Beercan memories.

I woke up Sunday with a strange taste in my mouth and the vague realization something wonderful had happened the day before...if only I could remember what it was. Gradually disjointed images and fuzzy recollections began to resurface...I had probably mistaken this

for a beer can, thus the strange taste in my mouth. Alas, it held no beer.
I had done a ride..yes! Kinda like old times at Annadel park. I brought my camera with me. After the ride started I entered a "low oxygen" zone and no longer had the strength to get my camera out of my pack. So,  here's a photo of the start when my brain still had some oxygen.

 These are guys who make bikes talking about tapered headtube swaging or something equally incomprehensible. I was drawn to those brake thingies because they are shiny.

 Yet somehow they were shinier than that one. Like all birdbrains I am attracted to shiny. I also liked the fat noodle. I hate flimsy noodles. And somebody said they stop well, which is good too I guess.
Now I kinda remember riding with lots of people, riding up for a really long time and down for a really short time. Somebody had a lot of flatz, especially in the fun parts. There were beautiful women there but I am too old to notice. The guy who makes the shiny partz was there and he gave me a beer that looked like this;

but yet not?
 Here's the guy who gave me the beer, and the guy who had the flatz.

Afterwards we drank more beer and somebody drove me home.
And, as we all know, a cold beer carried to the top of the mountain has more value than any other.

Who's your daddy?

It is interesting to see how racers are treated differently because they come from countries not considered trendy. I noticed when I watched Liège-Bastogne-Liège, and Vincenzo Nibali had the lead. The commentators were going on and on about Nibali's countrymen in the crowd. But when Maxim Iglinski surged, they became almost silent. Of course Kasakh fans were not numerous in the crowd. I am reminded of Peter Sagan, who I saw as a rising star some time ago. He was slow to get recognition. How many Slovak fans are along the course when he races? There is something poignant about these racers, so far from home, family, friends, and all that is familiar. And yet they win.

Arenberg or not?

Don't get too rattled by the recent reports of Paris-Roubaix skipping the Arenberg forest this year. I hear it's a ritual designed to keep the pressure on the local govt. to keep up the roads. Here's Tommke when he was just a squirt.