Crashdan's ToC Diary

Dear Diary... What a race. You wouldn't believe all the crazy things I've seen over the last few days. Men in tights, conspicuous consumption, athletic achievement... all in all, sounds like some sort of bizarre Greek vacation. But no... this is just what happens when the PodiumCafe descends on a UCI sanctioned event.

Over the course of these few days, I saw pro riders up close, got to hang with some exceptionally cool cats, chalked riders names onto pavement, told stories, heard stories, met an insane chef and ate some Brussels Sprouts.

Day One: Met Chris at airport. He had a big box with a bike in it. Thousand dollar spokes he leaves to the baggage handlers, but the saddle he takes in the carry on. I confess not understanding this.

Got a text message from Mark saying he was already there and drinking a Fat Tire on the patio. Chris and I went to 99 Ranch Market and spent far too much time wandering down aisle after aisle of Asian food trying to find the most bizarre looking package of mushrooms to bring the vegetarian drinking the Fat Tire.

Walked out of 99 Ranch and into Sam Woo's hoping to get Dim Sum. Were disappointed by the selection and headed onward. Stopped somewhere near the Spectre Dive Boat for cheap Mexican meal.

Got to Solvang. Met Mark. Exchanged pleasantries. Pretty much all decided none of us was an axe murderer. Mark announced that he was willing to sleep on the couch (was unaware of the possible spiderific outcome.) Got down to the business at hand... buying beer for the next day's party. Mark had the presence of mind to learn that the road to Solvang would be unavailable the next morning so we headed out that night to get chips, salsa and so much beer that I still have some sitting in my fridge to this day. Dinner that night was better than we deserved. Hotpot... with some crazy ass garlic chili sauce, sriracha and various other condiments. Who knew that Sriracha is actually made in City of Industry, CA?

Day 2: Awoke. Mark went for a wander, Chris went for a ride, I went for a run where I met Rolls and Spider Assassin on the street corner in Los Olivos talking to Mark. Ran, ran, ran, ran. Saw Lance and Levi on training ride followed by Bruyneel who waved; didn't notice any sign of ritualistic sacrifice on Bruyneel's hand. We all met back at HQ and actually spent time sitting in the same room but only talking to each other online. I am both proud and disturbed.

After wandering to the coffee shop for breakfast in turn, we grabbed buckets of chalk and headed out to the ITT course.

It was like magic, if you chalk a riders name on the ground...

and wait... ...and wait...

... you know what happens? The rider that you chalked on the ground actually RIDES BY!

I know what you're thinking... you don't believe me. Well, watch. I'll make Chris do it again...

...wait a few seconds...

Diary, you wouldn't believe it. There were so many riders going by that some times it was hard to tell who was who. If you missed the slew of motorcycles or CHP vehicles going by with the gigantic names attached to the front, you'd have no idea who anyone was. Like, seriously, who the hell does this guy think he is?

Anyway, after the race was over, we retired to PdC HQ and settled in for the party that then ensued, of which many pictures have already been posted. After the party, we all said goodbye, I tarried a little, lusting after Gavia's VW (seriously, with the rear hood open and using my Blackberry as a flashlight to admire all 1600cc's of beautiful vintage German engineering). Tarrying complete, Mark, Chris and I decided to wander into town to find dinner. I poked my head into a restaurant and saw the Chef standing there... well, swaying there... drunkenly. "Our Kind of People" I thought to myself and we headed in for a magnificent meal and magnificent wine.

Day 3: We all staggered about the house, notably more groggy than the previous day and all sounding remarkably congested, although Mark was the only one that was truly starting to get the flu. We headed to the cafe (the coffee place, not the virtual one) and got breakfast sandwiches and coffee and listened to the perpetual Bob Marley playing there and then went back and piled into Mark's rented Pontiac Shitwagon. Over to Santa Clarita we flew, iPod brewing up Hip Hop and we new It Was A Good Day. We got buzzed by a P-51 Mustang shortly after I made a joke about "hahaha, it looks like it's about to strafe us". Famous last words Dr. Jones. Anyway, we arrived and parked in Santa Clarita got our stuff together and headed over to the starting house, but not before Mark promptly left the keys to the Shitwagon sitting on the hood with various bits of rather expensive electronics in relative plain sight inside the vehicle.

We wandered around, finding nikki, steph, Lyne and Clydesdale back and around the main mall. Chris walked into the waiting arms of the Press Corps using his PdC Press Credentials while we sauntered back and forth from team bus to team bus...

I think one of the team buses was handing out free giant yellow rocks of crack because you would not BELIEVE the amount of crowds that were clustered around that thing waiting, yearning, praying, for just that little bit of whatever it was they were dealing.

The more you wandered around, the more guys in tights you saw. In some cases, these guys had really cool uniforms to wear and looked really good. In some cases, they did not. The good, the bad, the ugly, all on display.

« BUONO | BRUTTO »

Strangely, I felt a presence... an ... odd... Swedish presence... as though I was being looked at... or through. (This ones for you Jens.)

Gawking, oggling and perusing complete, we headed back to the start and met up with Chris who was almost shaking from his encounter with Boonen. Then we went and staked out a location to watch the Grand Départ. I had Mark's ginormous lens on my apparatus (hehehe) and snapped away taking magnificently framed photos of blurry riders heads with various random spectators in the background in crisp focus. As a direct "Screw You" from the universe, this was the only shot of the départ that was actually in focus.

Oh well. Disappointment of photographic inadequacy was quickly washed away by a beer or two at BJ's Brewhouse with a Meatball sandwich. We gathered up our stuff, bid good bye to Clydesdale and took Nikki with us to drop off at Santa Barbara Airport, all the while listening to the Tour Tracker audio feed through the car stereo (3G + laptop + excellent streaming = happiness). Nikki made her own Grand Départ at SBA and we headed back to Los Olivos where we failed to get a seat at The Hitching Post and then failed to get a seat at The Ballard Inn... finally settling in at Dos Carlitos where Chris had masculinity impinging Sangria, Mark had a glass of Zinfandel, and I had my usual Don Julio Añejo with a Dos Equis Amber. We slept well that night I tell you.

Day 4: A day of farewells. We said goodbye to the temporary HQ and headed back in the throng of ever increasing traffic to my apartment in Los Angeles where we watched a bit of the stage on the telly. It was extremely pleasing to have Mark and Chris walk into my apartment, sit on the couch and flip the TV on for them... walk out to my truck to grab some stuff... then come back in to see that they'd raided my fridge for beer and gotten some clean glasses and had settled in with their feet up to watch the race. No bullshit, I'm glad you guys felt that at home. Time ticked by as we watched and listened to Vesus then off to Gaby's for some Lebanese food. After lunch, we said our goodbyes and I loaded Chris into my truck... and Mark got in his Pontiac Shitwagon... and we headed to the airport.