost to the size of an orange. I pulled on my clothes, got my bike from the rack in the garage, and started off on my usual training ride, but I found I couldn't even sit on the seat. I rode the whole way standing up on the pedals. When I got back home in the early afternoon, I reluctantly dialed the Parkers again.
"Rick, I've got something wrong with my testicle," I said. "It's real swollen and I had to stand up on the ride."
Rick said, sternly, "You need to get that checked out right away."
He insisted that he would get me in to see a specialist that afternoon. We hung up, and he called Dr. Jim Reeves, a prominent Austin urologist. As soon as Rick explained my symptoms, Reeves said I should come in immediately. He would hold an appointment open.
Rick told me that Reeves suspected I merely had a torsion of the testicle, but that I should go in and get checked. If I ignored it, I could lose the testicle.
I showered and dressed, and grabbed my keys and got into my Porsche, and it's funny, but I can remember exactly what I wore: khaki pants and a green dress shirt. Reeves' office was in the heart of downtown, near the University of Texas campus in a plain-looking brown brick medical building.
Reeves turned out to be an older gentleman with a deep, resonating voice that sounded like it came from the bottom of a well, and a doctorly way of making everything seem routine--despite the fact that he was seriously alarmed by what he found as he examined me.
My testicle was enlarged to three times its normal size, and it was hard and painful to the touch.
Reeves made some notes, and then he said, "This looks a little suspicious. Just to be safe, I'm going to send you across the street for an ultrasound."
I got my clothes back on and walked to my car. The lab was across an avenue in another institutional-looking brown brick building, and I decided to drive over. Inside was a small warren of offices and rooms filled with complicated medical equipment. I lay down on another examining table.
A female technician came in and went over me with the ultrasound equipment, a wand-like instrument that fed an image onto a screen. I figured I'd be out of there in a few minutes. Just a routine check so the doctor could be on the safe side.
An hour later, I was still on the table.
The technician seemed to be surveying every inch of me. I lay there, wordlessly, trying not to be self-conscious. Why was this taking so long? Had she found something?
Finally, she laid down the wand. Without a word, she left the room.
"Wait a minute," I said. "Hey." I thought, It's supposed to be a lousy formality. After a while, she returned with a man I had seen in the office earlier. He was the chief radiologist. He picked up the wand and began to examine my parts himself. I lay there silently as he went over me for another 15 minutes. Why is this taking so long?
"Okay, you can get dressed and come back out," he said.
I hustled into my clothes and met him in the hallway.
"We need to take a chest X ray," he said. I stared at him. "Why?" I said. "Dr. Reeves asked for one," he said. Why would they look at my chest? Nothing hurt there. I went into another examining room and took off my clothes again, and a new technician went through the X-ray process.
I was getting angry now, and scared. I dressed again, and stalked back into the main office.
Down the hallway, I saw the chief radiologist. "Hey," I said, cornering the guy. "What's going on here? This isn't normal." "Dr. Reeves should talk to you," he said. "No. I want to know what's going on."
"Well, I don't want to step on Dr. Reeves' toes, but it looks like perhaps he's checking you for some cancer-related activity." I stood perfectly still.
"Oh, fuck," I said.
"You need to take the X rays back to Dr. Reeves; he's waiting for you in his office."
There was an icy feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it was growing. I took out my cell phone and dialed Rick's number.
"Rick, something's going on here, and they aren't telling me everything."
"Lance, I don't know exactly what's happening, but I'd like to go with you to see Dr. Reeves.
Why don't I meet you there?" I said, "Okay."
I waited in radiology while they prepared my X rays, and the radiologist finally came out and handed me a large brown envelope. He told me Reeves would see me in his office. I stared at the envelope. My chest was in there, I realized.
This is bad. I climbed into my car and glanced down at the envelope containing my chest X rays. Reeves' office was just 200 yards away, but it felt longer than that. It felt like two miles. Or 20.
I drove the short distance and parked. By now it was dark and well past normal office hours.
If Dr. Reeves had waited for me all this time, there must be a good reason, I thought. And the reason is that the shit is about to hit the fan.
As I walked into Dr. Reeves' office, I noticed that the building was empty. Everyone was gone. It was dark outside.
Rick arrived, looking grim. I hunched down in a chair while Dr. Reeves opened the envelope and pulled out my X rays. An X ray is something like a photo negative: abnormalities come out white. A black image is actually good, because it means your organs are clear. Black is good. White is bad.
Dr. Reeves snapped my X rays onto a light tray in the wall. My chest looked like a snowstorm.
"Well, this is a serious situation," Dr. Reeves said. "It looks like testicular cancer with large metastasis to the lungs."
I have cancer. "Are you sure?" I said.
"I'm fairly sure," Dr. Reeves said. I'm 25. Why would I have cancer?
"Shouldn't I get a second opinion?" I said.
"Of course," Dr. Reeves said. "You have every right to do that. But I should tell you I'm confident of the diagnosis. I've scheduled you for surgery tomorrow morning at 7 a.m., to remove the testicle." I have cancer and it's in my lungs.
Dr. Reeves elaborated on his diagnosis: testicular cancer was a rare disease--only about 7,000 cases occur annually in the U.S. It tended to strike men between the ages of 18 and 25 and was considered very treatable as cancers go, thanks to advances in chemotherapy, but early diagnosis and intervention were key. Dr. Reeves was certain I had the cancer. The question was, exactly how far had it spread? He recommended that I see Dr. Dudley Youman, a renowned Austin-based oncologist. Speed was essential; every day would count.
Finally, Dr. Reeves finished. I didn't say anything.
"Why don't I leave the two of you together for a minute," Dr. Reeves said.
Alone with Rick, I laid my head down on the desk. "I just can't believe this," I said. But I had to admit it, I was sick. The headaches, the coughing blood, the septic throat, passing out on the couch and sleeping forever. I'd had a real sick feeling, and I'd had it for a while.
"Lance, listen to me, there's been so much improvement in the treatment of cancer. It's curable. Whatever it takes, we'll get it whipped. We'll get it done."
"Okay," I said. "Okay."
Rick called Dr. Reeves back in. "What do I have to do?" I asked. "Let's get on with it. Let's kill this stuff. Whatever it takes, let's do it."
I wanted to cure it instantly. Right away. I would have undergone surgery that night. I would have used a radiation gun on myself, if it would help. But Reeves patiently explained the procedure for the next morning: I would have to report to the hospital early for a battery of tests and blood work so the oncologist could determine the extent of the cancer, and then I would have surgery to remove my testicle. I got up to leave. I had a lot of calls to make, and one of them was to my mother; somehow, I'd have to tell her that her only child had cancer.
I climbed into my car and made my way along the winding, tree-lined streets toward my home on the riverbank, and for the first time in my life, I drove slowly. I was in shock. Oh, my God, I'll never be able to race again. Not, Oh, my God, I'll die. Not, Oh, my God, I'll never have a family. Those thoughts were buried somewhere down in the confusion. But the first thing was, Oh, my God, I'll never race again. I picked up my car phone and called Bill Stapleton.
"Bill, I have some really bad news," I said.
"What?" he said, preoccupied. "I'm sick. My career's over." "What?" "It's all over. I'm sick, I'm never going to race again, and I'm going to lose everything."
I hung up. I drifted through the streets in first gear, without even the energy to press the gas pedal. As I puttered along, I questioned everything: my world, my profession, my self. I had left the house an indestructible 25-year-old, bulletproof. Cancer would change everything for me, I realized; it wouldn't just derail my career, it would deprive me of my entire definition of who I was. I had started with nothing. My mother was a secretary in Plano, Texas, but on my bike, I had become something. When other kids were swimming at the country club, I was biking for miles after school, because it was my chance. There were gallons of sweat all over every trophy and dollar I had ever earned, and now what would I do? Who would I be if I wasn't Lance Armstrong, world-class cyclist?
A sick person.
I pulled into the driveway of my house. Inside, the phone was ringing. I walked through the door and tossed my keys on the counter. The phone kept ringing. I picked it up. It was my friend Scott MacEachern, a representative from Nike assigned to work with me.
"Hey, Lance, what's going on?"
"Well, a lot," I said, angrily. "A lot is going on."
"What do you mean?" "I, uh."
I hadn't said it aloud yet.
"What?" Scott said. I opened my mouth, and closed it, and opened it again. "I have cancer," I said. I started to cry. And then, in that moment, it occurred to me: I might lose my life, too. Not just my sport.
I could lose my life…
Reprinted from It's Not About the Bike by Lance Armstrong by permission of Putnam Pub. Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc. Copyright (c) 2000 by Lance Armstrong.
NO MORE FAT ELVIS SUITS FOR ME!!
With apologies to Elvis Bandido
Thought I'd let you know I tried the diet - I read about it on LA.com January 10 and decided it was finally time to shed the extra pounds. I'd never stopped cycling, but I was spending less time on the bike - and my eating habits stayed the same (i.e. I ate like a 16 year old).
At 198 lbs (6 feet tall, 33 years old) I had started to feel a bit like a poser - when I went into bike shops, I could see the salespeople look at me with that "Oh sure, you're a serious cyclist..." look. I was solid physically and people tell me they never thought I was overweight - I think I just "wore it well"...
The diet truly is common sense: burn more than you consume and you'll lose weight. And after spending many hours in the gym - plus counting calories, I have cut myself down to 163 lbs. between January 10 and April 24, and I'd like to share a few thoughts on the plan...
1. Although I didn't want to believe it, running deficits of more than 1000 calories a day doesn't work for very long. I ignored this fact and watched my metabolism shut down, rapidly. Restricting your calories too dramatically sends the message to your body that you're starving and it reacts accordingly - your BMR drops. I was cold (which is unusual for me) - and crabby.
I won't lie about the discipline required - it was pretty tough during some points, but a cycling background helps. When I plateaued at 180, I realized I couldn't cut back any more on the calories, so I did what most cyclists do when they plateau: ramped up the intensity to get to the next level. I started exercising more and finally broke through 180, then 175 and 170.
The other thing that I made sure not to do was get distracted by other diets when I plateaued. I started thinking maybe I should use more protein, maybe I should restrict carbs... I came to the decision that I had to stick with the plan (at that point I was down about 20 lbs) and not tinker too much (I hadn't cut anything out of my diet - I still ate chocolate, pizza, food with sugar, Coke, etc.).
The beauty of this plan is you can eat whatever you want but it will invariably force you to eat better - e.g. Do I want to eat a 400 calorie muffin which will be gone in 60 seconds or have 2 apples, an orange, and a chocolate chip cookie? I almost always chose to eat more food which was lower in calories rather than a big ticket item like fries or chips. But if I'd banked the calories (i.e. if I was running a big deficit) I'd then get to eat the big ticket item (one night for dinner last week I ate 3/4 of a large pizza and was still down on calories - A VERY GOOD DAY!).
2. If you ignore para #1, you'll also start burning lean body mass and not fat - in mid March, people started telling me I looked like I'd been in a concentration camp. I had to agree - I started consuming more protein and lifted weights every second day. This mass came back pretty quickly, and I have to admit it was nice to have to worry about gaining weight and not losing it. I've been out for a few weeks now on the bike and can't believe how good it feels (I live in Canada, and the snow finally left at the end of March!) I look forward to the hills this year (for a change).
Despite the couple of "bumps" in the dieting road, it only took a couple of tweaks to get things right.
I figure that I'm now expending about 4000 calories a day, and I'm consuming about 3500 - in fact I'm actually eating more now than I did before when I weighed around 200! I was reading the latest Bicycling Magazine with the LA interview and I was glad he confirmed my biggest dilemna - no one really knows how many calories they burn during exercise (I think his estimates are a little low, but then again I've never won the Tour de France...).
Finally, it's amazing the amount of resistance I encountered from co-workers (but my friends and family were supportive). The initial reaction was that this was a fad diet (which of course is stupid, it probably makes the most sense of any plan I've heard of - Burn more than you consume and you'll lose weight), and then that I would inevitably put all the weight back on, that I'd lost too much, etc. Most of the criticism I noted came from people who were also overweight. Misery loves company I guess - sort of like Darth Vader calling me back to the dark side of the Force!
Thanks for reinforcing what I'm pretty sure I already knew. It's great to be back at my old riding weight, and I don't plan on going back to 198 again. If I have any cash left over after replacing all my fat clothes (four inches gone off the waist), I'm thinking about replacing my Cannondale with a Trek 5200. Maybe then I'll give Lance a run for his money!
Thanks again, Carl K.
"The Little Green Book" eating plan
How to Sprint Faster and Climb Harder
Power Start
Goal: Increase muscular power to the pedals
Where: Relatively flat road
How: To begin, roll at a very low speed in a high gear, almost at a standstill. Then jump out of the saddle, pushing down on the pedals as hard as possible at maximum effort. Pull on the handlebar for leverage, tilting the bike slightly back and forth to position your body over each pedal as you drive it downward. This is an anaerobic workout and your heart rate will not have time to fully respond.
Sample Workout
Total Time: 60 minutes (in Zone 2 between workouts)
Effort: 5 Power Starts of 10-12 seconds each
Recovery: 3-5 minutes between efforts
Fast Pedal
Goal: Improve your body position and pedal stroke during high-speed spinning
Where: As flat a section of road as possible
How: Pick an easy gear (your granny gear is ideal). Begin by slowly increasing your pedal speed, starting with 15-16 revolutions per 10-second count (which translates to about 90-96 rpm). While staying in the saddle, increase your pedal speed. Keep your hips smooth, with no bouncing or rocking.
Concentrate on pulling through the bottom of the pedal stroke and over the top.
Take 2 minutes to build cadence to 18-20 pedal revolutions per 10-second count (108-120 rpm), where you'll stay for the rest of the effort. Your heart rate will climb during this workout, but don't use it to judge your training intensity. It's important to maintain cadence--ride the entire length of the workout with as few interruptions as possible.
Sample Workout
Total Time: 45 minutes (in Zone 2 between workouts)
Effort: Do a 15-minute Fast Pedal workout in the middle of the ride
Steady State Interval
Goal: Increase your lactate threshold
Where: Any relatively uninterrupted road
How: Terrain doesn't matter--long, steady climb, rolling hills, flat road--as long as you stay in Zone 4. It's important to ride and maintain the prescribed training intensity for the entire interval. Pedal cadence is flexible--while climbing stay within 70-80 rpm; on flat terrain, 85-95 rpm.
Sample Workout
Total Time: 75 minutes (in Zone 2 between workouts)
Effort: 2 intervals of 20 minutes each in Zone 4
Recovery: 15 minutes between efforts
Descending Intervals
Goal: Increase anaerobic power, lactate threshold and repeatability during short, intense efforts
Where: Stationary trainer or flat road
How: Gearing should be moderate, but pedal cadence must be 110 rpm or more during each interval. Attack each interval as hard as possible. Jump out of the saddle and continue to build speed as the interval continues. If you have to, shift into a lighter gear to maintain the cadence, but don't let the intensity drop. Your heart rate will remain extremely high and you will train your muscles for high power and repeatability. Each interval is shorter than the one before it, but by design, the recovery time between efforts is limited--you won't fully recover between intervals. Heart rate intensity is not prescribed because each interval is at maximum effort.
Sample Workout
Total Time: 75 minutes (in Zone 2 between intervals)
Effort: 2 sets of 4 intervals: 120 seconds max effort, 120 seconds of recovery 90 seconds max effort, 90 seconds of recovery 60 seconds max effort, 60 seconds recovery 30 seconds max effort, 30 seconds recovery
Recovery: 5 minutes between sets
Speed Intervals
Goal: Improve your lactate threshold and develop repeatability in sprints
Where: Flat road with a slight tailwind or gradual downhill to enhance your top speed
How: Gear choice should be moderate, but pedal cadence must be 110 rpm or more.
Speed, power and acceleration are the key elements, not heart rate. This workout builds up high levels of thigh-burning lactic acid, training your body to tolerate and dissipate it more efficiently. If you have to, shift into a lighter gear to maintain the cadence, but don't let the intensity of the interval drop. Keeping your cadence up will train your body to adapt to high-speed efforts. Spin easily to recover from each interval.
Caution: Speed training is stressful on the body and must be performed with recovery in mind. During those weeks you perform speed intervals, reduce your overall training hours.
Sample Workout
Total Time: 75 minutes (in Zone 2 between workouts)
Effort: 8 intervals of 40 seconds in Zone 5
Recovery: 45 seconds between intervals
Muscle Tension Intervals
Goal: Develop cycling-specific strength for climbing
Where: Long, moderate (5-8%) climb
How: Pedal cadence must be low (50-55 rpm) and the heart rate intensity is not important.
Use large gears (53x12 to 53x15) to produce low cadence and high muscle tension. This recruits fast-twitch muscle fibers, primarily in your quadriceps (thigh muscles), which are important during intense climbing efforts. Take great care to use correct form during these intervals. You'll need strong concentration to keep your upper body motionless and relaxed and your pedal stroke fluid and circular while you're mashing such big gears.
Sample Workout
Total Time: 60 minutes (in Zone 2 between workouts)
Effort: 2 intervals of 8 minutes each in Zone 5
Recovery: 10 minutes between intervals
Hill Sprints
Goal: Increase power for uphill accelerations
Where: Flat road leading into a steep uphill
How: Roll along at a moderate speed (15-20
mph) in a moderate to light gear. As you hit the hill, jump out of the saddle, stomping on the pedals as hard as possible. The resistance will increase as you head up the hill. You must stay out of the saddle for the entire sprint, which will increase the stress on your lower back, butt muscles and triceps. Focus on holding top speed for the entire length of the interval. These sprints should be 8-12 seconds long, and full recovery between sprints is important to ensure a quality interval. Normally, 10-20 minutes between intervals is enough.
Sample Workout Total Time: 45 minutes (in Zone 2 between workouts)
Effort: 3 Hill Sprints of 8-12 seconds at max effort
Recovery: as much time as needed for full recovery between sprints
Hill Accelerations
Goal: Build power and climbing speed at your lactate threshold
Where: Long, moderate climb
How: Begin the climb slowly. When you reach the last 500 yards of the climb, gradually increase your speed. Time it so that you are nearly at your maximum heart rate during the last few yards of the hill. Then attack out of the saddle with a maximum but controlled effort.
Sample Workout
Total Time: 120 minutes (in Zone 2 between workouts)
Effort: 2 Hill Accelerations
Recovery: as much time as needed for full recovery between efforts
Speed Accelerations
Goal: Simulate the acceleration demands of a group ride or race
Where: Flat road with a tailwind, or stationary trainer
How: This workout is composed of sets of sprints in a progressively higher gear. While rolling along at a pace below 15 mph, jump up out of the saddle. Use your arms to leverage the handlebar. Focus on pulling up on the pedals with your hamstrings. You'll spin the gear out quickly, but don't shift--return to the saddle and focus on maintaining high pedal speed. Your upper body and hips should be smooth and steady. Keep your head up as you drive to the end of the sprint.
This workout simulates the gradually increasing speeds of a road race or competitive group ride. By increasing your gearing for each sprint, you are also upping the resistance for each sprint--and gaining greater power output.
Sample Workout Total Time: 75 minutes (in Zone 2 between workouts)
Effort: 3 sets of 3 intervals of 15 seconds each, using this gearing progression:
Sprint 1: 42x17 or 16
Sprint 2: 52x17 or 16
Sprint 3: 52x15 or 14
Recovery: 3-5 minutes between sprints; full recovery between sets
Excerpted from The Lance Armstrong Performance Program: 7 Weeks to the Perfect Ride ($23, Rodale Books; available at lancearmstrongprogram.com)
I RACED THE AUSSIE MASTERS
APR 28: US POSTAL
ARMSTRONG SECOND AT AMSTEL GOLD RACE
The United States Postal Service Pro Cycling Team's Lance Armstrong finished second behind Rabobank's Erik Dekker at today's Amstel Gold Race in Holland, the fifth round of the World Cup.
Armstrong initiated the winning break by attacking with approximately 40 kilometers remaining in the 254.5 km event. Armstrong was followed by Eddy Mazzoleni of Tacconi Sport-Vini Caldirola and the pair worked together to gain an advantage. However, Dekker successfully bridged to the two leaders.
Armstrong and Dekker then dropped Mazzoleni with under 30 kms remaining and worked together towards the finish line.
With just under a minute advantage over the chase group in the final kilometers, Armstrong and Dekker set up for the final sprint with the Dutch rider winning.
At the 1999 Amstel Gold Race, Armstrong finished second in a photo-finish with Rabobank's Michael Boogerd.
Courtesy of [email protected]
Hey Look Elvis, I’m Wearing Bandido Socks
by Skiddy
March 2000 It was when I raced in the State Master’s championships at the Northcote velodrome. I’d only started training September 1999 but the competition bug had bit me again. I raced the 500 metre track time trial with a time of 39.33 secs, only 2/100ths out of a bronze. Sitting there with my father of 79 years of age, I said that we would be back next year and ride both the State & Aussie masters (& win).
In between something happened that improved both my motivation and enjoyment of cycling. I met the Bandidos.
Well 12 months down the track, the Vics came along with fairly average competition giving me a win in the Time Trial. Being a personal effort against the clock, I was pleased with the out come with a time of 36.9, a vast improvement on last year’s time.
To share my elation was the support of Elvis Bandido in the grandstand. Hey look Elvis, I’m wearing Bandido socks.
The Sprint was a formality but the scratch race was a contest between two strong attackers that made life difficult every time I finished my turn at the front as they would constantly lift the pace. The silver was rewarding and well earned against hard competition.
I was looking forward to the Aussies, three weeks away.
With the cream of the geriatrics racing, I was hoping to meet some of my old rivals. My division included both Olympic & Commonwealth team member, Ron Boyle (brother of Raelene). Ron is a pilot, living in Hong Kong & Noosa these days. He was to prove to be my nemisis. My 2 silvers were to follow his golds.
The most exciting event was the Olympic Sprint, comprising of three cyclists whom take their share of 1 lap efforts over the 250 meter track (full distance of 750 m).
In qualifying our team came in at equal second fastest. The decision to race for gold/silver was based on the fastest last lap of which we were beaten by 7/100th.
So we raced off for bronze improving by 3/10ths. The other team achieved the silver with a time 1.75 secs slower than their qualifying time. (Oh Bugger).
What a great carnival it was, catching up with many past competitors, both local & interstate that I hadn’t seen for decades, plus my Dad (now 80) was there to ride with me.
Thanks to all the Bandidos who helped me get there.
Thanks guys
Skiddy
BANDIDO BIKE REVIEW by the Hamster
Geez I don’t believe it, at long last Hamster is on a new mount, well, newer. Comparing the Old Paconi (OP) with its replacement is a bit like comparing Greta Garbo with Sophia Loren both great in their day and past their best; but at least Sophia is still a bit sexy.
Background
When I first joined the Bandidos I didn’t know much about bikes but I could quickly tell that Richard, Mick and Al’s bikes were much lighter than mine. Shinier too. Already I was jealous, they even had those tricky STI levers. Luckily Trevsy (el Vendorino) also had an old bomb ( remember the Apollo?) but unlike me he at least he got bonus style points for being the original owner. As time went by new members joined and every one of them had a better bike than me. Even Big Trev went right up market. Although I promised myself an upgrade, there always seemed to be a greater priority somewhere in the family. ( what? A heart transplant or something? Ed.)
Performance
The new bike happened on the spur of the moment and although it has already seen a fair bit of bitumen ( some of it from far too close up I suspect) it still looks OK and certainly rides better that the old. jalopy. The most noticeable difference is the stiffness which does transmit a little more of the rough surface but makes me feel like I am in closer contact. Cornering is another major improvement. On the roundabouts on Humphries Road, the corner from Beach Road into Epsom on the mid week morning ride and the big turn at Mordy I can feel it turning in much more sharply and holding a better line. In the climbing department it seems OK but I have not done a lot of hills since I took delivery unless of course you want to count Mount Elvis, Col du Black Rock and Humphries Hell. As far as I can tell it seems to climb a little better. Power transmission seems good too. In the bunch surge from Frankston to Mordy it responds well to a dig of the spurs when it is my turn to go to the front The fact that the spurs wear out before we get to Mentone is not the fault of the bike. Can’t be, Al and "Lance" were alongside me too. We both need to change our brand of spurs!
Frame is jumbo tube Easton Aluminium xxx blah blah. I like the shiny polished metal look with the green translucent paint over the front. Oh dear, the rims do not match at all, being a burnished antique gold. Silver would have been so much better! Overall proportions are a little longer than OP in the top tube and the head tube has a more relaxed angle. All up it is more suited to my body proportions. Paint/lacquer work is a bit scuffed here & there but if you squint it looks OK. In fact from a distance it looks like a real bike! At this point it is customary in reviews to grizzle about the fact that there are no cable guides on the head tube and this has indeed caused the erasure of a little paint. Handlebars creak under heavy load but Jai says "that’s aluminium for you". The Campag levers take a couple of rides to get used to but I noticed that when I got back onto OP I already missed the layout of the Italian action. As suspected when haggling with vendor, the right hand lever had a dodgy ratchet which thanks to Signor Campagnolo can be replaced separately. So when I get it back from Jai it should be good as new.
Tech Specs
Frame: Easton Aluminium made in USA
Seat Tube 56cm c-c Other tubes: dunno, haven’t measured them.
Fork: Kinesis 6061 ……. is that good??
Rims: Mavic CXP30 Tried and true
Stem: Modolo (shame about the crappy cap)
Bar: Cinelli Eubios (Rhymes with "dubious" and no wonder when you hear the creeks)
Seat Post: dunno can’t read it
Pedals: Bike Tech Never heard of them but look like a Look and weigh a lot less than the old Exus
Weight: Less than the old Paconi
Best bits: 1/ the word "Titanium" etched into
some of the tackle and
2/ I think Richard approves
Worst bit: I still lust after something better
Summary: I can perhaps quote Jai who upon looking over the new steed ( sent to him for minor renovations) asked me what I paid and pronounced " that’s about right".
by El Vendorino
We arrived at Calder Raceway at 8.30am after a detour and look around the lovely shopping centre of Niddrie.
After registration we found out that we wouldn't be racing until 11am approx. so proceeded to cruise up and down pit straight in an effort to keep warm, and watch the older groups racing (or as Ricardo put it "the silly old fat farts").
This time was also spent with many visits to the loo (Ricardo started his race at his lightest racing weight ever!).
Whilst spending these 2 hours cruising up and down pit straight we voted ourselves the best presented couple.
On to my race - after a roll call we were sent on our way, approx 20 of us. With Leon's advice firmly in my head l made sure that l remained in the first half of the field.
Right from the start the attacks were on, totally different riding to the Bandidos controlled rides. After one attack is brought back and everyone re groups, someone else takes off, non stop surging!
After approx 6 -7 laps l lost concentration for only 1 - 2 seconds and they were gone! Oh no, what to do now, very lonely on your own riding around Calder, keep riding and wait for them to come around again.
Approx 10 to 11 laps later here they come, quick jump on the back, yes l'm back in the pack, hang in, concentrate, stay with them, don't get dropped, oh shit they're on the attack again, l just got here, bugger, there they go again—anyone interested in a coffee?
What to do now, l'm stuffed, disillusioned, l think l'll slip quietly out of the race, and retire. Not much chance of that as you have to advise the race officials of your retirement - first road race goes down as DNF or as my understanding wife calls it—"Dead n' Fucked".
Would l do it again? YES! YES! YES! It's another level of riding and once you understood how it works would be great fun.
My only advice would be, don't make your first race The Australian Masters Championships!
From your still recovering,
El Vendorino.
by Richardo
They call us legends, they call us athletes, they call us the stud muffins. We are the Bandidos!!!!!!.
But is there more. Do you wake up at night dreaming of a Stage win in the Tour de France, or simply a win at the AFL crits. YOU BET I DO!!!!! So what's a man gonna do. The National Masters Championship, that's what you gotta do.
Up a 6.00am after a restless night. Trevor wings on by, bikes on the roof and the highly tuned athletes are away. First stop down town Niddrie. Absolutely gorgeous that time of the morning. Back on the Highway, in the right direction, next stop Calder Park.
Off to the officials to register. Look!!! there's a program. And there it is. Our names in the official program of the National Masters. Brilliant!!!!!!
Waiting, waiting, waiting. We arrived at 8.00am for an 11.30 start for Trevor (Mas4) and 12.30 myself (Mas 2). Lots of warming up, grunting, intimidation, admiring fans etc... And then Trevor's away. Looking tremendous, with just a hint of Bandido (socks). As the laps go by he's still there and then he's gone.
Flat?, accident? no a poffoo valve. Tremendous effort after just 2 years of serious riding.
Then it's Ricardo’s turn. Mas 2 is away. These guys can't be 40-44.
We move at a frenetic pace. As we begin the rotation I try to strike up a conversation with the guy beside me . No response.
Probably a lack of sleep the night before. Down the back straight and we hit 60km/h. Into a series of tight turns. No let up. No talking. No coffee stops. This is racing and I don't feel very well!!!! Seven laps gone and I'm popped. Damn. Damn .Damn. Past the start/finish. Very very lonely indeed. Push for 10 laps on my own. (If people come to watch now they'll probably think I'm in front my a mile) On the back again. This time feeling much more comfortable. Good rotation. This is more like it. 7 laps go by and I can't believe it, I'm off the back again. They are good (and obviously on drugs). A few more laps and I call it a day. Fabulous experience.
Highlight : Dressing up, Niddrie, and winning the "Best Presented Couple" Award.
Thanks Darl.
Richardo
Phil Irvine now has the latest price list for the polar heart rate monitors. They range from the basic hrm costing approx $100 thru to $300+ if you want to download data to your computer, calorie counter, ownzone which is your user target training zones, watch, alarm, VO2 max, time in/above/below target zone, lap times, stop watch, etc. The monitors come in water proof, heavy duty plastic or titanium if you so desire.
See Phil for more details.
The prices are 20% off wholesale.
Great quality, "Giramondo" brand, Trevsy Design Department design. Great prices! Payment to
El Vendorino,
cash or cheque.
Bandido socks $15.00
Bandido knicks $75.00
Bandido bib & brace knicks $80.00
Bandido short sleeve top $75.00
Bandido long sleeve top $80.00
Arm warmers $35.00
Thermal tights $75.00
All receipts issued for $35.00!
Saturday Sprints
o Points are awarded ¾ for first, 2 for second, 3 for third, 4 for fourth and higher. Lowest points wins.
o In the case of equal points, one rider will have beaten the other twice. The first rider wins on a countback.
o Safety is the top priority. Riders will face disqualification if the majority considers a rider has endangered himself/herself/another rider.
o Riders must not take off from the front of the pack until the main pack is in the "sprint zone".
o Sprint 1 zone is from Bay Road, Sandringham, with the finish line the first line of the pedestrian crossing just prior to the Black Rock Clock Tower. Sprint is aborted if lights at crossing turn red.
o Sprint 2 zone is from the Black Rock Clock Tower with finish line the near corner of Epsom Street, Mordialloc.
o Spring 3 zone is from the Mentone Hotel with the finish line the yellow bicycle sign at the entrance to the Tea House at Rickett’s Point, Beaumaris.
o The winner gets to wear the jersey for the whole of the following weekend. Failure to deliver the jersey to a new winner results in a penalty of a complete cappuccino shout!
King of the Mountain (Sundays)
Sprint For Cover
Numerous sightings have been reported of a group of mysterious men stalking up and down the bayside suburbs of Melbourne every weekend from 7:30am to 9:30am.
Early morning exercisers have been turning their necks at rapid speed to try and get a glimpse of an alleged rebel group know as the Bandido’s. Rumour has it that they are growing in numbers and having no mercy for any fellow rider attempting to overtake this group.
One witness, whom wishes to be only known as Marcus, reported that he was out taking a leisurely motorcycle ride when these rebels attacked him from behind on numerous occasions. "It was only by luck that I managed to hold on and break away from these rebels", said Marcus.
Allegedly there has been some video footage taken of this group of Bandido’s and police are sifting through it to see if they can identify the culprits. They have been given until June 16th to put together the footage and present to the public for identification purposes.
Anyone with knowledge of the where about of these Bandido rebels and would like to obtain a copy of the footage is ask to supply $35 (the required cost for all cycling issues) to Inspector Denis M, in a brown paper bag. For additional copies of this footage and extra $10 will be required.
This investigation would like to thank the assistance of Marcus M (not related to the witness in this story) for his capture of the footage, which is been used in this investigation. Also to Tony K for attempting to keep up the blistering speed that these Bandido rebels ride at. If it were not for the blue Honda beast, it would have not been possible.
Denis
I believe I joined in 1999, around March since I rode in the terrible 100 etc. Nuggetty Phil did the dirty deed.
My favourite memories are obviously crashing in all three of the bicycle challenge series ( I can still see the look on Mark L’s face when he realised he’d br stuck with me for the entire ride on the Lakes Challenge after he stopped to help me fix a puncture—the rest of you rode blithely past looking very firmly straight ahead!), and of course investigating at very close range the wear & tear on the pushrods of the Range Rover at the Bell Tower.
CV
I have so many favourite moments from the past 1 1/2 years ( I joined about a month before the first AGM, but don’t recall exactly when that was)
Earning my nickname at Cos’ party sticks in my mind, but as an athlete my favourite moment is still my first sprint win. It was on a Saturday morning, per green jersey, and coming up the rise I hit out from just before the lights and nobody expected me to stay out there.
I don’t remember who it was that said it, but the comment as we went up over the other side was, "What the @#% was that? The sprint starts after we go over the hill!
As a family man, my favourite moment was meeting with the families at Sorrento, and the ride there.
Elvis
(to be recited languidly & sensously—not like you’re checking the shopping list)
I love the feeling of Superroubaix against my skin,
It slides along so nicely and silkily back again,
Black, like night; a gothic ride,
Through my mind’s deeper bays.
Perhaps I could give up cycling,
But never my Superroubaix.
A bit of poetry for the romantically minded and deeply disturbed!
Cameron
Weekends: 7.30 am from cnr Reserve & Beach Rds.
Weekdays: 6.30 am from cnr Reserve & Beach Rds.
OR from Jai Omara’s bike shop, Charman Rd at 6.30 pm on Mondays & Wednesdays.
MAY
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun
JUNE
Queen’s Birthday Family ride
16th. Bandido Mid-Year Dinner/AGM
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun
JULY
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun
AUGUST
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun
SEPTEMBER
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun
12th. Bandido Big Bad Ride (mid week)
OCTOBER
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun
13th-21st. Melbourne to Sydney Ride
21st. Round the Bay Ride
5-13 Oct 2002 World Masters
NOVEMBER
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun
Cup Day Family Ride
Nov 14 Ride to Work
24th to Dec 2 Great Vic Bike Ride
DECEMBER
Bandido Christmas Party TBA
JANUARY 2002
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun
Australia Day Weekend
Audax Alpine Classic in 2002
FEBRUARY
Regular Bandido rides Sat & Sun
MARCH
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun
APRIL
Regular Bandido Rides Sat & Sun