IT IS ABOUT THE BIKE

The very first real “racing bike” came to me in a funny way.  My mother’s old friend was a big wig in the Russian Sports Ministry (whatever it was called back then).  He knew that I was fanatical about riding bike (fat tires, cow-horn bars, rubber pedals and one speed).  and once (after a few shots of vodka) promissed to get me  something good to ride on.  I did not pay much attention to bragging of my mother's half drunk friends.  However this was not an empty promise. One day my mother received a call from him that he is on his way to pick us up (he owned a car, enogh said?). He drove us to some guy's backyard and then I saw  the bike.   Blue, beautiful... with toe clips and gears! And then I learned that it was just raced at the Russian nationals by  Cherepovich. (!!)  It was of course a Russian made bike  with Campy backwards engineered components.  I was gasping for air. The guy standing by the bike was another big wig, former racer and a coach responsible for pro cycling in whole Russia.   I was told not to ride it until I talk with him about ...bike riding. We met next day in his office where he among other things told me NEVER LOOK DOWN while riding, especially while getting into toe clips. That advise along was 


But that was not all.  The bike came with the name, telephone and address of the nteam’s mechanic who was to provide sew-ups and any repair if needed.  That was pretty handy since neither parts no sew-ups could be bought in Russian stores.   I rode that bike for a number of years catching other people glances and being envious of myself. I was 14.  Later in life when I was an adult and could afford I bought the same bike. They were still making them.


Fast forward to the life in US.  Up until the ripe age I was riding and racing Columbus SLX Bianci frames with whatever components I could afford.  It made no difference, everyone had about the same.

In 1997 when I could not race anymore I received from my wife Richard Sachs 25^th Anniversary edition as my 50th b'day present.  Custom made for me, it was  #14 out of 25 ever made.  I rode it until 2008, rain, shine, slush, sand.  Original Campy components still work like new after about 50K mi.  All I ever did to it was wash the salt off after winter rides, lube the chain and change it twice a year.  Its steel frame does not have a trace of corrosion and looks as beautiful as ever.  If I rode some old beater in “wet and dirty” I would have ridden Sachs that much less.  Bike itself is huge part of riding experience for me. I always wanted to have the best bike hand made just for me.  Richard was an easy choice: one man operation who makes one bike and one bike only.  Needless to say that being a cat.2 himself and racing that exactly bike  every weekend he already changed everything in that frame to make it into perfection.   I picked my up in Richard's shop and went for a shot ride.  It the first time I was moving through the air and there was no bike under me. The last  I heard the waiting list was 4 years.  Someone said he does not take new orders any longer. 


10 years later for my 60s b'day it was Colnago C50 from my very generous daughter and her husband. This bike does not need an introduction. When I first stomped on its pedals the whip lash was noticeable. The problem is that instead of dropping others on my cheap bikes it is me who is being dropped now, Colnago or not. Nevertheless I am looking forward to getting on it more than ever.


I never owned a stable of old beaters and firmly believe that life is too short to ride anything but the best if it matters to you.  It does to me. I can tell the difference.  My approach has always been getting slightly better than the best I can afford. Money only matters when you actually paying, but the compromises will follow you for as long as you own the thing, whatever it is.  The pleasures of riding the top made machine will be with you every time you get on it.

"RACING"

First of all it is all my mother's fault.
Being a doctor she used to work on weekends at different sporting events to make some extra money and used to take me along.  Once it was a big bike race near Moscow where racers used to come to my mother to quickly treat pretty awful road rush and jump back in the race. I was totally amazed by the toughness  of these guys and fell in love with bike racing forever. I was probably 7 years old.

I had two first races: one in my Russian life and one in American.  Both were pretty ridiculous. The one in Russia I had to ride 20 mi to, was late for it and started about 200 meters behind the bunch.  Not that it would matter.  It became just a ride where I joined a couple of strugglers and rode with them for a while.  Then I bonked big time (it was 50 mi road race) and was lucky to make it home before dark.

The one in US was at Bretton Woods, NH as part of now defunct White Mountains Bike Racing series. For that I came well prepared bringing my brand new Bianchi, smoking a couple of cigarettes while driving up and a short run as a warm up.  I was sure that these foot…, base…, basket… ball playing Americans have no idea about bike racing.  Needless to say, I was riding along after first mile, caught some elderly guy afterwards, but eventually beat him to the line for the next to the last place.

The setting and free food at Mt. Washington Hotel that sponsored the race were terrific. I thought that all races are that way and begun getting serious.  For starters I switched from cigarettes to pipe.

It took ten years before I landed on the podium of popular Miles Standish race after winning the field sprint for the second place.   No one in the bunch knew me and they all were too busy watching each other.  This was the “highest” point on my cycling life.  Barry of Cycling Revealed , who I robbed of the podium place, shook my hand and said that they will make sure this never happen again.  He was right, it did not.

The next best was Working Men Stage Race were I got 4^th overall because the road race breakaway got disqualified for joining another field. My 7^th in TT and 2^nd in the points race gave me enough for the 4^th overall.

I was also mentioned in VeloNews once for taking 6^th in extremely hilly Buckfield race in Maine, There were only 5 other guys in my age category race (all skinny climbers), so there is not much to brag about on this lonely ride with 4 mile climb done two times besides other good hills.

RIDING WITH TYLER

On his first time riding with us we did about 60.   Tyler obviously needed more. When he asked if somebody wants join him, there were no takers…but me.  Let’s make it clear- riding 60 miles at a nice tempo in December is an achievement (at least for me).  Any more miles was suicidal.  But I thought that this was one and only chance to ride with Tyler and it would be stupid to pass it. For the rest 30 miles it was just the two of us. I did not want just to sit on his wheel, so we rode side-by-side (as much as I could).  After about 15 miles I was cooked and mentioned to Tyler that he should not wait for me.  His answer was: “What’s the rush, the Tour is 8 month away”.  We were doing 15-16 mph and talking about all things, except cycling.  I could not walk for two weeks after that 90 mile day, but I will always remember that day. Just like I will always remember April 27, 2003 when after the ride we came to the parking lot and Dave called his wife.  “Tyler won Liège–Bastogne–Liège!” he yelled.  That day he joined the greats. That race video I watch every year while on my trainer and it still gives me goose bumps.

Tyler was always comfortable riding with us, laughing at our jokes, taking our laughs at him well , blocking me from sprinting for my town lines or yelling at me to stay at the front more than those few seconds that I could.  Watching him riding was a special treat – the word “perfection” comes to mind.  Unbelievable smoothness and efficiency. Not a single calorie was spent over what’s necessary.  I used to make a point to sit on his wheel as long as possible hopping that some of it rubs off (it did not).

If it was not for his team clothing, you would never tell that you are riding next to the winner of L-B-L, Dauphine Libere, Tour of Romandy and much much more. As a matter of fact Tyler never assumed that everyone has to know who he is.  In the beginning some guys still did not know.  It was funny to see their reaction when they  learned who they were talking with all along. many times Tyler would just sit in the middle of the group and ride our pace talking with guys. When the pace gets somewhat erratic because of our “winter champions”, he would go to the front and make it nice and smooth.

These rides meant something for Tyler too.  How do I know?  Once he was a few minutes late and we left without him.  He caught up with us on his truck and asked us to wait.  We are not waiting for anybody, if you are late, you chase. So he drove ahead, parked his truck on the side of the road, changed and chased us (not that it was too much of a problem for him).

There was much more to my acquaintance with Tyler than riding and that was his human side.  Here was this guy who was on TV all over the world, who rings the opening bell on NYSE, who opens Red Sox game.  Same guy riding home in the waning light of day and see my friend Billy fixing a flat on the side of the road.  He waits to make sure Billy is all set…all that was just a couple of hours before flying to Europe to win LBL,  Romandy and the Stage 16 of TdF.  (Billy’s story).

Somehow I always felt connection with this kid.  Maybe because the hard times come upon both of us in the same 2004, although in totally different ways.

MEETING TYLER

It was a cold and dreary November morning in 1998 when I jumped out my office to grab a cup of Starbucks espresso.  Walking towards the store I noticed two cyclists standing on the sidewalk near the coffee shop.  One of them was wearing full US Postal kit.
Coming closer I realized that the US Postal kit wearer was Tyler Hamilton.  I knew all about him as the CCB alumni, heard all unbelievable stories about him, saw him on TV, but never met him. He lived in Brookline MA at the time and was going through Lexington on his usual monstrous mileage training ride.  I introduced myself as a CCB guy and invited him to ride with us on weekends.  He did not know that we still rides this late in the season, but said he will look into it. I wished him good luck in upcoming season and went for my coffee. “Sure, you will drive 20 miles just to ride with a bunch of misfits (comparatively speaking)” I thought.  
I was wrong.  Two weeks later I found myself riding side-by-side with one of the top professionals in the world.  Not only that, but for the next several years Tyler  became a permanent  fixture on our November-December rides.

 1994. Tyler in Fitchburg.  Photo by Jonathan McElvery