The late '80s and early '90s were a great time to be a bike racer in Albuquerque. With several national team members in residence, and a decent pool of serious Cat IIs that traveled to races regionally the group rides were quality. There was a general group ride on weekends that drew 30 to 50 riders and a very good Wednesday ride that usually drew 10-15 of the better riders. The other days of the week I either rode alone or with a few others. After arriving home from Costa Rica in late December '89, I took two weeks off the bike and resumed riding on Wednesday January 3rd. Costa Rica notwithstanding, I still felt fresh and was entering the year with a good deal of enthusiasm. Given also that I had a midseason break with my collarbone fracture, and my false end to the year after Guatemala, I'd had plenty of rest within the year. I had a comfortable living space now in Paul Sery's house in the Nob Hill neighborhood. I had the ever so slightly more expensive room upstairs, John Frey had dibs on the "spider hole", the basement space.
I was coming into 1990 expecting good things. I had some promising rides in '89 and national coaching director Jiri Mainus had a lot of confidence in me. I was going to have opportunities to prove I could follow through. I thought it would be realistic to hope for a pro contract offer by the end of the year.
Some may wonder why I don't use the word 'goal' rather than 'hope'. I had heard a lot of sports psychologists through the years at the OTC camps and various other places talk about the importance of goal setting, but the more I raced the more I realized that setting specific goals wasn't how I operated. I was far too inconsistent to rely on every step towards a goal going right. And in my mind every step going right was how you reached a goal. It was just better for me to live in the moment. I came into every race with the expectation that it would go how I felt that day, with the caveat that you never know what can happen. In any race, anything was possible, and I could only do what I could do. I didn't need psychological tricks to make me "push beyond the limits"; I could push the limits because it might be necessary to get what I wanted out of a race. Sometimes I could do it, and sometimes I couldn't. When I couldn't, it wasn't for lack of trying.
To me setting a goal of having a pro contract by year end was pointless. I would have either gotten the results to deserve it, or I wouldn't.
I put in a lot of solid base miles in January and found out I would need them about half way through the month. The national team training camp structure was changing and the OTC and the Wonder Valley camp in Fresno weren't going to be used anymore. Other options were for some reason limited at that time, and so it was decided that the 'camp' was going to be a month in Argentina with racing...a lot of racing.
Most of the big teams weren't keen on letting their riders out of touch for a whole month in Argentina, so the coaching staff was having a tough time filling the roster. I ended up being one of the people permitted by my team, and I was willing to go. I would fly to Argentina starting on January 29th.
Meanwhile I piled on the miles at home and did a lot of couch sitting. I was eating very lean and basic because that's all I could afford. Dinner was usually a lot of rice or potatoes, and a little chicken with some broccoli. For breakfast I usually had oatmeal or only a grapefruit. Lunch was usually on the bike; homemade bread with peanut butter. I was living like a monk but having a great time. I was feeling very comfortable in Albuquerque now and had a lot of great friends to ride and hang out with.
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Training Diary January '90 into February |
Happily my team situation was set as well. I was continuing with Team Shaklee with an annual stipend of $5000. Five grand in Albuquerque in 1990 went a fair distance, but it wasn't like I was being given a flat $5k. Out of the total amount entry fees, plane tickets, and other miscellaneous expenses came out of my allotment. I received a check if there was money left over after each month. Prize money and national team trips were still vital to keeping me solvent.
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| Team Shaklee 1990...yes, Mark Waite and I received a lot of kidding about this...damn photographer! |
Another small source of income for me this year was an occasional article for Velo News. My first assignment was the upcoming Argentina trip.
And so on January 26th John Frey and I drove from Albuquerque to Denver to hang out and ride for a couple of days before boarding a flight to Miami. However a storm blew in and it was snowing. I did some skate skiing with my old teammate and good friend Rick Pepper at El Dorado, and played some basketball at a gym. On Monday January 29th, we flew to Miami, and on Tuesday January 30th boarded the plane for Buenos Aires, Argentina with the rest of the team.
The group consisted of 17 riders and 5 staff. There were three groups of racers: men road, women road, and men track, mainly consisting of the team pursuit squad. For men's road there was John Frey and me, Bob Mionske, James Urbonas, Jay Vonderhae, Bobby Julich (then in his first year out of juniors), and Greg McNeil. The women along for the adventure were Inga Thompson, Marion Clignet, Maureen Manley, Ruthie Mathis, and Katrin Tobin. The track crew was represented by the riders being groomed for the team pursuit for the next Olympics: Tim Quigley, Matt Hamon, Brett Reagan, and Eric Harris, along with Erin Hartwell, a kilometer specialist. Staff included Craig Griffin, Bob Bills, and Anatoly Gorelov (who I had never heard of before). There were two masseuses to complete the crew. This was a solid group of people most of whom I already knew and got on well with.
Argentina would give us little time for actual training. We were slated for 3 stage races: The Doble Bragado with three stages in three days, The Vuelta de Este outside Mendoza with four stages in three days, and the Vuelta de Mendoza with 11 stages and a two-part prologue in 8 days...which meant there would be four days with double stages, and three of them were consecutive. The women had only the Vuelta Ciclistica Femenina Trans Sierra in Cordoba, but were invited to ride in the Doble Bragado and Vuelta de Este.
Having raced a fair amount in Latin America in the past several years, I was acutely aware of the importance of decorum. No matter what one thought of the political need for U.S. involvement in the affairs of Latin American countries, the fact of the matter was that we would face a certain amount of hostility because we were representing our country. It was important to behave impeccably and with sensitivity to local culture. Bill Lehman and Bill Woodul had both given us this talk in Guatemala, and it was good advice. Early in the trip none of the staff addressed the issue. Most of the team didn't need it; most of them had raced abroad before. But it would of course turn out that some of the youngest needed the lesson.
We arrived in Buenos Aires on January 30th. I wasn't privy to what the arrangements were of course but the people who met us at the airport in Buenos Aires had grossly underestimated the task at hand. A few phone calls, some scrambling and we were finally on our way to some fairly atrocious accommodations. We were housed in a building owned by the telephone company's sporting club. The rooms were unadorned cement block with uncomfortable bunks. Mosquitoes swarmed us at night in hot muggy weather. The roof leaked.
A local rider swung by to show us around and taking us for 100km ride. We rode down a local street and within a couple of minutes swung onto the freeway. We rode that for about 20km before getting on some quieter roads. We did a loop and returned to our hellish accommodations. The next day we did an easy roll round because the Doble Bragado started the next day.
We were split into three teams. In traditional stars and stripes U.S. National Team jerseys were Bobby Julich, Greg McNeil, John Frey, and me. In the Team USA stars and swoops were Eric Harris, Jay Vonderhae, Matt Hamon, and Erin Hartwell. Riding in Celestial Seasonings jerseys were James Urbonas, Bob Mionski, Brett Reagan, and Tim Quigley.
Stage One was 200km and some of us rode to the start to make a 142 mile day. The route was totally flat from Buenos Aires to Bragado and riddled with rain showers and crosswinds. The Argentinians were out for blood and the field shattered and regrouped multiple times making for a confusing race. At one point a break was away with none of us in it. We got to the front and throttled it. As mentioned, the women were invited to this race, with a quite controversial special rule: they were only allowed to complete half of the stage and could elect either go half way or 'drop' in at half way. They 'dropped in' at the mid point and got to front with us chasing. The Argentine racers were divided in opinion on having women in the race, and especially in this manner. Some did tell us what they thought. Most thought it grossly unfair that they helped chase given our already big numbers. This was a fair argument, because their help did go a long way. Some thought women had no place in racing at all, unsurprising given the time and place. Most were surprised, more like astonished, that they were even capable of doing what they did.
Finally a group of ten riders split off with John Frey and Bobby Julich up front for us. Two riders escaped from that split to fight out the win and race lead. Frey's and Julich's group finished a minute down. The rest of the bunch was shattered. I don't remember at all what group I finished in, but in my race diary I noted I was fourth in the bunch sprint.
Stage Two was in Bragado, a 120km circuit race on a 5km loop. The section in town was sheltered, but the bigger part of the loop out on the country lanes were heavy with crosswinds. The field shattered and regrouped many times before splits started to stick. James Urbonas, Erin Hartwell, and I made this first split. Our group was still too large however and the pressure stayed on. We made the mistake of trying to hide and James got sawed off. Just as I realized that inevitably I needed to be active, the Argentinians put up a united front and started leaving gaps that they expected Erin and I to close. It didn't take long before the group split in half and we were left to the second group. They sat on us for a time before beginning to roll through when it was clear there was no chance of us making a bridge, and to make sure the third group wouldn't catch us.
Up front the savagery continued as two Argentinians escaped with a Uruguayan in tow. They stole two minutes from the first group. I don't remember how much time we lost to the front echelon, but we were not in an enviable G.C. Position. After two days of gutterball to start the season, I was blown after this. I was super impressed though by the way Erin Hartwell rode. I expected that sort of thing from pursuiters, but a kilo specialist?
Stage 3 was 150km from Bragado to Lujan just outside Buenos Aires. It was again dead flat and wracked by wind and rain, but the wind wasn't as bad as the two previous days. John Frey made the first split and being alone with the wind direction fickle, was able to sit on a fair amount. The field chasing behind broke up but most of us made that split. We regrouped with the lead bunch with about 16km to go, but before we linked up, Frey countered with an Argentine and built up a 40 second lead. Frey was of course one of the greatest time trialists (if not the greatest) the U.S. has ever seen. But when motivated, he was also a very sharp and crafty road racer. He did all the right things and won the stage by a half wheel in front of the impressive basilica at Lujan.
490 kilometers of crosswind racing is a tough way to start a season. I was tired and our only reward was to go back to our lousy lodgings in Buenos Aires. After a tired roll round on Monday, we took the train to downtown and had dinner at one of the more famous steak houses. Argentina, among other things, is of course famous for its beef. With all due respect to Texas and Oklahoma beef, the steak I had in Argentina was the best I've ever had. It was a nice way to spend our last night in Buenos Aires, as the next day we would undertake an overnight bus trip to Mendoza.
After a short ride in the morning we packed up our bikes and waited for the bus. It was again (and I'm not sure who's fault this was) not clear if all our stuff was going to fit. After putting bags in and taking them back out before figuring out the optimal combination, I'm pretty sure we had to pack the back of the bus seating area with bags to make it work. We pushed off more or less on schedule though and we headed straight west on the RN7 to Mendoza. I always had a hard time sleeping while sitting up, and so I was awake for most of trip. Watching ahead into the dark, I discovered that most Argentines drove at night with the lights off, turning them on only when there was another vehicle approaching (assuming they saw it). I found this somewhat alarming, and asking about it, was told that it was a practice left over from the not so distant past (in South America anyway) before alternators were common and having car lights on too long would drain the battery. In spite of this we arrived in Mendoza the next morning.
In contrast to Buenos Aires, our hotel in Mendoza was delightful. We had the whole place to ourselves, with just two to three to a room. It was clean, airy, and comfortable. We would be staying here for the rest of our stay in Argentina except for when the race promoters would house us elsewhere in the province. The arrangement was for us to eat lunch and dinner at a particular restaurant a pleasant five minute walk away. The greater metropolitan area was home to about a million people and was easily the most pleasant Latin American city I had ever visited. The climate was of the Mediterranean type and the area roads made for great riding.
After arriving we got our bikes together and went for an easy hour ride. The next day we did a two hour roll round of a loop that took us up on the mountainside immediately to the west of the city. On the third day of our stay in Mendoza, we had the prologue of the Vuelta de Este on tap. To warm up, some of us rode northwest on highway 52 towards the Andes foothills which at around 11,000 feet obscured the view of the Andes range from the city. It was flat across a shrubby landscape until it started climbing steeply on fresh pavement. After four miles the road turned to dirt and we turned around.
The first stage was Friday February 9th. A flat fast 150km in a big loop on narrow tree-lined roads. It was very fast with lots of moves getting hauled back because nobody was happy with the combos. We were happy with just about any of us in any move, but the Argentines were more picky. About half way through a 15 rider group split and the field rolled over. We had Bobby Julich and Greg McNeil in the split so we were happy. Ultimately, the group gained six minutes, making the race, more or less, just between them. McNeil would report that the break was really moving. It was so fast that McNeil and Julich sat on and the Argentines didn't seem to mind. They started rolling through again late in the stage and McNeil put in several attacks before Julich snuck away with a kilometer to go and forged out a 10-second lead.
Julich's lead was immediately under threat the next morning with a 25km time trial. Among the leaders nothing much changed, except that the top five of the G.C. tightened up while the rest of the places widened out. For my part I finished a reasonably satisfactory 12th place. Time trials were always a challenge for me. I didn't generally possess the enthusiasm needed to maintain the concentration required to be consistently good at them. However when I felt good and had focus, I could occasionally pop off a decent ride. We were just riding our road bikes as while aero bars and clip on aero bars were allowed by the rules, their use still wasn't widespread. I don't remember if the Argentines had aero bars, but their top riders did have some nice TT bikes.
After the TT there was time for a little relaxation, lunch, and then gearing up for a 120km circuit race in the late afternoon. The Argentines were anxious to get things going and it was fast. The field was constantly splitting and reforming, and Julich was too often out chasing on his own. It was obvious that he was on great form already. When I finally reached him I told him to let us do the chasing. The rest of the way Frey and I worked hard keeping the pace high to discourage attacks, and were successful at that, but the flaw in our plan was that one of the riders high in G.C. was a very good sprinter, and he won, beating out McNeil and Eric Harris. With time bonuses Roberto Escalante took the overall lead from Julich.
Stage Four on Sunday was an odd one. We were to race 80km to the south and then stop for a half hour 'break'. The race then turned around and went back the way we came, with time gaps preserved. The stage was 160km in all, finishing, I think, on an car racing track somewhere just outside Mendoza.
Shortly after the restart, Jay Vonderhae marked a move and bridged to Frey and El Pollo. He smartly countered off our attempts to spring Bobby and/or Greg, but those weren't allowed to go. Bobby and McNeil thought we should chase, and while I didn't think so, I started a 30km long chase with Eric Harris because, well, we were here for training after all. We were unable to chase the break down, but at least held it at bay. Up front, Vonderhae and Frey started making attacks. Vonderhae finally got away with El Pollo and dispatched him in the sprint for a nice win.
Jay Vonderhae's win. This is from the Velo News story I wrote
The route
The start list...enough star power for ya?
Stage 3 - Fredericksburg to Richmond
Stage 7 Winchester to Harrisburgh
I also acquired a camera about this time. The gang of my Albuquerque "bros" horsing around, packing up to leave the Glenwood Springs hotel before the RR: I can't remember the guy at far left, but he was from Chicago, Gene Fales, Gabe Aragon, Robert Leblanc, Kenny Labbe, James "Waz" Warsa (obscured) and Ron Palmer
Stage One was 200km and some of us rode to the start to make a 142 mile day. The route was totally flat from Buenos Aires to Bragado and riddled with rain showers and crosswinds. The Argentinians were out for blood and the field shattered and regrouped multiple times making for a confusing race. At one point a break was away with none of us in it. We got to the front and throttled it. As mentioned, the women were invited to this race, with a quite controversial special rule: they were only allowed to complete half of the stage and could elect either go half way or 'drop' in at half way. They 'dropped in' at the mid point and got to front with us chasing. The Argentine racers were divided in opinion on having women in the race, and especially in this manner. Some did tell us what they thought. Most thought it grossly unfair that they helped chase given our already big numbers. This was a fair argument, because their help did go a long way. Some thought women had no place in racing at all, unsurprising given the time and place. Most were surprised, more like astonished, that they were even capable of doing what they did.
Finally a group of ten riders split off with John Frey and Bobby Julich up front for us. Two riders escaped from that split to fight out the win and race lead. Frey's and Julich's group finished a minute down. The rest of the bunch was shattered. I don't remember at all what group I finished in, but in my race diary I noted I was fourth in the bunch sprint.
Stage Two was in Bragado, a 120km circuit race on a 5km loop. The section in town was sheltered, but the bigger part of the loop out on the country lanes were heavy with crosswinds. The field shattered and regrouped many times before splits started to stick. James Urbonas, Erin Hartwell, and I made this first split. Our group was still too large however and the pressure stayed on. We made the mistake of trying to hide and James got sawed off. Just as I realized that inevitably I needed to be active, the Argentinians put up a united front and started leaving gaps that they expected Erin and I to close. It didn't take long before the group split in half and we were left to the second group. They sat on us for a time before beginning to roll through when it was clear there was no chance of us making a bridge, and to make sure the third group wouldn't catch us.
Up front the savagery continued as two Argentinians escaped with a Uruguayan in tow. They stole two minutes from the first group. I don't remember how much time we lost to the front echelon, but we were not in an enviable G.C. Position. After two days of gutterball to start the season, I was blown after this. I was super impressed though by the way Erin Hartwell rode. I expected that sort of thing from pursuiters, but a kilo specialist?
Stage 3 was 150km from Bragado to Lujan just outside Buenos Aires. It was again dead flat and wracked by wind and rain, but the wind wasn't as bad as the two previous days. John Frey made the first split and being alone with the wind direction fickle, was able to sit on a fair amount. The field chasing behind broke up but most of us made that split. We regrouped with the lead bunch with about 16km to go, but before we linked up, Frey countered with an Argentine and built up a 40 second lead. Frey was of course one of the greatest time trialists (if not the greatest) the U.S. has ever seen. But when motivated, he was also a very sharp and crafty road racer. He did all the right things and won the stage by a half wheel in front of the impressive basilica at Lujan.
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The basilica at Lujan. The finish line was somewhere close to this spot. |
After a short ride in the morning we packed up our bikes and waited for the bus. It was again (and I'm not sure who's fault this was) not clear if all our stuff was going to fit. After putting bags in and taking them back out before figuring out the optimal combination, I'm pretty sure we had to pack the back of the bus seating area with bags to make it work. We pushed off more or less on schedule though and we headed straight west on the RN7 to Mendoza. I always had a hard time sleeping while sitting up, and so I was awake for most of trip. Watching ahead into the dark, I discovered that most Argentines drove at night with the lights off, turning them on only when there was another vehicle approaching (assuming they saw it). I found this somewhat alarming, and asking about it, was told that it was a practice left over from the not so distant past (in South America anyway) before alternators were common and having car lights on too long would drain the battery. In spite of this we arrived in Mendoza the next morning.
In contrast to Buenos Aires, our hotel in Mendoza was delightful. We had the whole place to ourselves, with just two to three to a room. It was clean, airy, and comfortable. We would be staying here for the rest of our stay in Argentina except for when the race promoters would house us elsewhere in the province. The arrangement was for us to eat lunch and dinner at a particular restaurant a pleasant five minute walk away. The greater metropolitan area was home to about a million people and was easily the most pleasant Latin American city I had ever visited. The climate was of the Mediterranean type and the area roads made for great riding.
After arriving we got our bikes together and went for an easy hour ride. The next day we did a two hour roll round of a loop that took us up on the mountainside immediately to the west of the city. On the third day of our stay in Mendoza, we had the prologue of the Vuelta de Este on tap. To warm up, some of us rode northwest on highway 52 towards the Andes foothills which at around 11,000 feet obscured the view of the Andes range from the city. It was flat across a shrubby landscape until it started climbing steeply on fresh pavement. After four miles the road turned to dirt and we turned around.
The prologue for the Vuelta de Este was a 30km parade on a 3km circuit in Mendoza. There was absolutely nothing at stake racewise. Only eight of us started the race with a few of our riders voluntarily sitting this one out. During the parade we found out that we weren't terribly popular with many of the Argentine racers. The general sentiment is that we were messing with their racing because of our numbers. Since we were two teams of four, this meant we had to be careful we didn't work together between the two teams. The stars and stripes crew for this race was again Bobby Julich, Greg McNeil, John Frey, and me. The stars and swoops had Jay Vonderhae, Eric Harris, Matt Hamon, and I think Brett Reagan. The women also fielded a team, though I don't recall the particulars.
The first stage was Friday February 9th. A flat fast 150km in a big loop on narrow tree-lined roads. It was very fast with lots of moves getting hauled back because nobody was happy with the combos. We were happy with just about any of us in any move, but the Argentines were more picky. About half way through a 15 rider group split and the field rolled over. We had Bobby Julich and Greg McNeil in the split so we were happy. Ultimately, the group gained six minutes, making the race, more or less, just between them. McNeil would report that the break was really moving. It was so fast that McNeil and Julich sat on and the Argentines didn't seem to mind. They started rolling through again late in the stage and McNeil put in several attacks before Julich snuck away with a kilometer to go and forged out a 10-second lead.
Julich's lead was immediately under threat the next morning with a 25km time trial. Among the leaders nothing much changed, except that the top five of the G.C. tightened up while the rest of the places widened out. For my part I finished a reasonably satisfactory 12th place. Time trials were always a challenge for me. I didn't generally possess the enthusiasm needed to maintain the concentration required to be consistently good at them. However when I felt good and had focus, I could occasionally pop off a decent ride. We were just riding our road bikes as while aero bars and clip on aero bars were allowed by the rules, their use still wasn't widespread. I don't remember if the Argentines had aero bars, but their top riders did have some nice TT bikes.
After the TT there was time for a little relaxation, lunch, and then gearing up for a 120km circuit race in the late afternoon. The Argentines were anxious to get things going and it was fast. The field was constantly splitting and reforming, and Julich was too often out chasing on his own. It was obvious that he was on great form already. When I finally reached him I told him to let us do the chasing. The rest of the way Frey and I worked hard keeping the pace high to discourage attacks, and were successful at that, but the flaw in our plan was that one of the riders high in G.C. was a very good sprinter, and he won, beating out McNeil and Eric Harris. With time bonuses Roberto Escalante took the overall lead from Julich.
Stage Four on Sunday was an odd one. We were to race 80km to the south and then stop for a half hour 'break'. The race then turned around and went back the way we came, with time gaps preserved. The stage was 160km in all, finishing, I think, on an car racing track somewhere just outside Mendoza.
Our basic plan was to look for opportunities to get Bobby the lead back, or to spring McNeil for an overhaul. The Argentines were wise to this, and opportunities weren't really there. It turned into a grand opportunity for the 'stars and swoops' team. In the first half of the stage John Frey got off the front with an Argentine aptly nicknamed "El Pollo" and forged out a decent lead maintained to the 'coffee break'. Frey's move also served the purpose of soaking up time bonuses that could have moved Julich further from the lead. Despite the fact that our two teams weren't supposed to work together, we spent the break time arguing about how we were going to create opportunities.
Shortly after the restart, Jay Vonderhae marked a move and bridged to Frey and El Pollo. He smartly countered off our attempts to spring Bobby and/or Greg, but those weren't allowed to go. Bobby and McNeil thought we should chase, and while I didn't think so, I started a 30km long chase with Eric Harris because, well, we were here for training after all. We were unable to chase the break down, but at least held it at bay. Up front, Vonderhae and Frey started making attacks. Vonderhae finally got away with El Pollo and dispatched him in the sprint for a nice win.
From the picture you can see there was a large crowd on hand. On the podium, Vonderhae tossed his victory wreath to the crowd, then took off his jersey and threw it into the crowd too. The jersey got ripped to shreds and Jay had to autograph many of those pieces.
After the Vuelta de Este we had a week to ride, check out the surroundings, and gear up for the eight-day, 11-stage Vuelta de Mendoza. It was a very pleasant week of riding and strolling around the city. I was rooming with John Frey who was taking advantage of the economic climate and time to have a tailor measure him up for a wool suit. I still didn't have very much money at this point, but I had no worries here; it was beautiful riding, outstanding food, and restful nights.
It was obvious that the restaurant we ate at was the relative of someone in the race organization. We always ate at the same place, with a large table set outside of the restaurant on a tree-shaded pedestrian mall. We would all arrive in a half-hour window and order our meals. I really felt like I was being spoiled. The food was excellent. It was also an unusual thing in Argentina to eat dinner so early. We would go at about 6 to 7; Argentines are night people, dinner before 10 pm was early.
It was here however, that probably the worst 'ugly American' incident took place. I won't name names here, because, the times were different, people make mistakes, people change and we've all done things we're ashamed of. As I wrote earlier, I was acutely aware of the need to behave ourselves. One evening at the dinner table some among us began catcalling women in the streets, whistling and making loud boorish remarks after them. In some cases these women with their boyfriends and obviously, none of them liked the attention. People in the street were staring and glaring at them in astonishment. The restaurant staff also looked uncomfortable with the situation and weren't sure what to do. Several of us reprimanded our compatriots, but they defended their actions, saying they were just giving them 'compliments'. Someone read them the riot act. I wasn't sure it sunk in, but I at least hoped that at least that they were here representing our country sunk in.
After a few days to recover from the Vuelta de Este, we did a couple of spectacular rides. With Frey, Julich and Greg McNeil, we repeated our ride up highway 52 towards the Andean foothills. This time we continued up the dirt to the top of the pass. We spent some time at the top soaking in the view of the Andes, the highest peaks in the Western hemisphere. The snow-capped mountain tops had that dreamy appearance of floating on the horizon, cold and distant. We turned around and headed back down to Mendoza.
The next day we wanted to complete the loop that would comprise much of two stages of the upcoming Vuelta de Mendoza. To do this, we paid a guy with a pickup truck to drive us to the end of the pavement on Highway 52, and rode from there. It was an even more astonishingly beautiful ride than the previous day. Not only did the we get the parade of peaks view at the top of the pass, the dirt descent off the pass had spectacular views of Aconcagua, the highest peak in the Western hemisphere. The pavement resumed halfway from the top to Uspallata and we went south on Highway 7, mostly gradually downhill back to Mendoza. We rode through spectacular canyons and by pristine mountain lakes. Though car traffic was at times fairly heavy, we weren't finding it terribly bothersome. Nonetheless, a good Samaritan drove behind us with his flashers on until we got back down to the lowlands. Had we been more savvy, we could have taken a smaller road after Potrerillos, but since our local sources didn't mention it, we didn't get the chance.
It became very apparent during our stay in Mendoza that inflation was spiraling out of control. Argentina has a long and unfortunate history of falling for charismatic populist leaders, or succumbing to despotic dictators that need to the appease the people quickly and implement policies that get the economy running quickly. Policies that ultimately lead to high inflation and bankruptcy. Argentina has defaulted on its debt nine times in its history, the last at this time being 1989, the next would be 2001 (Argentina is perilously close to making it ten times at the time of this writing). There were casitas de cambio (money changing booths), on just about every street corner. Every day there were long lines of people desperate to change their Australes to U.S. dollars or just about any other currency. There are varying ways to measure inflation, but I'll present this one: In the prior year inflation reached 3080%. Still into 1990 the country wasn't yet out of the woods, and an inflationary resurgence was hitting at that very moment. Ultimately the annual inflation rate for 1990 would come to 2314%,. The change was so rapid that shops would close midday to change prices on items. Everywhere we went, the shopkeepers asked us, "you can pay in dollars?" During the eight days of the Vuelta de Mendoza, I noted in my training diary that the dollar value of the prize list declined from roughly $3000 to $1800; a 44% decrease in 8 days.
During this week the women's team took some significant hits. Maureen Manley got very sick and spent the rest of the trip trying to recover. Out on a what had been a nice ride around the city Ruthie Mathis crashed on a road grate, chipped a tooth, and returned home. Katrin Tobin just wasn't having much fun, and left as well.
In retrospect I've wondered why the women were asked to come on the trip at all. Other than the chance to race in men's fields in a fairly exotic foreign country, there didn't seem to be much value for them. The women's race on the calendar was a two-day stage race, with a weak field. As for racing in the men's fields, they weren't exactly given a warm welcome and what the race promotors promised often changed as events evolved. Uncertainty and hostility plays on the mind, and you tire of it quickly. It seems like it would have been much easier and more effective for them to stay in the U.S. to train and/or race. I suspect the reason was rooted in the rationale for the trip in the first place.
In the absence of an official U.S. National Team training camp at home, someone in the Federation probably had a contact in Argentina, and floated the idea of going there, or, there was an outstanding invitation to go. The way these international trips usually worked was the hosting federation and race would pay airfare, lodging, and food. This trip, however, would be different. Only the Vuelta de Mendoza was truly an international race. I'm guessing some sort of hybrid arrangement was worked out where the airfares were either fully or partially covered by the Argentines, the lodgings covered by the U.S. federation except during the Vuelta de Mendoza when we weren't staying Mendoza, and the U.S. federation covered food. The primary advantage for the US federation is that is was, given the economic situation in Argentina, exceptionally cheap. Further, on February 17-18 Argentina was hosting its first women's stage race ever in Cordoba (maybe it was even the first in South America). It was likely the Argentines wanted some high level U.S. National Team women to legitimize their race. Perhaps the women's attendance had been part of the deal. This wouldn't be as simple as the Argentines would have liked.
I'm guessing the Argentines expected the U.S. women to be satisfied with that one race. When the U.S. Federation told the Argentines that the women would want more race opportunities and pressed them to allow the women to race in men's events, the Argentines were probably flummoxed. There was likely extensive bargaining, and I'm also guessing that the race promotors may have felt blindsided when told the eventual promised arrangement. In a country (and much of world at this time) with a very strong 'macho' culture, this wasn't going to go over terribly well. When we arrived, the race promotors were likely scrambling to figure out how to handle it, and the results were inconsistent and ever-changing.
Coming into the event, only Inga Thompson and Marion Clignet remained to take part in the Vuelta Ciclistica Femenina Trans Sierra in the neighboring province of Cordoba. Neither of them wanted to go, preferring to stay in Mendoza and ride the Vuelta de Mendoza, which would be much more beneficial to them. As is it was apparently very important to the Argentine federation that U.S. women be present in Cordoba, a deal was struck that if Inga and Marion did the women's race in Cordoba, which spanned the first two days of the Vuelta de Mendoza, they would be allowed to join the Vuelta de Mendoza on the third stage.
This was the setting for one of the most extraordinary series of events in bike racing history. I have yet to hear one that tops it. Inga and Marion left for Cordoba with Anatoly, who spoke no English or Spanish, but spoke Russian and perhaps a few other Slavic languages. Imagine how useful that was! They arrived at the race, dominated the other 15 riders, and were then returning to Mendoza when things went awry.
At the provincial border check they were detained by officials demanding a large bribe in U.S. dollars. Having converted most of their dollars to Argentine Australes, they couldn't even begin to satisfy the demand even if they were so inclined. The officials threw them into a cell in a jailhouse made of sod. Eventually, Inga and Marion persuaded the officials that holding them hostage was not in their best interests. These racers weren't 'nobodies' and would be missed. Inquires would be made and these officials would certainly not come out the better for it. After several hours, they were released and were allowed to continue to Mendoza.
On February 20th Inga Thompson was ready to start the third stage of the Vuelta de Mendoza as agreed, but the promoter didn't honor the agreement and wasn't going to allow Inga to start. Inga kept insisting and Bob Bills also weighed in trying to hold the promoter to the agreement. The promoter wouldn't relent, and held onto Inga's bike to prevent her from starting the race with the field. They let her go after about a minute, thinking that would put her out of the race, but she rode off after the field, caught the caravan, and in short order was up in the bunch. She even had the 'audacity' to follow a move and work with the resulting breakaway. The move got brought back and she finished in the bunch.
Again the next day the promoter was unwilling to let Inga start. Again she insisted on starting. This time police handcuffed her to the team van just before the race start. Bob and Craig were already busy cueing up for the caravan, so Inga had only Anatoly to look to for help. He was nowhere in sight. The field rolled off and she was left there, in racing kit, bike in one hand, the other handcuffed to the van. After a while, Anatoly stepped out of the very van Inga was handcuffed to, underscoring his usefulness. Eventually the police and promoters let her go, but this time they had made sure not to underestimate her ability to catch up.
I imagine that the race promoter was under a great deal of pressure from several sides to turn back on the agreement. One facet was very likely the more vocal members of the Argentine peloton, who had varying reactions to having women in the race. These ranged from "no way in hell do they belong here" to completely unconcerned. It was likely that many were astonished at Inga's capabilities, and were concerned at the prospect of her supplying us help. There was likely also the concern of being humbled being beaten by a woman.
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Far removed from the troubles that faced Inga and Marion, I was looking forward to the Vuelta de Mendoza. In the two prior races I was active and had done a lot of work. I felt relatively rested, reasonably sharp, and comfortable in the Argentine peloton. There would be almost all the Argentines we had race with for the last couple of weeks, plus the Uruguayans, Chileans, and a few other South American national teams. An Italian team was also present for the race.
We fielded three teams and everybody raced. In the regular stars and stripes were Bobby Julich, Greg McNeil, Jay Vonderhae and me. In the Celestial Seasonings jerseys were James Urbonas, Bob Mionski, John Frey, and Tim Quiqley. In the stars and swoops were Erin Hartwell, Brett Reagan, Eric Harris, and Matt Hamon. We again had to be careful about flagrantly "racing together", especially since we weren't too shy about it in the final stage of the Vuelta de Este.
The prologue on Sunday February 18th was an odd two-part affair. It started with a one-lap 2.5 mile team time trial which our stars and stripes team won and the stars and swoops team came in third. That determined the team GC lead. The individual leader was determined by short circuit heats similar to the prologue of the Giro della Regioni the previous year. Each heat had one rider from each team, with four heats in total. The top five from each heat advanced to the final. Julich, McNeil, and I advanced to the final where McNeil won with a two lap solo, Julich sprinted to second, and I came in third. We were starting off with a bang.
After the race I was starting to ride back to the hotel when a woman who was probably a bit older than me, but looked older than that, called for my attention and in Spanish was asking if I would give her my jersey. I wasn't inclined to fulfill this request since I only had two stars and stripes jerseys and a skinsuit. As it was, I had to wash a jersey every day. I didn't want to be down to one jersey, hoping it would dry by morning and also run the risk of crashing one and having nothing. I tried to explain to her in my simple Espanol that I couldn't give her my jersey because I needed the jersey to race. She kept insisting and was putting her hands together in a pleading gesture. After repeating myself a couple of times, I think I was able to further communicate to her that if she could find me after the last stage of the Vuelta, I would give her my jersey, numbers and all. Finally she let me go.
It was back to serious racing for Stage One the next morning. It was a double stage day, with a 14km hilly time trial, and a 100km circuit race in the late afternoon. The TT was mostly uphill with a shallow climb out of the city to the west. Juan Aguero from Mendoza topped Julich by 45 seconds. Our 'stars and stripes' team otherwise showed well with McNeil in fifth, Vonderhae in sixth, and me in eighth. I suffered a lot in the time trial, and was quite surprised to be in the top ten. We extended our team G.C. lead to two minutes.
My suffering continued in the late afternoon 100km circuit race. It was flat and brutally fast. Towards the end there were lots of splits. I felt like I was just hanging on and I managed to finish in the third group, about a minute back with Julich and Mionski. McNeil, Urbonas, Frey, and Quigley finished 20 seconds adrift behind a three-rider break. The rest of us were over three minutes back. The winner was Roberto Robles leading a three-rider Argentine break.
The next morning came much too soon and I was feeling a bit whipped for another 140km flat fast road race. I rode into it some, finishing in the second group 20 seconds off the lead trio. The stage was won by Italian Antonio Mazzon ahead of two Argentines. Erin Hartwell "won" the field sprint for fourth.
I felt better for Stage Four, a 155km circuit race. The circuit was a large one, with four or five laps. It started and finished in Mendoza and through several smaller towns outside the metro area. It was again fast and despite the speed, a fairly large group split off fairly early. Seeing the split which was going away at a quick rate, an Argentine rider did exactly what I would do: try to make the bridge. He jumped hard with me attached to his wheel. We got away clean and dug in for a long chase.
The lead group was absolutely flying and so were we. They were only about 30 seconds ahead but we weren't making much headway. We would gain some ground but then lose it just as easily. After a long time chasing, I said, exasperated, to the Argentine, "We're not going to make it." He looked back at me totally alarmed, "No! No! Vamos! Vamos!" His urgency rallied me a bit and I returned to pulling. We kept yo-yoing before finally beginning to close when the group slowed a bit. We were very close to making the bridge. Coming into one of the small towns there was a 90-degree left followed quickly with another 90-degree left. In between these two turns was a parking bay that if you were carrying a lot of speed you could use to run out into. The Argentine came into this indeed carrying a lot of speed trying to close the final gap. We went deep into the slightly off camber parking bay, which was, as it turned out, impregnated with oil that had for years dripped from parked cars. Simultaneously our wheels slid out from under us and we slid on the pavement into the curb.
We both sprang up to our feet and back on our bikes as fast as we could and just as quickly assessed that our bikes were basically ok. We were back to a 30 or 40 second gap and starting over again. Running on adrenaline we closed about half the gap but again started wavering closing a few seconds here, losing a few seconds there. I gave up three more times and got the same urgent "Vamos" in reply. Occasionally he would add "Solo dos minutos mas!" Somehow my vote in the matter was outweighed by his. Finally, after about 30 minutes of chasing, the group ahead relented a bit and we closed to about five seconds. I put in a big fast pull and the Argentine got the last pull to latch us on. This guy, I thought, was the same kind of racer I was. We gave each other a high five and went our separate ways in the group.
Erin Harwell had made the initial split. I was completely spent and just had to hang on. I couldn't really help him without stirring up trouble anyway because we were on different teams. On the final lap the group split into several pieces, Argentine Alberto Bravo won, with his countryman Mauricio Rodriguez suffering his third second place in a row, each in a three-rider break. The previous day's winner Antonio Mazzon placed third. Erin Hartwell again "won" the field sprint for fourth at 23 seconds. I trailed in a bit off the back with a small group at 48 seconds. The main bunch came in 5:37 down.
This made me our team's G.C. leader, somewhere in the top 5, but with the big mountain stage coming up the next day, and with me beat up from crashing, I told my teammates not to work for me. For some reason Bobby Julich was unconvinced and insisted that I could "do it". I was on pretty good form, but for me to climb well several factors needed to come together. My form needed to be stellar-- not just good. I also needed to be at my lightest possible weight, and I needed to be well rested. I was none of these things now.
We were now entering a three-day phase of double stage days. The first stage each day would start early, 8:00 am, with the second stage going late afternoon, 4:00 pm. We wouldn't be getting much sleep in this time.
This phase all started with Stage Five. At 105km this was the big mountain stage up the dirt climb and down to Uspallata. This stage was also a "coffee break" stage. Times would taken at the summit of the dirt road, and we were bussed down to where the pavement started back. We then restarted the remainder of the stage to Uspallata, sent off at our time deficits from the summit. Apparently this was done because a rider a couple years before had died descending the dirt road. The second stage was mostly downhill 80km from Uspallata to just outside Mendoza.
We started Stage Five with Bobby Julich still adamant that I could advance my G.C. position if I had our team's full support. I kept telling him I wouldn't hold up, and to this day I am mystified as to why he believed in me so much then. I have always been very self-aware. At this point, I had been racing for eight years and I employed a training regimen that was very basic in assumptions that worked. I knew what I was capable of and I knew what I was not. To suggest that I could override that with confidence didn't wash with me. I could push myself to my limits whenever I wanted. Sometimes I would exceed expectations, sometimes I wouldn't. When I looked back at the trends in my training, I could see why I could or couldn't. At this point of a stage race in February, given where I was in the grander scheme of things, I knew I wasn't up to snuff on a steep long climb up to 11,000 feet.
And so when we hit the steep paved first part of the climb, I was on the wheel of the Italian race leader, Antonio Mazzon with Bobby Julich and Greg McNeil forcing the pace. Mazzon was probably an equal climber to me, and we were both under an extreme amount of pressure keeping Bobby's wheel. I came off slightly several times before finally coming unglued about a kilometer before the dirt started. Just before I came off I yelled up to Bobby, "Bobby, I'm cracked". Riders streamed around me as I went backwards. Mazzon came to his own limit at the dirt.
I had pushed way too hard and had to slow down to a crawl to recover. But as we were headed to ever higher elevations, the recovery wasn't completely forthcoming. I felt horrible and when I punctured at some point, I took out the wheel and looked back for our car. The caravan was moving at a a snail's pace, and the road too narrow for a car to move up. In frustration I threw my wheel against the dirt embankment on the other side of the road. It rolled up the embankment a bit before reversing course and rolling back down, bouncing off a passing support car and continue rolling down the road. The mechanic in the back of the next support car, a pickup, calmly snagged the wheel and in passing, handed it back to me. "Thank you" I said they moved past.
I would ultimately lose 20:36 in 22nd place. I lost some of that time even in the restart back down to Uspallata as I was completely dispirited, despite the fact that this was what I had really expected. I think I was disappointed in myself for getting carried away and going over my head. I could have enjoyed my ride a lot more if I had paced myself. Bobby Julich did well to hang on to fourth place, 7:22 behind the winner, for the second day in row, Alberto Bravo a minute ahead of Pablo Elizalde, with Elizalde taking the overall lead.
We had several hours to take in lunch and the pleasantly cool dry air under the sun before moving on to Stage Six in the late afternoon. It was mostly downhill and only 80km. An ideal stage to spin out the legs and relax a bit, or so I thought.
Not too far off the line I felt like I was dragging an anchor. As the pace increased, I was having to work exceptionally hard to keep up. I was dropping through the field and completely maxed out. As I dropped back through the caravan I wondered how this could be. Going downhill like this just couldn't be as hard as it was. Finally it occurred to me to have a look at my rear wheel, and I discovered that my tire was rubbing against the chain stay. I moved to the middle of the road in between cars, and unclipped as a warning to the car behind I was coming to a stop, and indeed stopped, turning my bike sideways to restrict traffic going around me (this of course is a classic trick so you minimize your chasing without the help of the caravan). I righted the wheel, gave the skewer a tightening turn, and jumped back on.
The field was absolutely flying and it took me a long time to reconnect with the bunch. I was able to relax when I reached the tail end of the bunch and I mostly stayed there to the finish. My mood was pretty sour since I was oddly disappointed with myself on Stage Five, and now I had "burned matches"' I could ill afford to lose. The former leader Antonio Mazzon picked up another stage win.
The next day was another double stage day for Stages Seven and Eight, 140km in the morning, and an 80km circuit race in the afternoon. I really needed an easy day and fortunately so did everyone else. We at last had a nice roll 'round along tree shaded flat roads with vineyards on either side. A real race eventually erupted, and Chilean Leno Aquea took the win. Bobby Julich made the split and kept his fifth spot on G.C. safe. Once we saw that Bobby was up there, we could relax and came in a minute and a half down. This stage took us away from Mendoza and out to a smaller town to the southeast. There we spent the afternoon getting set up at the hotel, and prepared for the afternoon circuit race.
A flat 80km circuit race sounds easy, but for this one an afternoon thunderstorm rolled in with lashing rain and wind. It was total gutterball and we had a to work hard to keep Bobby up front. We eventually got him installed in the front echelon with Greg McNeil and that was quite satisfactory. In the finale, Bobby and Greg traded attacks which ended with Bobby taking the win. The rest of us came less than a minute down, in various echelons.
On Saturday, the third day in a row of double stage days, we had on tap 80km in the morning, and 120km back up to Mendoza and finishing on a climb, for the afternoon. For the morning stage I was able to sit on once we were sure Bobby and Greg were in the move. It was more or less the same in the afternoon, with the field waiting for the final climb. We got Bobby and Greg in position, and it rode it in. Both stages were won by Juan Aguero, who had won the Stage One time trial.
With one stage to go I was feeling just short of wiped out. The double stages were exhausting; not so much because of the racing, but because of the timing. The 8:00 am starts meant waking up at 5:00 am to get breakfast down. It was nice to have most of the day to relax and nap, but the 4:00 pm afternoon starts meant finishing up between 7 and 8, and then you needed to wind down, have dinner, squeeze in a massage if possible, and then try to get to sleep. In Mendoza our hotel was in a quiet neighborhood, but outside Mendoza they put us in rooms above the town squares. Argentines are night people and even if we managed to get into bed by 11:00pm, the noise and bustle below kept me awake until things shut down at 2:00 am if we were lucky, more like 3:00 am. The Italian manager was particularly ticked off at this arrangement. He complained enough for all of us.
Stage Eleven on Sunday, February 25th was on a brutal short circuit, basically down from the start, and back up. The flattish top and bottom of the course were very short. The climb wasn't particularly steep until the top, but if you were carrying speed, you didn't need to shift to the wee ring. We did somewhere between 30 and 40 laps for 85 miles.
Bobby Julich had been astute in making most of the front splits since the big mountain stage, and we had been working hard to help him get there. In spite of that he had been mired in fifth place since then as well. Moving up in G.C. wasn't really in the cards but Julich was also second in the sprint jersey competition. There were points towards the jersey every five laps, and we saw that if Bobby won five of the sprints, and the current leader won none, Julich could win that jersey. The sprint jersey had been held by Francisco Robles who was a pure sprinter. If no one else was interested, it was very possible for Julich to win each one. The long uphill steepened just before the 200 meter mark. The road then leveled out and turned slightly downhill for the final 50 meters.
John Frey went out solo for the first part of the race and a strong chase from the Italians weakened the field. Once Frey was brought back, on each lap that had a sprint for points, Frey and Eric Harris started winding it up on the bottom of the descent and into the lower part of the climb. Jay Vonderhae took over at about 1km, and I kicked hard at 400 meters. Bobby would then start sprinting just as the steepest part hit. With this lineup, Bobby won the first two easily. Robles was wise to what was happening, but I think was concerned about the distance. He was hoping we would tire out and he could win back some points later in the stage. As it was Robles was the only real competition for the sprint wins, and Bobby would get a big enough gap on the steep bit every time. The GC leader had to be delighted with our forcing, his team had fallen away, but we kept the speed up to keep Bobby in the sprint jersey hunt. With the final sprint won, and the sprint jersey competition secured, the stage win was now in play with 4 laps to go.
I was pretty cooked from doing the lead outs, but I had one more move in me. Italian Ricardo Forconi was on the hunt and I jumped his wheel along with James Urbonas. The bunch was tired and shattered, and they were more than happy to let us go. After we forged a secure lead, we got down to beating each other up. James and I were hitting the Italian with alternating attacks but he had an answer for each one. But then I cracked. I had attacked but the Italian was directly on me, when James countered, off the back I went. But now the Italian was stalled out because James was sitting on. I would slowly catch back up, swing to the other side of the road and try to just ride on by. That didn't work. We went through this routine for a lap before I got dropped for good. Forconi held off James for the win. I dragged myself over the line for 3rd. Rolling past the finish line I heard a loud "Fuck you!" from the crowd and felt something hit me in the back. Someone had thrown a rock at me. I looked back, but the crowd was huge, and there was no telling who it might have been.
In all the Latin American races I'd done, I'd been spit on, and had many times had various objects thrown (but usually missing) at me. I took all these things in stride because when they happened I was focused on the racing and I hardly had noticed it in the first place. For some reason this incident bothered me. Whoever it was probably had a general hatred for all Estado Unidenses, but for some reason, and I have no idea why, I felt that one was personal...but how could it have been?
There was a fun after race party bar that evening. As usual all (well, most) grudges were relaxed and transgressions forgiven. I was pleasantly drunk on beers and sitting in a chair against the wall when a guy comes up and hands me a note. It was in English, written by someone whose English was slightly better than my Spanish. "Leave your clothes at the monument..." it began. Just then I remembered the woman at the prologue who was pleading for me to give her my jersey. I looked up wanting to speak to the guy who handed me the note, but he was already gone. The note was instructing me to "leave my clothes" at a mountain top monument that you could see from the city. It was about eight miles away, and most of that uphill. There was certainly no way I was riding up there in the dark just then.
After a couple of days relaxing in Mendoza, we took a bus to Santiago, Chile. It went right through the shadow of Aconcagua, and down a spectacular road on the Chilean side. We stayed overnight in Santiago and flew out the next morning. There was a layover in Paraguay before landing in Miami. John and I landed in Denver on March 2nd and boarded another plane for San Francisco for the Team Shaklee photo shoot.
We flew back to Denver only to be mired once again in a snow storm. I got back to Albuquerque a few days later to find most of the guys in town had left for a weekend of racing in Phoenix. Hiroki Ide was still there and planned on driving down only for the Sunday road race at Usery Pass. I decided to go along. I was still a bit jet lagged, but thought a good race would reset my clock.
I was expecting a basic Arizona local field but the field was stacked with talent. Of course upon reflection it made sense. There were no camps, and teams flocked southwards looking for racing. Arizona was a popular choice. Subaru Montgomery had Lance Armstrong with something to prove, Bottechia with Radisa Cubrik, Granny's, and several of my teammates made up the top end of the field. The course was an Arizona classic on the east side of Phoenix. The main feature was of course Usery Pass, a stair step climb that was just long enough to hurt, especially with the constant grade changes. It was a roughly 70-mile race with 4-laps.
Lance Armstrong forced the pace immediately upon the start of the climb and drove a significant split. I bridged across midway up the climb and saw that I was our team's only representative. Subaru had two or three guys, there were a few Granny's, and 2 or 3 Bottechias. I refused to pull, but no one gave me too much grief about it because we all knew what was left of the field was coming back. We rolled to the climb next time around and the exact same thing happened except I was on the right side of the split. It was the same scenario with pretty much the same riders. I again refused to pull. This time, Lance came back to give me some grief. I simply told him no.
Third lap, more of the same. This time Lance gave me extensive grief. I felt compelled to explain to him the tactical nuance involved here because Lance wasn't at this time (if ever) tactically brilliant. There were three teams here with more than one rider, whereas I was alone. My obvious obligation was to sit on. "What kind of idiot pulls in my situation?" was my conclusion.
Going into the fourth lap the field was significantly smaller, and it was obvious that going up the pass was going to yield the same result. The difference was that the split was going to survive to the line. Lance gave me a little more static for sitting on but gave up when it became clear he wasn't going to change my mind and his contribution was needed to keep the group away. We got to the bottom of the descent and people started getting cagey. There were attacks and I bided my time. At last there was a move that looked decisive, I bridged across. Lance was there with one of the Bottechia guys, I think John Loehner, and three others. Now I pulled full on because the team balance was even, and I wanted the separation to hold, especially since Radisa Cubrik wasn't there. Approaching the sprint, there was a truck pulling a boat trailer hesitating right at the finish line. Everyone standing at the roadside was in absolute panic yelling at the driver to move ahead. I had to slam my brakes on immediately past the line to avoid hitting the back of the boat trailer, but I never had won a sprint so easily. This was due to the fact that I was obliged to sit on for all but a few miles of the race. Did I harbor any guilt over having won this way? No, I most certainly did not. Things worked in my favor, and I took advantage of it. That's bike racing.
I spent March at home in Albuquerque and going to Arizona on weekends to race. I dialed back the training a little hoping to consolidate my February gains, as I knew I would have a big year ahead. I wasn't worried at all about the upcoming Tour of Texas. I didn't need to worry about results there because I was assured of bigger things ahead. Indeed, I was quite anonymous at the Tour of Texas which started at Zilker Park in Austin on March 31st. Just before halfway I was just under 20th overall but a few days later severe allergies turned to lung congestion and I barely finished. Jiri introduced me to Chris Carmichael who was taking over the on the race coaching from Jiri. I was told what I expected, I would get rides at the Tour de Trump in early May and the Milk Race May 27 to June 9.
Me, John Frey, Kent Bostick at the Tour of Texas
The allergy-induced lung congestion quickly cleared up and I had a reasonably mellow April ahead of me. I continued with lower miles but upped the intensity a little, focusing mostly on climbing. I did a two-man team time trial south of Albuquerque with Kent Bostick, which we won. Immediately after that we were off to Phoenix for the Tempe Grand Prix, where I had a terrible race. Next up was the '89er Stage Race in Norman Oklahoma, I race I liked a lot. The '89er consisted of a Saturday morning time trial, an afternoon road race on a big wind-swept flat circuit with a lumpy finish, and the Campus Corner Crit in Norman to finish it off.
Our main competition for this would be the AC Pinerello team, who like me were gearing up for the Tour de Trump. The team consisted mainly of a core of Colorado climber guys like Mark Southard, Clark Sheehan, Bryan Miller, Mike Carter and Bruce Whitesel. Other great racers were with the team like Randy Whicker and Michael Engleman (of course a climber but not from Colorado).
I popped off a decent time trial to come in 5th, won by John Frey over Kent Bostick. The top 10 was filled with Shaklee and AC Pinarello riders, with a few happy locals scattered in. In the road race Rod Bush and I were tasked with keeping the field together. I was tiring at the end of the last lap where the hills kicked in, and the AC Pinarello guys were hoping to get away from Kent and John. Rod and I fell away on the first hill, and John and Nate were covering moves. John later said Kent wasn't helping. At one point a small move had gone, and John asked Kent to pitch in. Kent bridged over, won the stage, and assumed the overall lead. Needless to say, John wasn't happy.
There is a delicate history here. When I joined Team Shaklee in 1989 it was formed partly out of the ashes of the Shaklee/Beatrice project from '88, and some of the long running Ten Speed Drive Team. John Frey and Kent Bostick were longtime rivals in New Mexico time trials and had traded the national 40km record a few times. Kent had been a core member of the Ten Speed Drive team for years, and Frey came on I think in '87. Their time trial rivalry continued right on into Team Shaklee.
I freely admit here that I have a clear bias to Frey's side of the story (and I am helped to this point of view by my own dealings with Kent as a teammate). But what was clearly undeniable to any observer at that time is that Frey often felt slighted in their racing relationship. The last few miles of this road race in Oklahoma was no exception. After dinner Rod, John, Nate Sheafor, and I happened upon a bunch of the AC Pinarello guys. We talked and joked around for a while before Bryan Miller said, "Frey, what Kent did to you today sucked, let's work him over tomorrow and get you the lead back."
This was something that was highly possible. The Campus Corner Crit was held on a tight 8-corner circuit. It was easy to restrict who could and could not reach the front. Nate got away with a couple of AC Pinarello guys, and they feathered their lead. I jumped across with a few others and we continued feathering our effort. Kent was chasing; John countered, and bridged up to us. As soon as John caught on we poured on the pace. We got enough time to give John the G.C. lead, and kept the speed on. I happened to be near the front as we approached the finish, a local rider lead it out, and I came around him for the stage win.
In spite of our team disfunction, we won each stage, and took the top four on G.C., with John, Nate, Kent, and me in that order. Before heading home to Albuquerque, John and Kent had it out in a private discussion, and as always, came out 'friends'; or at least with an understanding.
It was then back to Arizona for the La Vuelta de Bisbee, another race I was fond of and had attended every year since '86. In the past I had always done well in the 3-mile long uphill prologue time trial, but this time I couldn't find a rhythm, and finished poorly. Things looked up for me the next day, making the front split in the crosswinds and then the final break. We were moving fast with a strong tailwind into the bottom of the final climb back into Bisbee when I got tangled up in a crash. My former fellow Wisconsinite Chad Price took the stage win.
Frey continued his TT streak winning the next morning, I didn't even try. The next day was a flattish, wind affected road race to the north-east of Bisbee. It was a tough day where I came in 12th, and Chris Koberstein won. Bisbee concluded with a 50km team time trial. Our team was Frey, Bostick, Nate Sheafor, and me. I was the only one of us that wasn't on a TT bike, and my biggest gear was 'only' a 53x12. Given the monster tailwind on the way out, and that I was riding with 3 national time trial champions, I was quite nervous. Indeed. I got about 5 miles before getting blown away after taking a pull. We, I mean they, won the stage.
Two days later on May 1st I flew to Philadelphia, arriving at roughly the same time as some of my teammates, and were taken to Wilmington, Delaware for the start of the Tour de Trump. That the race was starting in Wilmington was seen as proof that DuPont would be taking over the title sponsorship for the next year. Some might find it interesting that throughout the race, no Trump properties were used.
My hopes for this race were limited. It was a high-power field, but I had my eyes on the Milk Race, and really hoped this race would pop my form up in time for that. There were a couple of stages I hoped I could try to shine on, and with luck maybe get a decent result. It was possible I would be enlisted to help one of my teammates who might be in a good G.C. spot, but I thought that unlikely, because of the power of the field.
Tour de Trump Race bible cover
Joining me on the 'USA' team were Steve Larsen, Jay Vonderhae, Bob Mionske, Dave Nicholson, and my Shaklee teammate Nate Sheafor. Though the start list above names Greg McNeil, he was replaced by Bobby Julich. Steve Larsen that year was riding for the U.S. Cretail club in France, and while I had no idea how that was going for him, he arrived with what he was calling a head cold. With the exception of Dave Nicholson, who I had met just that year, I knew everyone well.
The race started with a prologue time trial in Wilmington on Thursday May 3rd. We did a nice morning 40 mile roll round, and got ready for the afternoon. I tried getting comfortable on the Serotta TT bike the federation gave me to use, but wasn't having too much luck.
Wilmington Prologue
The 5km Tour de Trump prologue time trial was a pretty tough one with some stiff hills including the cobblestone Monkey hill. I pushed off with the simple view to going as good as I could. Everything was fine until I punctured the 24" front tire shortly into the ride. I got a reasonably quick wheel change, and rolled off again. I hit Monkey Hill a little dispirited because I just wasn't feeling great, and that wasn't helped when I punctured again, this time the rear tire. No matter how hard I might ride from here would make no difference. I was just looking to finish it off but then the icing on the cake: I punctured the front again. There were no more front wheels, and what was certainly a blunder, my road bike wasn't with the car. I had to ride the flat to the finish, no mean feat, a mile with a stiff hill and several turns and a flat 24" tire. Raul Alcala won.
That was the start to my very unhappy Tour de Trump. In addition to that, I was also the random pick for the drug test, which is always a hassle. Peeing into a cup with some guy staring at you performing the task is no fun. I was dead last in the prologue, the first time I had ever earned that position.
Stage 1 - Wilmington - Baltimore
There were eight professional teams in the race: 7-Eleven, Coors Light, PDM, Panasonic, Z, Lotto, Manzana/Postobon, and Carrera. Six foreign national amateur teams were present: Canada, France, New Zealand, Soviet Union, Sweden, and West Germany. Filling out the bunch were the U.S. amateur squads: A.C. Pinarello, Spago, Subaru-Montgomery, Crest, and U.S. National.
It was clear that the professional squads, especially the bigger headline teams, would set the tone for the race. The first stage from Wilmington to Baltimore was flat, but not especially fast. It was only 95 miles but we started casually, building speed to the end where it came down to a bunch sprint, won by Panasonic's Olaf Ludwig. Jay Vonderhae snuck in for 7th.
Stage 2 - Baltimore Inner Harbor
That same evening was a 56km criterium. There isn't much to say about it. We paraded around, Olaf Ludwig won again. Bob Mionske showed for 4th.
Another double stage day followed. A flat road race from Fredericksburg to Richmond started the day. The script wasn't followed however, and the Soviet Union's Vladislav Bobrick lead in a successful break, and took the overall lead. For the rest of us, it was a nice roll round in the bunch. Mionske had a go at the field sprint and got 5th place for the stage. The afternoon/evening Stage 4 would prove to be a terribly embarrassing moment for the sport of cycling, which should have been a simple Team Time Trial, 53km long.
Stage 4 - Team Time Trial - Richmond
I have to confess I wasn't looking forward to this. We would likely have an hour and a half or so of fast riding. Even though we all knew how to ride a TTT, we had never all been together in one, and that would take some sorting out. But all that was made irrelevant as mere hours before the start we were informed that the TTT would not count for individual GC.
I have no idea who lead the argument to annul the TTT because it was unfair to smaller teams, but it apparently gained steam, and finally won out. TTTs were very popular as a stage in races in the late 80s and early 90s, and I always thought they had no place in a race less than two weeks long, because the effect on the race was too great. In U.S. domestic stage races an hour-long TTT usually had the effect of handing the overall GC to one or two teams, and giving no chance to riders would have had a shot at the top 10 otherwise. There simply was not enough time in a short stage race to overcome the time loss. This was something promotors acknowledged and the answer was not to eliminate them, but to neuter them by making them not count toward individual GC.
This created a situation where a few teams would ride the TTT stage all out as either a chance for a stage win, or to hold their place on team GC, or as a practice run for a more important TTT. Every team that stood no chance in the stage would soft pedal it, making the stage a farce. It would be no different here at The Tour de Trump except that making the stage a farce was visible for everyone to see. The Europeans were dumbfounded, people who watched it on NBC were likely terribly confused. What should have happened (given that they were apparently determined to include a TTT), is that they should have upheld the rules but shortened distance. We were scheduled for two 19.7 mile laps. If they had just put it at one lap, the potential time loss would have been not so bad. Every team would need to ride, and the integrity of the race would have held up.
For our team the TTT was completely demoralizing. In our pre race meeting, we were told to 'not ride', Which typically means that we should soft pedal it. "Soft pedaling" is of course a relative term. Away from the coaches, we as a thrown together team had different ideas about how exactly we should ride. My feeling was that we should just rotate medium fast, like 25-27 mph. It would be easy and and we could just get it done with rather than being out there two hours or more going easy. A few really wanted to go all out. Jay Vonderhae was at the other end of the spectrum; he was all for a small ring spin. While most of us had roughly the same idea as me, we didn't come to a settled agreement.
We started out smoothly and medium fast like I had hoped. Before too long, however, Jay came up and was pissed at us for going too hard. We told him if he didn't like it he could just sit on, but he wasn't satisfied. After some more arguing, we started losing momentum and finally there were only three or four of us making pace. We caught up to the New Zealand squad who were having no problem moving in a unified snail's pace. They jumped onto the back of us. Shortly into the second lap, the Panasonic team roared past us both, and that moment was picked to broadcast on the NBC coverage. Our team car came up alongside and Chris Carmichael barked at us to pick it up. We dutifully 'picked it up' but by no means were flying. Jay Vonderhae spent most of the rest of the ride back with the car arguing with Chris about what we were doing. Graham Miller from the New Zealand team was having trouble figuring it out too. "What the fuck are you yanks doing?" he pointedly asked.
Back at the hotel Chris Carmichael lit into us. Personally, I though he was being completely unfair. We were told not to ride, and we were more or less doing a medium effort, that was arguably better than just soft pedaling. When the pro teams came blasting past us, he suddenly tells us to ride. We didn't know what he really wanted. Most of us kept our mouths shut, but Jay wasn't having it. He argued back what most of us were thinking. That tirade earned Jay a ticket back home. Bob Mionske didn't care for the situation and left on his own. Steve Larsen wasn't recovering from his cold, and if he didn't leave that day, left soon after.
We had a subdued dinner and breakfast the next morning. The next day was a key stage, and one I hoped that, with luck, I could have a good ride. My mood wasn't starting out well, but I knew I had the form. 
Stage 5- Richmond - Charlottesville
In principle, the race was simple. It started flat until reaching the short (three miles) and very steep Wintergreen climb, with 40 miles to go from the top. Then it was a false flat northwards on the Blue Ridge parkway before dropping downhill to Charlottesville. It totaled 145 miles with a 20 mile neutral zone. The neutral zone was as always dangerous and nervous. When we were finally set off, the pace actually slowed. Everyone was waiting for the climb. I knew what was going to happen. About 10 miles before the climb, the pace would skyrocket, and if you weren't in position, you would exhaust yourself getting to the front by the time you reached the climb. This meant I had to try to stay reasonably close to the front as much as I could. Many were in the same boat as me, and the fight to stay up front was not easy.
As it happened I was unlucky with the group turnover and I hit the climb too far back. I wasn't climbing much better than the average rider in this race so I wasn't going to make up any ground on the climb itself. In any case, the climb was so steep the difference between the fastest and slowest riders was not that great. When we hit the top of the climb I was close to the front of our group, which was slightly detached from what would be the front group chasing the break which had gone away before Wintergreen. I jumped to bridge across, but riders behind me caught my wheel. I kept the pressure on because I could see that the group in front of us was not waiting. I kept the speed up and began closing the gap. After three or so minutes of going all out, I closed the gap to about five seconds, but I couldn't keep it up. I had to pull off now or I would completely crack and fall off whoever took up the chase. There was a Canadian behind me (and Julich behind him), but when I pulled off, the Canadian swung off with me and everyone behind him did likewise. The group in front of us quickly pulled away, and with it any possible hopes I had for this stage.
Nate Reiss took a great win from the break. Bobrick held on to the overall lead.
Stage 6 Charlottesville to Winchester
Any hopes of the race improving for me disappeared on the morning of Stage 6 from Charlottesville to the unglamorous town of Winchester, won by Pascal Poisson from the Z team. I woke up feeling a sore throat coming on, a feeling that only worsened as the stage wore on. I wasn't sick just yet, and if I had not started and been able to sleep all day I might have warded it off. That isn't how things worked though and I had to start the stage hoping it would magically go away. I finished in the bunch with little problem but now I had moved past the sore throat and straight into head and lung congestion. I reported my condition to Carmichael and he tracked down the race doctor who started me on a course of antibiotics.
The antibiotics cleared away most of the congestion by the next morning but my breathing was not optimal. I was pretty sure I had bronchitis because every breath felt like the air was being blocked by layers of mucus deep in my lungs. I wasn't able get that feeling when a deep breath oxygenates your blood. I couldn't see myself surviving the day. The race doctor gave me an inhaler to help. It relieved me of the feeling of my breathing being interfered with, but it merely changed the problem. I could get a clear breath, but it felt like I was at about 60% capacity, and I still wasn't getting that nice feeling that a deep breath gives.
My condition at the start of Stage 7, from Winchester Virginia to Harrisburg, Pennsylvania was accompanied by a slightly disoriented feeling, like I wasn't entirely in my own body. The start felt like a shock to me, and I was almost dropped straight away. About a third of the way through the stage, there were a lot of accelerations where I got dropped each time, only to have the field slow and I could catch back. At the lone KOM, not a terribly serious hill, there was a flurry of attacks that ultimately ended with Andy Bishop (riding for Spago) going solo. The attacks put me off the back and this time I really felt like I wouldn't get back. On the other side of the KOM, and just before rolling through Gettysburg I just managed to get back on after spending a long time back and forth through the caravan. We rolled through the feed zone and I picked up a musette bag. I was sorting through it when looking ahead, the field was stretching out single file on the right side of the road. PDM (Bishop's team the prior year) wasn't pleased with him off the front.
I tossed the musette over my shoulder and got in line. I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth directly at the back of the bunch. It was roughly 40 miles from the feed zone to the finish. It was mostly slightly downhill to the Susquehanna River just before Harrisburg, and in that space the pace never dropped below 33 mph. It was all I could do to hang on. I did hang on, and so did Andy Bishop, famously winning the stage.
This stage took a lot out of me and I knew I couldn't survive many days like that. The next day was another double stage day, a time trial and a 70-mile circuit race. I really should have stopped at this point, but I still had hope things might improve, and there wasn't anyone advising me to stop. I could loaf the 16-mile TT, and see how the circuit race went.
Stages 8 and 9, Lehigh TT, and Allentown/Bethlehem Circuit
In the TT Raul Alcala won, chipping away at Bobrick's lead. The evening circuit race in the Allentown and Bethlehem borderland, and featuring a sharp hill up to Lehigh University, was three laps for 71 miles. Olaf Ludwig won his third stage. I finished in the laughing group with LeMond and his overly attendant lieutenant Johan Lammerts. It was a minor struggle for me to do even that.
Stage 10 Stroudsburg to New Paltz
Our overnight lodgings (like most in this race) were quite nice, but it didn't soften the weather outside. It was cold (relative to the time of year) and dumping rain. Again I should not have started, but hope springs eternal. The first 30 miles were lumpy and gradually uphill on heavy pavement. The pace wasn't too terribly oppressive but I was already in trouble. Then my chain started skipping. I went back to the car twice to have it oiled but that didn't help (I would later find out it was a couple of links with a broken roller). There wasn't a KOM at the top, but the pace surged, and the combination of my illness, and the skipping chain made me give up. I didn't even remember the caravan passing me by. I was joined at the top by a heavily bandaged Belgian pro on the Lotto team. I froze going down the other side to the Delaware River before Port Jarvis, where it forms the corner that is the border of Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and New York.
The bridge across the river was of the metal grate type that is so terrifying to ride in the rain. I spotted the pedestrian path on the side of the bridge and took that. the Belgian pro took the bridge. He emerged on the other side before I did, and my chain was skipping so badly now that I could hardly move forward. There was a van behind me and I knew it was the broom wagon. I finally stopped and with no basis in hope believed the broom wagon might have a solution to my chain problem. Of course they did not. I mulled over my options for a few moments, and saying, "I'll get pneumonia if keep going," I tossed my bike against the side of the van and got in.
The van was almost full already. I should have known that by the number of bikes on the trailer but hadn't noticed it. I didn't know any of the guys in there but most of them were in a pretty good mood as opposed to mine. They wore off on me after a while as I accepted the inevitability of my situation. I had quit plenty of races before but I had never been in a broom wagon. I was a little surprised at how good the mood was inside.
The whole race was staying that night at the same hotel: the Friar Tuck Inn at Catskill, NY. The broom wagon has to follow the race to the finish, but given that everyone was the same hotel, the broom wagon continued past New Paltz and we were dropped off there before anyone else.
I got the wet clothing off except my shorts before the rest of the team showed up. The doors of our rooms faced out onto a balcony walkway that faced the parking lot. I walked out the door just to alert everyone to our set of rooms. Chris Carmichael wasted no time venting his frustration at me. "Get back in the room!" he shouted, along with some other stuff about my being barefoot and sick standing outside. Then he said "Your problem is that you just don't know how to take care of yourself." I kept my mouth shut, turned around, mildly humiliated, and went back into the room and waited for my bag, getting more and more angry about it.
It was ridiculous to me that my ability at self care was being judged by something that didn't matter. I was hardly going to make myself more sick by less than a minute outside no matter what I was or was not wearing. Continuing to race did considerably more to harm my recovery than standing outside for a moment ever could. Simply being cold doesn't make you sick, being exposed to a virus or bacteria do, and that had already happened. I took care of my health just as well as the average bike racer.
Despite appearances here, I got on with Chris quite well. On a personal level I had no problem with him except that he had a tendency to do things like this; to yell things in outbursts that in the heat of the moment seemed like bullying or aimed to humiliate. In a coach/athlete relationship, I certainly wasn't the type of person that was motivated or too greatly affected by external things like that. Despite the outbursts he was able to talk things over later in a rational way. He had only just retired from racing the previous year. The National Team coach role was his first coaching job, and certainly had a lot to learn about interaction. He was under a lot of stress at this race, and a lot of things were going wrong, his venting at me wasn't all about me. Of course at the time it seemed like it was.
When I related this particular event to others, many believed that the accusation that I didn't know how to take care of myself was about drugs, but the more I've thought about it, I don't think it was. "Taking care of yourself" has been used as a euphemism for learning to dope. At this time in the U.S. domestic scene doping wasn't terribly common from what I'd seen. There wasn't much chatter or gossip on the subject among us, and there just weren't lots of people around the sport in the US who pushed dope or doping programs to riders. I can't say there weren't any, just that they were very few. The availability of performance-enhancing drugs or doping programs just wasn't something that just fell into your lap through the mid '80s and into the '90s. Someone would have to go way out of their way to do it. Some may see that as naïve, but that was my experience.
I expected to be sent home, and as sick as I was that certainly made sense. Instead I was kept on to the end of the race, probably a cost-saving measure. I rode in the soigneur's car in advance of the race for the rest of the way. Raul Alcala and PDM overhauled Bobrick on the 12th stage featuring the Devil's Kitchen climb early in the stage. The climb is narrow and steep on bumpy pavement. A gap formed and PDM made sure Bobrick didn't make it back on. I was pleased that James Urbanos won the stage.
I was finally back home in Albuquerque on May 14th. After 3 days of not flogging myself, the antibiotics could do their work and my lungs cleared up. I was back at training after four easy days on the bike. I just needed a confirmation race to see how much I lost being sick and to get back a little sharpness. There was a weekend stage race in Glenwood Springs CO (Bobby Julich's hometown, and promoted by his father) that could provide these things. A morning time time trial with an evening crit, and a road race on Sunday was the format. I did the drive with a gang my Albuquerque "bros".
The field was made up mostly of local Colorado riders along with a bunch of the guys who had just finished the Tour de Trump. It was an interesting mix of guys and teams; I had Mark Waite for a teammate here.
I surprised myself in the TT coming in sixth, 9 miles in 18:48. The winner was Tom Knox which was a mild surprise, beating out Mark Waite, James Urbanos, Jeff Kress, and Gary Mulder. In the evening crit there was the typical Colorado afternoon rain shower that helped put me on the ground, and having used my free lap for a puncture, lost time.
The road stage was an 80 mile race on a roughly 20 mile circuit with a healthy climb on it. James Urbanos had taken the overall lead away from Knox in the crit. My teammate Mark Waite was second overall. I was at Mark's disposal for the race, and I asked what he wanted me to do. Mark didn't feel like he could wrest the lead away from James, so he asked me to help make tempo hoping to keep the status quo.
Some may wonder why Mark didn't go for the win, or maybe why I didn't press him to do so. Everything in bike racing is a calculation; in the present and for the future. Everything comes at a cost and the 'cost' of trying to win this race would be very high indeed without much hope of reward. Mark was as close to a pure time trial specialist as one could be in the US, and wasn't the type of rider that could routinely force decisive splits. For him to continue to try might not have been the kind of effort he wanted in this time frame as befit his overall season plan. Basically, it was highly unlikely we could wrest the lead from Spago. To try to do it would put Mark at high risk of losing the second spot. It seemed to me a rational decision. The GC battle was very close at the top, and there were a lot of explosive riders as individuals or on smaller teams that were viable threats. Keeping Mark in second was the best likely option we had. This was just a small race. It wasn't worth Mark putting out too much energy. What about me though? I was going to be on the front pulling all day. For me, it wasn't a problem. In fact, in the view of the overall season, I thought it was about what I needed.
The first lap began with me and two Spago guys making a little more than medium fast tempo. We kept it going over the first climb and all the way around to the bottom of the climb on the second lap. This time there were attacks and I was struggling to keep pace. I got dropped but figured I could catch back on the descent, and indeed I did. I rejoined with the Spago guys on the front. The same thing happened on the third lap. The attacks were more serious on the fourth and last lap, and I wasn't sure I could make it back this time. I was in good company, though, with young Noah Kaufman. Before making the descent, the tail of the bunch was in sight.
I had been pulling hard with Noah because I wanted to get back in the bunch, and so when I got into a tuck for the descent, I was a bit dizzy. I drifted off the road into a deep gravel shoulder. My bike fishtailed as I managed to get my weight back far enough to keep control. I began to steer back towards the road. I managed to hop my front wheel onto pavement, but I didn't unweight enough to get the back wheel smoothly over. The tire skidded on the lip of the pavement for a second or two while my weight was continuing to move out into the road. The result was my rear wheel dragging itself over the lip and then suddenly gaining traction on the pavement. I went into a high speed wobble that I barely managed to get under control.
Moving smoothly now, it was apparent that I was going to escape without puncturing. I looked back at Noah Kaufman and he was white as a sheet. I was full of adrenalin, "That was intense," I yelled back to him. We regained the bunch a couple of miles after the descent. I got back on the front and pulled. The status quo was preserved.
Back in Albuquerque, on Monday and Tuesday, I did two nice easy rides along with the local Tuesday evening training crit, where I got second to Robbie Quinlon. I was feeling good, and the next day I began my series of flights to London.
