thanks for the suffering

While reliable and widely-read cycling news sources were reporting on the twenty of so podium hopefuls for Milan-San Remo [“___________ wishes/hopes/ for Milan-San Remo,” as Josh put it], they failed to notice the obvious. That there were a massive number of total babes on the start list. Adam Hansen [do you have to ask?], Bernie Eisel, Tom Boonen [...does he really have "cat lover" in his Twitter profile?], Heinrich Haussler [assuming he’s stopped frosting his tips], John Degenkolb [also, what is it with the collection of babes that were on HTC?]… With a list that long full of smoking hot dudes, you’d think the race would have been super steamy.

Twitter proved me wrong, with pictures that made the race look like it totally sucked. To race, that is. To watch your favorite hotties get all wet and cold…call me sadistic [or maybe just opportunistic] but that’s an ideal set-up for seduction [“Need help warming up post-race? I think I can help you with that…”].

Turchino and Le Manie out? Yeah, I know, kind of anti-climactic so to speak. But watching Sky try to stay on their bikes was hilarious...and I was just happy there were that many hot [shivering] dudes, on bikes, in one race. So the point of this post? Mostly just a thank you for the suffering done for my own objectifying amusement. Seriously. Especially to that guy on Sky Puccio who almost ran down the Poggio descent without his bike, after trying to remount.
Now, onto Catalunya…!

weekend in pictures

If there was ever any question, the love of my lifey, road, is back. I spent the weekend watching live feeds of Tirreno [did you guys see how adorably sweet Benedetti was, helping Failli tuck his rain cape away?], and cheering on a favorite team.

Plus doodling, spinning inside...and out. In shorts...!

...And now I have the flu. I'll be back in a few days when I've stopped sweating and generally being a disgusting mess.

transitioning into spring

'Cross season has always signaled transitions. Like the rebound boyfriend [or, better, the really awesome guy friend that will voluntarily be a fake boyfriend post-break-up until you can go 24 hours without unraveling into a weepy mess], 'cross has held my hand every year as road left me. The air gets a little colder, I start pulling on knee warmers on rides, and by September the races I'm watching involve muddy stairs, and much less asphalt.
It's a good change of pace. Like hanging out with your big brother type friends - the ones you know will make sure you get home okay before going home with that girl you played wingman for - after you pulled a bit of a disappearing act over a crush that didn't work out. CX gives you something fun to do when it's freezing cold outside, with people you secretly think are insane, but you're still proud to call your friends. You end up with lots of good stories, inside jokes and killer hangovers. It's the best way to spend a winter. [Picture below taken by Alex...isn't my helmet hair amazing?]

But then there's a lull in February, after CX Worlds [although Cyclocross Tokyo holds me over a little longer]. Valentine's Day rolls around and the big brother figure that is 'cross is out wining and dining a hot date. The lack of romance in your life becomes a little too clear. You start intensely staring at the Competitive Cyclist postcard from three years ago with Cav on it racing in the Giro - even though you're not a Cav fan - because maybe, just maybe, you can will it to be May if you tried hard enough.
I know, I know, there are the Spring Classics, and it would be greedy of me to ignore Paris-Nice. Coming off the high of CX season, though, I've been craving something...more. The excitement of watching all the big names flex their muscles in the same race, Tour-style. The sprints, lead-out trains, and fast-as-fuck climbing that you get to see in stage races. The Italian sun bouncing off colorful jerseys on carbon fiber bikes...
Actually, that's all bullshit. I didn't see Adam Hansen's name on the Paris-Nice start list and immediately lost interest. Yeah, I understand there's value in watching races that don't include the most bangable dude in the pro peloton, but understanding that concept and acting on it are two different things, okay?

But then there was a tweet about Tirreno! And a start list shot full of HGH [that's Hendy, Greipel, and Hansen, in pedal-strike speak]! And just like that, it looked like I was going to make it through March without [too much] pro cycling stage racing withdrawal.
Sure, my entire face is in agony from the trees around Tokyo constantly jizzing pollen into the air, but I am seriously loving spring.

blogs, bikes, and red bulls with TJ and alex

Bloggers are generally really weird. It takes one to know one, so trust me on this. The degree of weird varies, but anyone who chooses to spend their free time talking into an anonymous public space is either desperately lonely, has stunted social skills, or is too prideful to let go of the reality that they're never going to get published for real.
Possessing all three of the traits above, however, has never kept me from being embarrassed about it. When people ask me why in the world I'm at a bike race or event I've sometimes been moved to admit that "Iblogaboutbikes," under my breath. It usually makes people uncomfortable enough to be hyper aware of when I'm taking pictures of anything. It's okay. I understand the creepiness of possibly being inadvertently published on a website that is not Facebook. Really, I do. And there are enough weird/not exactly flattering but 100% accurate pictures of me on the Internet that keep me from doing the same to others [well…for now].

Which is a long-winded way of saying that I didn't get much pictures of hang times with Tim et al. this year. None of lunch which was enthusiastically inhaled by Tim, Alex, and me, none of the casual ride around Tokyo we went on [I blame that on Tim grabbing my backpack and shaking me from side to side like a delinquent stray cat to test my handling skills], and only one of dinner and drinks with Arnie and Ai of Red Bull. I did, however, get a can of the F1 flavor Red Bull, which is supposed to taste like blueberries, not gasoline.

The more organized among us, thankfully, filled in the blanks this year. Alex shot one of our lunches – ramen at Soranoiro – with a real glass bottle of Coke. I did grab a shot of some of our wagashi [traditional Japanese confectionaries] eats at the Tsuruya Hachiman café, but nothing really compares to the last picture. Because no TJ visit to Tokyo is complete without some half-drunken photos taken by Arnie of Red Bull [this year of Ai, also of Red Bull, and I making the Japanese sign for “money,” while Tim does air quotes around our heads].

Early the next morning, my voice all raspy and my breath probably definitely still reeking of booze, I met up with Tim and Alex again at Bonsai Bike Shop before their respective flights home. I played semi-competent translator and Tim gifted a signed jersey to Yoshida-san. He had also dug out a package wrapped in brown paper, filled with Skratch Labs contraband. I have the BEST bike friendz, EVAR!

By the end of the day, they were in air. I would spend the next three days trying to recover [unsuccessfully]. Although the visit seemed way too rushed, the weirdly cool thing about this time around was that we were still planning stuff even while Tim and Alex were headed home. The trip felt short – what trip doesn’t when it involves good friends you haven’t seen in more than a month? – but I’m pretty sure that next time we’re in the same 1 km radius of each other, it’s going to be really fucking rad.