Recovering in Sunny So Cal

Returned Sunday to the states, riding in So Cal by Monday. Mello Velo marketing slam in Fullerton, San Diego and now Palm Springs! Wednesday we rode with a group of hammer heads through Camp Pendleton, and tomorrow, we hit the epic Box Canyon and up to the trailhead at Joshua Tree. U2 baby!

A couple of final shots I found by searching hard on the internets. The first is from the 4th Stage in the soaking rain, and the second may be my favorite from the whole race. A character of a Chinese racer took my helmet and grabbed the limelight! He could see through the holes!

Final Stage: Pain and Glory (the good kind)

The 7th stage in Shanghai is the fastest: 78 km at an avg. of 49.5 km/hr

The peleton moves like a well oiled chain, snaking around the corners and along the last of our smooth Chinese roads. Muscles send many not-so-sutble signals that I'm finally running on pure fumes here. I'm content following wheels and covering attacks. I think, despite the speed, everyone feels similar to me: there will be no breakaway that stays away today, but we are inspired to make strong efforts. With 2 km to go, I do my job and do it well. I integrate myself into Konica's wannabe-pro leadout train, and the Afrikaners give a loud cheer for me. Finally, I'm where I was brought here to be, driving the pace at the head to a fever pitch. It's such a frozen moment that its hard to remember. Preserving the power in each of my pedals strokes onto the next, I crush myself down in the saddle, then stand to search for more power, tossing the bars from side to side, my thin biceps trying their best to stay attached to the bone. Once again, back down in the saddle, and I'll give it all to keep it single file heading under the banner which reads: The Last Km of the Tour of Hong Kong Shanghai. Everything comes down to this moment and it's over so quickly. I pull off and take my time in the last km, finishing a minute behind the race because I enjoy playing the good diplomat and thanking each awe-struck Chinese bystander for coming out to see us race. It's my own "km of honor" and in the last 100 meters I gather what speed I have left and hold the longest superman pose ever across the finish line.

Good news: the tour is over. Bad news: the tour is over. I already can't wait to return. I think I may be owed some karma cleansing.

With some keen sprinting and epic efforts in the breaks, my team has many laurels to rest on for the time being. Lisban, the Columbian Cosmonaut, is 6th overall in GC and 5th in the points competition. He wins Stage 3a and is in the top 10 every stage. Young buck, Gavi Epstine's got the world by the short hairs and takes the U23 overall and is 14th overall. Chris Lintaman, the Far Eastern Canunk, is the ultimate work horse, never capturing a single prize dollar but without him, we would've NEVER been able to get where we are at the end of this UCI race. A real class act, that guy. And the most important thing, he wants it. He's got the attitude that "There are no problems, only solutions. Living on the dole in Taiwan may sound like a pufter's role to most. I say Chris is a man of sacrifice and desire. "Young Dragon" Raj Seepersaud is a true player with his own little "Papi" and "Julie" to take care of now. He and I are the true beneficiaries of the winnings of the team, and I am indebted to all my team, here in China and back in New York. This self proclaimed "Idiot on 2 wheels" still has a lot to learn, but it was really just bad luck which prevented me from making more of a difference. I was able to complete the entire race and perhaps learn how to keep position when thrown a stiff Afrikan elbow.

The race is over, and so the nightlife bekons!? However, the nightlife in Shanghai, or for that matter, any life outside of the confines of the race and the accompanying hotel, is just not meant to be for the team this go around. We receive the prize money 3 hours later than expected Saturday night and don't leave for "The Bund" until 11:00, but I guess its fitting seeing that we're now more "Euro" than American by this point. Sean, the Ho Jo manager, says that Shanghai moves forward one year in the course of 3 months, and from the rainy rooftop of Bar Rouge, far above the timeless panhandlers and shoe shiners, I view a skyline that would make Gotham jealous. No picture can do it justice, so the Zen photograph will remain the best lingering image of a China that I never saw.

But the hipster bar is still a bar and its smokey and loud and the only real excitement I find is in proudly wearing my "SAVE TIBET" t-shirt, and hearing girls whisper behind me, "Is he really wearing that?!"

Plus, the most magnificent piece of bike art I have ever or think will ever see: a 4-story tall structure of BMX frames stacked one on top of each other through their head tubes. Pics to come!
Wrap up: Wrap up?! Hell no, I'd never wish such a thing for an ever evolving experience like racing here is (notice, not "was"). To think most people (I included) try to "look back" and "take note" and compress this adventure into a box small enough to fit in their already calcified heads! Plus, in all truth, there was really little free time to explore that vast undiscovered country. I hear that it's illegal for foreigners to drive here, but maybe not ride here (as in ride a motorcycle around the mountain villages and oldest parts of the Great Wall). Talk about a dangerous endeavor, like Indiana Jones but hopefully without the snakes.

Five Star Friday (HO JO STYLE!)

Yes indeed, it's true. When I first view the hotel schedule and see that our last 2 nights of the race, just outside of Shanghai, would be spent at a Howard Johnson, I didn't expect to spend anymore time than needed. Much to my happy char gin, the manager Sean and his staff at the Ho Jo Zhangjiang (think "ying yang", but with a Heineken in your hand) Shanghai have a nice thing going with a name that, at least for me, formally meant $2.50 happy hour drinks at a smokey dive in Times Square. Saving the best for last, buffet and bath robe in gratis.

Great race on Friday, nearly 100 km circuit, along the ocean and back into the finish in suburban city of Shanghai. Smooth roads, and I'm becoming more relaxed, yet clearly too little too late for this wounded warrior to make any clear chance of a breakaway. Happy to see Lisban in the attack, unfortunately along with all the other major GC players, so he wasn't able to gain any time on the few men ahead of him.

The major thing to report is that my inhibitions, the few I had to begin with, are now complete gone. But in a very good natured way. During a prerace TV interview with a local reporter, I ask her what she thinks about Tibet. The awkward moment passes when I flash my sweat wrist band, with its big red Communist star on it and I crack a big smile. "I love China. And your pretty boots!"

In terms of my position in the race, well, it doesn't matter. But then, it does. One on hand, I've gone from troubled to tough to total catastrophic, but being the "Lantern Rouge" in a UCI stage race gives me an overwhelming feeling of freedom and service to my team and I nothing-to-lose positive attitude

With one stage to go, two flat tires, and my scar count near 2 dozen, I couldn't be in a better state. I still have a lot left to give. And who knows? I think I have some lucky stored up somewhere. We'll do what we gotta do to get our man in position for a final stance tomorrow.

Are we in Shanghai yet? All I see is smog....

(once again, Lane is not only a good wrench, but a keen eye when it comes to the lens. Thanks buddy)

Thursday is Spa Day... at least a mud bath

Really, you all must go to cyclingnews.com and click through to the pictures from Stage 4 of the Tour of Hong Kong Shanghai. 132 km of the dirtiest, wettest, most muddy I have ever been on or off a bike. The only redeeming factor being he return of my orange pride: my basketball of a helmet. The conniving South Afrikaners "found" it in the hotel lobby Tuesday night and waited until moments before the start of today's stage to tell me they had it. They claim I didn't look professional enough wearing it. I say they just wanted to steal my powers! Excuse my judgement, but Crummiest Team Ever, those Afrikaners.

Another example, a little long winded but it proves my point. At the end of the previous stage (3a), 2 of their riders finish 1st and 2nd, in front of our Lisban who was 3rd. There is a time bonus awarded to the top 3 on each stage: 10, 6, and 4 seconds. In the overall classification for the race, the guy who wins Stage 3a is not the team leader in the overall but is behind his teammate who was 2nd on the stage... BUT, the results for the stage have the two guys accidentally reversed (1st in 2nd, 2nd in 1st), thus giving the greater bonus and bigger advantage for the overall win to the rider who didn't actually deserve it. Confusing, yes, and the difference is small, but the point is that the team didn't tell the race officials that the posted results were wrong, and held on tightly on the tiny bonus. And for what? It's subtle, but innately dirty.

There are at least 4 pro teams here of various levels. The boyish pros from Johannesburg have just a bit too much sense of entitlement for their skill level. Just my two cents...

Wednesday is Travel Day... oh joy overcoming

Wednesday is a 10 hr bus ride. No ride to write about but I will post a few pics, shot by my great team mechanic, Lane Herrick.... which I can't seem to do right now. Tomorrow, okay?

Tuesday is Redemption Day

My teammate Lisban wins stage 3a from a huge break in the field and is sitting is 2nd place overall. Gavi is also in the break and this put him solidly in the U23 young riders jersey! Bammage! I place in the top 20 and am ecstatic!

The 10 km course is lined body to body 3-deep with people who, when going over 30 mph, all look the same. It seems as if we are racing around a rubber factory, because I know the smell of cork pads burning on carbon rims, and this is not it.

In the caravan of travel for the race, the team shares bus #4 with the Malaysian Cycling Federation team, and their jersey has a big MCF on it (inside joke with the Minnesota Cycling Ferderation). We laugh and joke. They call me "mummy" because of all my bandages and compression wraps. I moan every time I move after sitting for so long on the bus, and because I said it the first time on accident, I continue crying out "Obama!" in various tones and pitches. It may help me more than make them laugh, but it usually does both. Laughter is the great communicator. Emotion is the international language. Oxen are everywhere here, more than deer in the states. The bus makes an evasive maneuver narrowly avoiding a herd crossing the road, I moan again and secretly am glad that I am not reading about the presidential race back home.

The Saga of the Helmet

Crashing early on in a stage race puts one in a very stressful state, which is not a good place to be early on in a stage race. You quickly become concerned only with your recovery and health, and thus some focus is retracted from all other areas, including but not exclusive to... your race helmet. When we transfer from Hong Kong to mainland China and must go through customs, twice, and reload all gear onto another bus, I end up leaving my helmet on the Hong Kong side. This fact wasn't realized until minutes before the 2nd stage in Gannan. The quick thinking (aka, sneaky) bike rider in me knows I need something on my head if I wish to continue the race, so I "nab" a construction worker's helmet off of his nearby moto. Luckily, the race commissioner saves me from Chinese karmic prison and he procures a color-cordinating item called "Black Diamond" which has a spider design on top. It is quite apparent that this helmet is intended only for children, but with laughter all around, I can't complain. Now the tallest rider in the race has a bright orange beacon on his mellon.

I have this wonderful item for 3 stages, and manage to endear myself to the entire race, but last night after the long double stage day, in the lobby of the BJ Garden Hotel (how you like that for a name?), nearly sleep walking and badly in need of a shower, the last thing I remember is the helmet falling off my head and bouncing on the marble floor (I had it on my head so I wouldn't lose it!). It is out there somewhere, but not anywhere I know. Luckily, a racer from a Chinese team was eliminated yesterday and I can use his stinky specimen for the remainder. I just have to answer to the race commissioner now...

Acetaminophen is My Friend

I have posted 3 separate entries today, each from the last three days, with the order going from earliest to latest.....

Some may not get the reference, but much like Conrad's "Heart of Darkness", it's getting harder and harder to write about the experience of traveling deeper and deeper into the mainland, just as an internet connection is more and more difficult to come by. Like I said before, I am not really in control of my own destiny (save when I'm racing bike, of course). However, as arduous as these long bus rides on patchwork county roads between stages are, they allow me time to reflect on the culture shock, as long as I don't look out the window (i.e., we just now stopped for a moment because the road was down to a single lane due to a bunch of drying rice on the roadside!) It's going to be difficult to understand later what I now write. Turbulence is an understatement. "If this was an airplane," my teammate Gavi says, "we'd have to make an emergency landing."

Stage 2: Gannan (a little town of half a million)
Seriously, though, we have it made here. Treated like celebrities, not only in the police escort at the head of the 6-bus caravan, but each stage has a massive opening ceremonies with parades, music and dancing, speeches from mayors and village representatives, fireworks, and balloons. I think all this gimmick is to intended to draw focus away from the lack of air quality.

The 2nd stage is a 100km circuit through the city. Riding to the start from the hotel, I quickly realize that traffic lights are merely suggestions, and light suggestions at that. There are police at every corner, ushering the racers through the congestion, but there seems to be a plethora of grandmothers who could care less for their safety. The race starts and the "walking wounded" (yes, mom, it's that bad) is brought back to life. All my pain falls away as the streets are clear and lined with people and children screaming "Jyo! Jyo! Jyo!" but I hear is a roaring waterfall. The road narrows as we fly under the original gate of the city, easily 1,000 years old, and I glance at beautiful temple shrine as we make a sharp right turn. How can I not be inspired to push myself beyond the point where my body and mind says STOP!? The team works well together, I pull off another Superman for the moto camera during a chill moment, and all is ready for a speedy leadout with me at the head when the bad luck demons come again. With less than 5 km to go I feel that all-too-familiar "soft tire syndrome". Flat in the read wheel. Even with a quick change from Lane, our trusty team wrench, I'll never catch up to the front. To add injury to injury, I take another high speed spill trying to hold on to the team car pulling me back to the peleton. Yesterday's wounds reopen, and new ones are made. As Lane comes over to check out my bike, I don't even realize until later that I quote the famous Tommy Simpson, who's final words, "Put me back on my bike" came from the depths of pain and confusion that only a fallen rider can understand.

Bleeding over my white handlebar wrap, I manage to finish only a few minutes behind the peleton, but by this point, the People's Republic has indeed become that again. The road is reclaimed by the masses and I am forced to dodge and weave my way through to the finish line. It is another shock to the already damaged system: we are merely shooting stars here. Done and gone as soon as we arrive. Now on the bus for another 4-5 hours and the road rash on my left butt cheek is quickly adhering to my shorts. Yippy!

Hitting the Ground Running, I Mean Sliding

It's 4:22 Sunday morning and I am drinking as much coffee as I can take before we all load on the bus for Hong Kong Island and the first stage of this much anticipated race. Once there, we line up for the start at the HSBC building, and I notice that behind the racers, we are outnumbered at least 3 to 1 by the VIPs and other amateur cyclists who are here to participate in the Victoria Harbor Fun Ride that takes us 10 km down the island to a small corner of Hong Kong where are start the actual racing. Suffice to say, it is the most dangerous part of the day, with many enthusiasts getting far too involved in the "fun" but really just end of running into a motionless caution cone or the medium on the highway. Its a laugh and I manage a few superman poses for the numerous camera-equipped motorcycles. I meet a French-Austrialian, Pierre, who grew up in the shadow of Mt. Ventoux. We chat about Life, Lance and Love, and I promise to get him on a Mello Velo Tour someday.

Basta! I came here to race bikes, so lets race bikes!

The gun sounds and it's all Zen. Finally, time begins to slow down and I know I'm in the zone because I can't remember if I have 3 or 4 teammates. Yelling and cussing gets underway quickly. It's nice to get things out of the way that are inevitable in a stage race, such as throwing elbows at another rider in order to keep your position in the peleton. What I witness during the stage is a dirty South African and a spastic Dane exchanging international relations in the form of some heavy "handed" memos.

What I didn't need to experience, yet something that comes along with these races, is a high speed spill. I avoid the first crash of the race, but with less than 2 laps to go, I am the victim of a chain reaction caused by my own teammate dodging a crack in the road. The result is an extra close-up view of a few front wheels, some heavy road rash on all joints and buttocks, and terribly twisted neck. The real bummer is my bike. As the race passes me for the final lap, all I see is the muggy Hong Kong sky and my 2 Zipp carbon wheels in not-so-circular shapes.

I'd love to show pictures of the burns and cuts, and my middle finger missing a good chunk of nail, but I'll save them for those I need most pity from, like my loving girlfriend.

A good result for the team though, as Lisban nabs fifth. I just wish I could've been there to help him, as if he needs it.

I am in pain but positive, for I am given the same time as the leader and allowed to continue the race. I live to fight another day. No time to rest though as we quickly get back to the hotel and pack up everything and head for mainland China. It's a ten hour bus ride to the next town, plus we have to unpack all the luggage and bikes, take a stroll through Chinese customs, and transfer to another bus. My teammate Chris teases me by mentioning that we just passed the town where all the carbon bike frames and wheels are being made and I could get a new pair for less than 200 bucks! Arrrrggghhh! My left butt cheek really burns!

Final highlights of Hong Kong (not pictured because the internets here are so slow, but wait, yes, it works!): nearly touching the top of the tunnel on the bus, the open air fish and meat market (i think that's tripe?) and the 10,000 Buddhas Monastery

Arrival in Hong Kong and Final Race Prep

I forget how long a pan pacific flight is! I watch 6 movies and 3 episodes of Sienfield during the flight! We land in Hong Kong at 7:15 in the morning on Friday and all I want to do is Tai Chi... in my sleep! It's easy to deny the grogginess though. It's China baby! The cab ride to the Regal Riverside is a tour of beautiful suspension bridges and marvelous buildings; hundreds upon hundreds of stalagmites of glass and iron, each reaching higher than the next. What I'll remember most though is the 1,000 ft high scaffolding... made entirely out of bamboo!

When I arrive at the hotel, the team is already out on a group ride, so I quickly throw together my steed and head out for my first ride. I am told by a tall Danish rider (who looks errily similar to another Dane, the infamous chicken, Michael Rasseumsen) that I should stick to the bike path which runs along the river. There are gates every hundred meters and I soon tire of the crowds, so I stop at a quiet park for some quick yoga and take to the roads. An immediate culture shock as I realize the they drive on the wrong side of their British made roads!!! It's a sharp learning curve as I come close to a speeding truck on a blind right-hand turn (note to self: stay on the far left, especially in a blind curve). I quickly realize that Hong Kong is the more packed than any place I have ever visited. It's a quite morning, but I am surrounded by ghetto-like pod apartments. Its like being inside a bee hive when all the bees are out gathering pollen. I return to the hotel and my room feels like a penthouse compared to what most have here.

Before leaving for China, I sold a new pair of Zipp carbon fiber handlebars on Ebay, but I meet the man who bought them in the lobby of the hotel. His name is Bruno and he is a triathlete from France. His gives me $1800 HKD (Hong Kong dollars) and I feel like a millionaire. At lunch I ask our host, Louis Shih, the president of Champion System, where I can can have a tailored suit made!

More and more racers start showing up at the hotel. Malaysians and Swiss, Japanese and South Aficans. We have it made in the shade here. Big purse, small field (small compared to the amount of prize money). Out of the 60 plus racers, I am the only one to be born in American. I am also the tallest (I hope these two traits win me many friends, if not wins). We are a US based team, but my teammates are all born outside the country: 2 Canucks, Gavi and Chris (former living in NYC, the latter in Taiwan), a speedy Columbian in Lisban (our top chance for a podium finish), and a young dragon from Guyana, Sommraj. On the roster for the race, we are all given Chinese character names next to our names. I find out from one of the race staff that in Chinese, "dragon" is pronounced, "long", so I hope they worked that into my race name. I could see Longacre meaning "a rice field cultivated by a dragon".

For the opening ceremonies, we take an open-top bus ride over to the world headquarters for HBSC on the famous Hong Kong Island, the home to some of the the most expensive real estate in the world. Really, in terms of its pure scope, the skyline puts Manhattan to shame. Multiple 200+ floor buildings litter the island (how do you Feng Shui a building that size?), but its quiet. Not a single horn to be heard. The ceremonies are nice, we walk around, witness a wedding, and as quickly as we are dwarfed by man's modern marvels, we are wisked away on the bus, back to the hotel. Just as well, for we will have enough time racing along Victoria Harbor tomorrow to see all of the city we want.

Day 1: San Francisco - The (sneaky) bike rider always prevails

I've flying down Market in downtown SF, paying close attention to the rail tracks traps in the roads, and an advertisement on the side of a bus catches my eye: "You deserve to have the job you love." Damn right you do! And I have it. It's to ride my bike. Who says the job you love needs to pay though? Adventure's the reward and maybe a little winnings can come along for a bonus.

The job for today: secure the VISA which will allow the real job to happen. So I am at the People's Republic Consulate at half past 8 and soon find out that, yes, the Chinese really have a strange process of allowing people into their country. Apparently, they are not "prepared to take my case" because my hometown is Minneapolis and my jurisdiction headquarters are in Chicago, not California. With the heart rate starting to rise and no entry in sight, I know all I could do was convince the People's Republic that I indeed had just moved to California and so my home address quickly became a beautiful cream and brown Tudor house in San Mateo, the home of my good teammate and also new father, Alberto Blanco. Thanks Bro! (he makes a mean pasta sauce too).

Double thanks to Alberto for lending me a bike for the afternoon. Afterall, this slick rider couldn't just hang out in the city for the afternoon waiting for the VISA stamp and lose his chance to train! I rode the train back to San Mateo and got directly on the bike. I drilled it back north, past the airport and into the city to retrieve my most valued passport, equipped with a $160 stamp saying that this Californian was allowed to enter the country. It's sometimes difficult convincing a communist country that my money's is still good.

I am overjoyed with the whole process, that I ride around Haight-Asbury singing Curtis Mayfield's "Ain't Got No Thing On Me" at the top of my lungs. The sun is shinning, music fills the streets, and I don't feel too bad that I can't take the time out to see the Golden Gate. I stop to say a quick howdy to my pimp-in-waiting Dennis Peron (lol) at the Cozy Castro Cottage (a great place to stay if you ever are in need) but couldn't entertain his prospects. My route back to San Mateo takes a roundabout way and I stop by the Cow Palace for... well, just cause its there.

I now take the last sips of my last large Sapporo (I mean, sleeping medicine) at the airport bar and I'm off to the East...

Midwest Heads Far East (Blake's Chinese racing experiences)

So here we go... Fully supported and loaded with my carbon fiber weaponry, I am sitting in a trusty NWA plane awaiting takeoff from Minneapolis/St.Paul International to my first destination of this sure-to-be-epic world tour. Okay, it's not a "world" tour, but the assault upon Hong Kong and mainland China in the form of the "3rd Edition of the Tour of Hong Kong Shanghai" might as well be as hotly contested as battle for a swing state, because it's going to take a lot more than a village in order for me to race bike in China. I'm scheduled to leave the country from San Fransisco in less than 25 hours and I don't have a VISA yet!

I am thinking to myself, "Did I really realize that I was sitting in an exit row or not?" The only thing I know for sure is that, at this moment in time, I am not in control of my own destiny.

How on earth did I even get to this starting point? At the beginning of October, having just returned from Mello Velo's back-to-back stellar tours in Provence, I was exhausted to say the least. Mentally and physically drawn out; satiated and satisfied with the year of riding. So when first asked by Ray Alba, my Director Sportif and surrogate father in NYC, if I was in "form" enough to race in China in a couple of weeks, thoughts immediately turned to the not-so-positive affects of a month of culinary delights (straight-up gluttony) and luxurious libations (only locally produced product, of course). Sure, I had easily churned out over 1,600 km in 26 days all the while capturing a massive trophy in a race, yet I wasn't a single pound lighter than when I left!

Regardless of form, when Ray Alba asks you a second time to join the effort in the People's Republic, you really have no choice in the acceptance of the mission. I was honored at least, foolish at best. I knew he knew my strength on the bike, and although I am not the stand-out leader of the squad (Thank Gawd!), my expertise will surely be expected to come in handy for the team's top dog, a Dominican firehouse in Lisban Quintero who raced in last year's edition of the Tour (what's "tour" in Chinese?

But there was no retreating now. "Once more into the breech, Dear friends, Or close the wall up with our English dead!" I'm off to The City by the Bay in order to secure a rush! rush! VISA to race for seven days in China, starting Sunday. I miss my home and loved ones already and the plane hasn't even left the ground! In the final moments of stillness as the planes lines up for the sprint into the sky, it's a simple prayer to keep the rubber side down. The powerful roar.... Airborne and out.