More beautiful than Switzerland and the best…

Somehow, I nearly got started on an anecdote about Manali, but that would be a tale best left to a more suitable time and place.

The point however, is that the Dolomites are absolutely spectacular. I was lucky enough to travel around the part of Italy for a race called the Giro Della Regione Friuli. It was one of those times I wish the race was longer and that there was a rest day for staff. I would have been up for something as simple as going for a hike up one of the hills, to getting my hands on a bike (surprise), to lazing around in the alpine country knocking back cafe and gelati.

The view from the hotel.

A bike, a bike. My kingdom for a bike.

Confidence is a weird beast and my took a bit of a hammering one day out at Friuli. We were already down to 3 riders, we had lost one to injury and one to illness, so we weren’t having the best time of it. The boys were doing great though, animating each stage and putting themselves in the right place for results.

Looking at the map trying to get 2 feeds in on the stage, I had doubts about whether it was possible to smash it across to the second feed, which was the official feed zone. Now, the official feed zone in most countries, especially northern Europe is the only place to feed without risking fines and raising the ire of the race comisaires. In Italy, this isn’t quite the case and you can often feed from wherever you reckon is a good spot.

In the end it was decided just to head to the official feed zone. This gave me a bit of spare time between leaving the start and getting to the feed. Not feeling rushed, I cruised up to the feed zone, made all the lunches (I usually do this before we leave the hotel) and sat on the grass by the side of the road day dreaming until the peloton came through.

Everything went pretty smoothly for the feed and then everything went a little awry. The bunch had started to split up and I picked a bad moment to get back on the race course. I wanted to turn left not far down the road, but because I had a couple of riders not far behind me, the local cop waved me over to the side of the road and made me kill the engine. So, I waited for most of the stragglers to ride past, and ironically enough, a couple of other soignies rolled by me and took the left turn I planned on taking. Finally, I get back on the road, get caught up at another point where my route crossed the race route, get started again, get caught at the back end of the convoy where the broom wagon drives, and then get stopped at a rail crossing. I came pretty close to thumping the steering wheel at this point.

We had discussed the possibility of me not being at the finish line when the boys came in, and that perhaps it was an option to follow the convoy in. I still liked my chances of beating the pack and veered off the race route. I got a call from the DS when I was about 5k from the finish. “Where are you? We’ve got 3k to go to the finish”. Shit, that’s not good. So, it would appear that I would be behind them, and even worse, stuck behind all the traffic stopped to let the race through. So time drifts out and I get a couple of calls from the DS, “Yeah, you here yet? We’re waiting for you”.

What made my day even worse, was because I had ventured off the race route, I had difficulty getting the entry point back onto the race route sorted out, so even though I was only a couple of blocks away form where they were waiting for me, I had little chance to get the vehicle across to them. And to top it all off, we had one of the boys up for random doping control waiting for the van with his bag so he get changed out of his dirty kit. I don’t think I was the most popular soignie that afternoon.

Hangin' my head in shame. Bad soignie, bad soignie.

And that’s where I should have left it. But feeling bad for making the boys wait was compounded by the DS losing a bit of faith. Trying to hard to solve a problem, he hooked me up with a soignie from a local team to follow around to the feed zone.

Dropped right from the start.

So, that’s all good, I’ll smile and nod. Leaving the piazza on my new mate’s wheel, I had a couple of pedestrians walk in front of me, and then a traffic cop stop me to let cars in from another street. There goes the plan to follow that guy around for the day, he was gone. Still, it all seemed to work out pretty well, except for the end of the stage, I wasn’t parked in a terribly visible spot. But this came about from losing a bit of faith in my methods and being under instruction to follow. I was one of the earlier ones to the finish and parked in the big open carpark that was reserved for us. By the time I sussed out the finish line, the race was closing pretty quick and I didn’t have time to get back to the van to find a better spot. By the time we started to get everything on the move for the trip to the hotel, and I suffered a few head shakes from the mechanic, all the vans that I had followed in had all moved and were parked up on the street like every other team.

Still, winners are grinners. The fact we won the stage, and ran 3rd was a nice salve to the wounds. Still, I had trouble shaking that ill feeling of being an idiot.

Winners are grinners.

The final day ran smoothly for me and included beating those crazy Russians to the feed zone and to the finish, making some new soignie friends and enjoying the drive through the countryside.

Racing crazy Russian soignies.

Leading.

On the way to the win.

I did miss a call from the boss. I made the right decision to return the call, but when he was all upbeat about the Tigers winning, perhaps it wasn’t such a good career move to ask “Who are the Tigers?”. Conversation killer.

Live and learn.