About this Lance Armstrong news...

Ryan Hudson at SBNation has some thoughtful commentary on Lance Armstrong's decision not to continue fighting the USADA's doping charges against him. Go read his piece, then come back. Or don't; I won't be upset.

I'd long held the opinion that Armstrong was clean, largely because no one was able to pin a beyond-a-shadow-of-doubt positive drug test result on him. I saw the continued efforts by French news organizations and anti-doping agencies as witch hunts, or people with axes to grind. But as more positive tests took down other riders (Floyd Landis, Tyler Hamilton, Alberto Contador)  and the drumbeat against Armstrong continued, I stopped thinking about Armstrong's claims of innocence. If he was guilty, they'd eventually find something, even if the statute of limitations had expired or the positive tests came decades after his Tour victories. Well, here we are. By essentially pleading "no contest" Armstrong will lose his Tour wins (despite  tenuous USADA authority to remove them) and be banned from a sport from which he retired years ago. It doesn't matter. At this point I assume everyone in cycling is on something. I assume it about all sports, actually. Humans are not meant to ride 100 miles a day for three weeks. What difference does it make if they're riding while on EPO or extra-oxygenated blood or horse testosterone? How is that any different from having a faster bike or a better organized team?

I give up. Everyone is on something. Every athlete wants a competitive advantage, and if it's not available legally then they'll get it illegally. And what's stopping them? Everyone else is doing it.

I'll tell you who's riding clean: I am. I ride my bike three or four times a week on water and Clif bars. I used to idolize Lance Armstrong and imagine him riding up the hill in front of me, "dancing in his pedals" as one of the Tour commentators once said of him. But that was years ago. Now, I don't need his inspiration. He doesn't need to be my hero. And he shouldn't be yours either. None of our star athletes should be.

Something a little different for the NYC Century this year

Until this year, I'd always been a riding marshal for the Transportation Alternatives NYC Century.  After a sub-par performance for me in 2009, I decided to try marshaling with the Brooklyn Bridge crew instead.  I missed last year's ride, so my debut on the bridge was postponed to this year.

I woke up at 4:45 AM and arrived at the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge at 5:40 AM.  On my way across I played my favorite game: "Who's Just Going Home Now vs. Who's Up As Early As I Am?"  It turned out that most of the people on the bridge at that hour were early-rising tourists.  There were only a couple of other people there, and none of them were in charge.  There were also a couple of crackheads arguing over by City Hall Park, and I'm pretty certain they were just winding up a wild and crazy Saturday night.  As the eastern sky started to brighten, I noticed a tent going up over in the plaza by the park.  That was the rest stop/marshal sign-in station, so I got set up with a reflective vest and a marshal kit.  A few other marshals were there with traffic cones and signs, and they said I should just go pick a spot on the bridge to stand for the next four hours.  

I rode halfway across and set up directly between the two bridge towers, which seemed like a fantastic spot for photos and for telling riders to stay on the left and avoid pedestrians.  I was directly in the path of the riders as they came over the bridge from Manhattan, so they could see me and I could see them.   While it was a great location for those things, it was a terrible location to be in considering the conditions.  It was a chilly morning with a strong breeze coming from the east.  Even with the sun, I was shivering the whole time I stood there.  After a couple of hours walking back and forth and picking up wayward traffic cones, a rider coming from Brooklyn stopped and suggested that we put someone further down on the Brooklyn side, saying that there had already been an accident back there.  I wasn't sure what she meant, but seeing as how I wasn't doing much other than freezing in my original location, I decided a move was in order.  I rode down to the Brooklyn tower and stood facing Manhattan, directing riders to be careful as the next section of the path was narrower than the rest of the path on the bridge.  But I quickly figured out  the real problem: riders (not on the bike tour) coming from Brooklyn were riding right into the flow of cyclists on the tour coming from Manhattan.  I saw at least a half-dozen near-collisions, and one woman fell off her bike right in front of me trying to avoid an oncoming cyclist.   There was nothing much I could do other than politely shout at everyone to slow down and be careful.

I loved the views from the bridge, and I enjoyed looking up at the top of the tower and watching the clouds wheel past, making it look like the Brooklyn Bridge itself was moving.  But by 9 AM the novelty had worn off.  I was freezing, and no amount of pacing, shivering, or waving my arms was helping.  At 10 AM my shift ended, and I wasted no time riding back to the Manhattan side for a rest stop visit.  I told the rest stop crew I'd planned to ride part of the route, and they asked me if I would ride it as a marshal, so I agreed.  I rode back across the bridge to Brooklyn and picked up the ride route.  

Since I was about four hours behind my usual 100-mile pace, I decided to ride the 55-mile route for a change.  The first part followed last weekend's route to Coney Island and Marine Park, but then veered north and east through Brooklyn's Chasidic neighborhoods.  There was a heavy head wind along the East River in Brooklyn and Queens but I made it to Astoria Park around 2:30 PM.  After a few minutes rest I decided that I felt good enough to tack on the Bronx part of the ride for the bonus mileage.  I didn't have a cue sheet for the Bronx, so I caught up with some other riders who had sheets.  Even so, there was a little confusion in our group as we left the Van Cortland Park rest stop, and I think we may have ridden up a few hills that weren't on the route.  We got back on the route without too much trouble and returned to Central Park just before 6 PM.  That's usually the time I finish when I ride the whole century, so it was odd to see only 65 miles on my odometer.  

I had a harrowing ride down 2nd Avenue on the way home, featuring my closest near-miss with a car all year (thus fulfilling my yearly quota of near-misses).  I crossed the Manhattan Bridge as the sun set over Manhattan, giving me a little bookend for my day.  And I walked in my apartment at 7:05 PM.  At least it wasn't dark when I got home - that happened a few years ago.  Somehow I think I'll be more sore tomorrow than I was last week after my 92-mile ride.  Maybe it was all the pacing and shivering?

 

The Manhattan loop, or 30 ever-changing miles around a metropolis

I spent part of my Sunday morning and afternoon on my first Manhattan loop of 2011.  I've been riding the greenways around the perimeter of the island since 2002, and every year there's something different.  Sometimes it's different each month, if you take the never-ending construction in lower Manhattan into account.  But I always enjoy seeing the improvements in the route each year, and the areas that are still in dire need of upgrades.

I crossed the East River via the Manhattan Bridge and turned south onto the East River greenway, under the assumption that foot traffic at the South Street Seaport would still be light at 11 AM.  While it was, the NBA had set up some sort of fan festival there, so I had to take South Street all the way down to the Staten Island ferry terminal.  I took the marked bike paths around the ferry terminal (those are only a year or two old) and found myself in Battery Park.  The presence of a few Park Police squad cars convinced me to walk my bike around to the northwest exit of the park, where I picked up the West Side greenway.

There's a new detour around the World Financial Center, and I almost rode into traffic on the West Side Highway before I saw the signs directing cyclists around the back of the WFC and onto the esplanade on the river's edge.  Once I was north of the WFC the detour led back onto the greenway, which has been fully developed at least since 2002.  The path was busy but it was a straight shot all the way to the George Washington Bridge and the steepest hill I've climbed in New York.  The short but steep hill just north of the GWB is always a challenge.  I still remember when the northernmost part of this path was a rotting asphalt nightmare and riders had to take the footbridge across the Henry Hudson Parkway onto the streets near the bridge.  But it's been a well-paved path for at least seven or eight years.

I took Dyckman Street over to the Harlem River greenway, once used for horse-and-buggy races, and rode south to St. Nicholas Avenue.  I turned east onto the bike path on 120th Street, but a bike race blocked my path.  I would have loved to watch the races, but it was hot, I was getting tired, and I didn't have much in the way of food.  I doubled back onto 118th Street until I passed the race and then took 120th St. over to the northern section of the East River greenway.  The sections of this path north of 96th Street are in dire need of repairs.  Apparently the city thinks that metal barriers and orange cones are all the repairs giant sinkholes need.

The greenway took me past my old favorite park, Carl Schurz Park, where I spent many hours reading and watching the boats go by when I lived in the neighborhood.  Another construction detour forced me onto the street, so I rode over to 2nd Avenue and took that all the way down to 38th Street where I could pick up the greenway again.  Along the way, I saw all of the disruption of the 2nd Avenue Subway construction, and thought about how lucky I was that I moved before all of that work began.

The southern sections of the East River greenway haven't changed much in the past few years, though they are long overdue for a repaving.  I was grateful for the shade that the FDR overpass provides, as it was the hottest part of the day by the time I reached the Manhattan Bridge to cross the river back to Brooklyn.  I got home at 2 PM, 3 1/2 hours after I'd left, with 40 miles on the odometer.  The ride through Brooklyn to and from the Manhattan Bridge adds the extra miles, which I forgot before I set out with only a handful of energy bars and two water bottles.  Also, I say this every time, but this time I mean it: I'm leaving earlier next time.

Supporting the Prospect Park West bike lane

This morning I rode my slowest mile in recent memory, but it was for a great cause.  Park Slope residents organized We Ride The Lanes, a family- and community-oriented ride in support of the Prospect Park West bike lane.  Kids and adults on bikes of every shape and size rode from Grand Army Plaza to the traffic circle at 15th Street.  I didn't partake, but there were cupcakes, lemonade, and smiles all around at the end of the ride.  (Then I rode 18 miles in the park, because why not.)  There's a video of the event here, and I can be seen at about the 0:55 mark in the extreme upper left corner, waiting my turn to ride the lane.

As I was riding along the bike lane with hundreds of fellow cyclists, I realized that I just don't understand the fight over this bike lane.  It's just a bike lane!  We have much bigger problems in New York than this 20-block stretch of pavement alongside a public park in a residential neighborhood.  Transportation Alternatives, Councilman Brad Lander, and others have pointed out the safety benefits of the lane.  The traffic data shows cars are moving slower on Prospect Park West and that accidents for pedestrians and cyclists are down.  This lane is a good thing for the neighborhood.  I would hope that those opposed to this lane realize the sheer ridiculousness of the argument and turn their activism toward more urgent causes.

Vacation report, part 7: Durnstein and on to Vienna

The ruins of the castle above Durnstein

Friday was the last day of the Backroads part of my vacation.  We had the option of a short loop ride along the Danube or a hike up to the castle ruins above Durnstein.  I chose the ruins, as I love old castles and King Richard the Lionheart had been imprisoned there.  





There isn't much of the castle left, but the view of the town, the river, and the surrounding countryside was spectacular.  













We also got to tour the church in Durnstein, which served as a preview of the kind of ornate decoration I would see in the churches in Vienna.















We said farewell to our guides and boarded a bus for Vienna.  I got to my hotel around 1 PM, dropped off my bags, and went out sightseeing.  


My first stop was St. Stephen's Cathedral, the most prominent building
in the city.


















I took the elevator to the top of the spire and had a panoramic view of half of Vienna.  (The roof of the cathedral blocked my view of the other half of the city.)














Next up was the Hofburg, the residence of the Habsburgs, once the ruling family of the Austrian Empire.  On the way I stopped at Michaelerkirche (St. Michael's Church) and saw the incredible decorations on the altar and columns.  

Michaelerkirche (St. Michael's Church)

The altar at Michaelerkirche

The entrance to Hofburg

My guidebook recommended that I skip the Imperial Apartments at the Hofburg and see something else, so I skipped them in favor of the Kunsthistoriches  (Art History) Museum.  

Kunsthistoriches (Art History) Museum

The museum reminded me of the Metropolitan Museum in New York, with the Greek and Roman exhibits, the Egyptian mummies, and room after room of portraits and landscapes.  Although the Met doesn't have a room full of art by Rubens, or this portrait of a young Franz Josef II (note the resemblance to Jeffrey Jones) and his brother, the Grand Duke.







I left the Kunsthistoriches Museum just before closing and wandered past the Staatsoper on my way to the Haus der Musik, Vienna's homage to its musical heritage.  The museum dedicated its first floor to the Vienna Philharmonic, with artifacts from the orchestra's 180-year history and a theater showing their most recent New Year's Eve concert.  The second floor had exhibits on how sound works and I can see the appeal for children.  The third floor was the big payoff for me - rooms devoted to Vienna's musical masters: Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert, Johann Strauss, and Mahler.  

The Mahler Room at the Haus der Musik

Finally, the fourth floor had more interactive exhibits and a game system that let you put together your own sonic composition.  I ended my day with dinner at Greichenbeisl, a restaurant once frequented by Beethoven, Schubert, and Brahms, though presumably not all at the same time.  

Greichenbeisl

Sitting there drinking wine, eating strudel, and people-watching was a satisfying way to finish my first evening in Vienna.

Vacation report, part 6: Melk Abbey

Durnstein as seen from the opposite bank of the Danube

Thursday's ride was a loop from Durnstein to Melk and back.  The main route was 47 miles, but there was a 54-mile option with some steep hills.  Since it was our last full day on the bikes, I was seriously tempted to go for it.  But Wednesday's ride had been a little taxing and our guides told us that we could do two of these three options: 1) ride the 54-mile loop, 2) stop for lunch in Melk, 3) visit Melk Abbey, the monastery that dominated the town.  They warned us that it was nearly impossible to do all three and get back to Durnstein in time for dinner.  Having ridden 41 miles and a major hill the day before, I opted for lunch and the abbey.  After all, I was on vacation!  

Austria!

Your humble correspondent

Melk

The abbey was worth the visit, as the photos will attest.  

The entrance to Melk Abbey

The Baroque design of the church in particular was a prelude of all the churches I would see in Vienna.




































We missed a turn on the way back to Durnstein and nearly rode onto what might have been an army base.  I wasn't sure we were going the wrong way until I heard gunfire from what I assumed was a firing range.  I try to avoid machine gun fire on my vacations, so we turned around and found the correct bike path.

Another castle on the Danube

When I returned to the hotel, I bid a fond farewall to the bike and parked my trusty steed in the "I'm hiking on Friday" area.  My bike tour was over, but I wasn't done with my vacation or Durnstein yet.

Vacation report, part 5: Ottenstein to Durnstein, Austria

We took a bus from Cesky Krumlov to an old castle in Ottenstein, Austria.  Along the way I learned that there are no longer any passport controls at the borders between EU nations, so I didn't get an Austrian stamp in my passport.  We sped through the former border checkpoint so quickly that I couldn't even take a photo of the empty drive-through booths.  Lunch was a picnic provided by one of our guides, followed by a brief lecture on the history and culture of Austria.  Then we were off and riding again. It was one of the hottest days of the trip, and even three full water bottles weren't enough. For the first time I wished I'd brought my Camelbak along.

Castle in Ottenstein where we had lunch

Ancient castle near Ottenstein

There was another big climb on the route that day that I wasn't about to miss.  I rode up the hill with Doug, one of the strongest cyclists in the group.  Just before we started the climb, we met an older Austrian gentleman who asked us (in broken English) where we were going and then insisted on getting out of his car and helping us with our directions. I think we convinced him we weren't lost and that we were riding up the hill for fun.  He said he'd learned English from 1940 to 1945 and we suspected he hadn't spoken it much since then.  We also wondered if he might be one of the Von Trapp children.

The stream at the bottom of the big climb

Doug and I kept the same slow pace as Bob and I had used on Monday and again it worked to conserve our energy.  But it was so hot that we were running low on water.  I had one full bottle left and Doug was on his last bottle.  We didn't see our support vans at all.  While we rode through small towns on our way up the hill, we saw no stores where we could buy water.  I scooped up some cold water from a small stream next to the road, useful for pouring on my head but questionable for drinking.  Finally, near the top of the hill, I spotted an outdoor spigot at a deserted tennis court. There was no gate or door and no one to ask for permission, so we helped ourselves.  The water was delightfully cool and refreshing.  

The view at the top of the climb

Another view from the top

A few kilometers later we were speeding down the other side of the hill on another roller-coaster-like, hairpin-turn-filled ride.  The end of the route led us through vineyards into Durnstein, site of the imprisonment of King Richard the Lionheart and our base for the next two evenings.

Vineyards outside Durnstein

At dinner that evening, we found out what had happened to the support vans.  Some of the people in the group had opted for a ride to the tops of the hills, then rode their bikes down.  And other riders took longer than expected to finish the day's ride, so the vans was out looking for them.  Doug and I got caught in the middle with no support so we had to improvise.  But all's well that ends well and we'd had a good time on a challenging hill.

Vacation report, part 4: Cesky Krumlov

Tuesday's ride was a 45 km loop from Cesky Krumlov to Chvalsiny and back, giving us time in the afternoon to explore the town and see the castle.  Cesky Krumlov is a tourist haven, and during the day the streets were crowded with families and travelers from around the world.  We saw more than a few backpackers and cyclists with overloaded panniers passing through and spending the night in the town's hostels.

The castle at Cesky Krumlov

A rare quiet moment on the streets of Cesky Krumlov

The castle tower

Cesky Krumlov as seen from the castle

That evening, we had a Q and A session with a local historian and linguist, a walking tour of the town, and then dinner at a restaurant. We'd been promised music which I assumed would be a local band playing traditional Czech music. Well, they were locals, but they played American bluegrass songs and sang the lyrics in Czech. 







My friends (who knew about my musical skills) suggested I ask them if I could sit in on a song or two on bass. I politely declined to ask.  Before we left, our guide came over to our table and offered us some Becherovka. It's another traditional Czech liqueur, and it was nearly as vile as the slivovice was.  One of my friends described it as cloves mixed with gasoline. I think we could have used it to fuel the bus we would take to Austria on Wednesday morning.

Vacation report, part 3: Monday's ride to Cesky Krumlov

Monday's ride took us from Hluboka nad Vltavou to Cesky Krumlov, a small tourist haven situated on a triple bend on the Vltava River and dominated by an ancient castle.  Along the way we passed through farmland dotted with tiny villages, sometimes not more than a few buildings and a church.  The landscape reminded me of where I grew up in western Pennsylvania. If it weren't for the road signs in Czech I might have thought I was back home.

We stopped in the tiny village of Holasovice for a traditional Czech lunch of pork, dumplings, potatoes, and pancakes for dessert.  

Then the ride route took us up into some serious hills.  The biggest climb of the trip was optional: Mt. Klet, at 3600 feet. We were already about 1000 feet up so the total elevation change for us was roughly 2700 feet.  I wasn't sure I was going to attempt it.  I'd struggled up a small incline just after lunch and I didn't think my body was ready for a 15-kilometer climb.  (Backroads lists all their distances in kilometers; I'll use km for distance and feet for elevation because I'm American.)  Then I caught up to Bob, a fellow tour rider, and he talked me into it.  We had Backroads vans supporting us with water and snacks, and guides ready to bail us out if necessary. Besides, I ride up steep hills in Central and Prospect Park all the time.  How bad could a whole mountain be?

We're headed to that antenna in the distance. Bob is on the lower left.

As we rode up the gradual incline, Bob started out on a slower pace than I'm used to, so I slowed down to match him and put my bike into the "granny" gear.  This was the right decision, as it forced me to pace myself and not burn up all my energy too soon.  And since we were keeping each other company we talked most of the way, another tactic that forced us to slow down.  

The little road on the right leads to the summit of Mt. Klet.

The official ride route stopped about 3 km from the summit, though it indicated the way to the summit.  We decided that since we'd made it that far, we had to ride all the way to the top. As we neared the summit, another rider, Doug, came down the path toward us. He said he'd ride back up with us, saying he could use another beer. I assumed he meant later that evening at the hotel.  Our van support driver had told us that she couldn't drive up the path to get us more water so I thought that meant no cars on the path. But we'd seen a few cars coming back down the path, so I was confused. When we finally reached the summit a few minutes later I understood everything.  There was a small restaurant at the top, with a parking lot and scooter rentals.  

As we were about to get our celebratory beers, one of our Backroads guides and another cyclist from the tour joined us so five of us toasted reaching the summit.  

Al, Doug, Bob, and I at the summit of Mt. Klet

Someone suggested we put our jackets on for the descent.  Despite the heat of the day, with the altitude, the shade in the forest path, and the speed of our descent, I would have been really cold on the way down without another layer.  The ride down was utterly thrilling.  I've never experienced a descent like that before.  It was like my own little mountain stage of the Tour de France, complete with hairpin turns.


It was our first of two nights in Cesky Krumlov, and we celebrated another successful day on the bikes with a beer tasting at a local tavern and dessert at a nearby cafe.  

The town square in Cesky Krumlov

The view from the cafe