Tuttobiciweb has this description from Pereiro of his crash two days ago:

"aver avuto paura di morire. Andavo più veloce dei corridori della fila di sinistra. Credo che Cunego abbia avuto un po’ di paura e abbia fatto una manovra brusca, io non ho potuto evitarlo. Sono caduto scivolando sotto il guardrail e... mi sono trovato davanti il baratro. Mi sono ritrovato in aria e ho cercato di riparare la testa. Ho pensato che stavo per morire e mi sono augurato di non soffrire troppo, sperando di essere incosciente al momento in cui avrei toccato terra."

http://www.tuttobiciweb.it/index.php?page=news&cod=17623&tp=n

Here's my translation:

"I had fear of dying.  I was going faster than the line of riders to the left.  I believe that Cunego had a little fear and he made an abrupt maneuver, and I could not avoid him.  I fell, sliding under the guardrail and ... I found myself in front of the abyss.  I found myself in the air and I tried to protect my head.  I thought that I was going to die and I hoped that I would not suffer too much, hoping to be unconscious at the moment that I touched the ground."

Wow, it sounds like it was just as scary as it looked!

Well, with just a few days to go until the Tour de France, I've finally finished sorting, posting, and labeling my Giro photos.  Here's a link to my Giro 2008 album on photobucket:

Giro 2008 photos

[ED] See more on the flip:

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Maybe not.

A 50-year-old triathlete who was wearing a heart-rate monitor was charged by a grizzly while jogging in an Anchorage park on Saturday.  He curled up on the ground and the bear ran right over him.

The guy thought his maximum heart rate was 180.  Turns out, it's 193.

Kinda makes you wonder what Frank Schleck's heart rate maxed out at today.

http://www.adn.com/bearattacks/story/439737.html

Like most Minnesotans, I've been in vitamin D deficit lately, so it was a pleasure to ride to the pretty St. Croix River town of Stillwater on this sunny Sunday to watch the final stage of the Nature Valley Grand Prix race.  The Stillwater criterium, featuring the super-steep Chilkoot Hill, is billed as "the toughest criterium in North America," but Kristin Armstrong made it look like taking candy from a baby.

Armstrong crushed the women's field, riding alone way off the front of the pack almost from the gun.

The men's race, on the other hand, was a nail-biter, with 20-year-old Quebecois sensation David Veilleux taking it on the line from overall race winner Rory Sutherland.

More photos on the flip...

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I rode to downtown Minneapolis yesterday evening to watch stage four of the Nature Valley Grand Prix, the Minneapolis criterium.  Here are a few photos from the men's and women's races:

More on the flip...

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For most of the afternoon yesterday, things were pretty mellow at the time trial finish in Milano.  Every minute or so, a rider would finish, get a drink and a towel from a soigneur, and maybe hang out for a few minutes before riding out to the team buses.

There were a few brief bursts of excitement in the early going, but they gave no hint of the mayhem to come.  As Fabio Baldato finished, the announcer was lauding him as one of the oldest riders in the race, and for having been a professional for 18 years.  As he crossed the line, Baldato sat up and raised his arms as if winning a stage, to the delight of the cheering tifosi.

Jens Voigt was another popular finisher.  The entire VIP seating area across from the podium had apparently been reserved for people from Nobili, a CSC sponsor, and each CSC rider, after finishing and cooling down a bit, would ride over and schmooze with the sponsor for a few minutes.  The Nobili folks were going particularly nuts for Voigt, and he spent a lot of time with them.  Here he is giving his cap to a little girl:

All pretense of order in the finish area collapsed with the arrival of Paolo Bettini.  The full press corps had gathered by then, and from Bettini on, every big star was mobbed in the press area.

Just before Bettini finished, I spotted his wife and little daughter in a VIP area, and I got this shot of Veronica cheering as her papa rode past:

After doing a few interviews, Bettini lifted Veronica onto his handlebars and rode slowly out through a throng of happy photographers.

Simoni, Di Luca, Pellizotti, Bruseghin, Ricco; every few minutes there was a new press hogpile.

As he had in Urbino, Simoni spent a lot of time with the press, doing multiple on-camera interviews.

Pellizotti, just five seconds out of third place at the start of the day, had obviously been gunning for that podium spot.  As Bruseghin approached the finish, Pellizotti motioned for the press around him to quiet down, pressed his radio to his ear, and strained to see the clock above the finish line.  When Bruseghin finished with a time just good enough to keep him on the podium, Pellizotti shrugged and smiled, then went on with his interviews.

Contador's finish precipitated a near-riot.  He shot past the press area without stopping, so everyone ran after him into the narrow chute leading to the exit of the fenced-in finish area.  The motorcycles and cars that had been following him also went into  the chute.  By the time Contador turned around to make his way back to the podium, there was a logjam of cars, motorcycles, tv cameras, and reporters.  Contador was understandably frustrated at being trapped in the chute, and he let loose with some emphatic arm waving until a path was cleared for him to escape.

He rode back toward the podium, scurrying reporters and photographers in tow, and as we ran behind him, I saw out of the corner of my eye that someone had opened a gate in the fencing, and the tifosi were pouring in from the side of the road.  When we got near the podium, Contador had already gone through, and the race officials had pulled a section of fencing across the road.  Irresistible force meets immovable object.  I've been to my share of open-dance-floor concerts, so the press of people didn't bother me, but the large tv cameras being jostled around were a worrying element not found in your typical mosh pit.  After a few minutes, the officials started letting those with press passes in through a gate in the fence, and I got in before the podium ceremony started.

The podium ceremony was a lot of fun.  When it was time to present the maglia rosa, Contador ran onto the stage and leapt up onto the podium.  He looked wonderfully happy throughout the ceremony.

Not so Ricco, who looked glum on the second step of the podium.  Here, Contador kisses the trophy while Bruseghin applauds him and Ricco gives him the evil eye:

One final note: I just looked at some of my earlier threads, and to answer lyne's question, yes, Bennati really is that hot in person.  He's probably the most attractive person, male or female, that I have ever seen in person.  Here he is at the final podium ceremony:

That's it for my reports from this year's Giro.  I can't wait for next year!

          Susie Hartigan for Podium Cafe

There's been a lot of riding in the rain at this year's Giro, for racers and bike tourists alike, and yesterday was no exception.  We started out from our hotel in Iseo for the 70-kilometer ride to the finishing climb at Monte Pora under a cloudy sky.  The rain began just as the road started to turn up, about half way through our ride. 

Our route went over the Passo della Presolana, the penultimate climb of the race stage.  I knew it would be steep, with an 8.2% average grade, but at least it wouldn't be too long, at only 4.8 kilometers.  What I hadn't taken into account was that since we were starting at 200 meters elevation in Iseo, we would have a good deal of uphill riding to get to the point where we would join the race route at the base of the climb to Passo della Presolana, which was at 900 meters elevation.

It was a hard ride, but beautiful.  The Presolana climb itself wasn't so scenic -- though perhaps it might have been without the low clouds and rain -- but the ride up to the base of the climb was spectacular.  The road followed a roaring mountain river, all rapids and waterfalls, through a rock-walled canyon.  If it hadn't been raining, I would have had a lot of excuses to stop and take pictures (and catch my breath).

The first few kilometers of the Presolana climb itself were vicious.  There were three stretches marked "14%," and the rest wasn't much better.

The last kilometer was easier, and then, after a quick photo at the pass, came a pretty fun downhill, made trickier by the wet road.

I had been planning to ride most of the way up Monte Pora, to see the race near the finish line.  My plans changed when I ran into one of our tour-group guides in Dorga, the town at the base of Monte Pora.  He said no one else in our group wanted to ride up Monte Pora, so he asked me not to go up very far, so the others wouldn't have to wait for me to come down after the race.

So, I just went up about a kilometer, and watched from there.  We weren't far from Savoldelli's hometown of Bergamo, and his tifosi had been out in force, decorating Dorga with "Il Falco" banners.

I didn't want to have my camera out for long in the wet, so I only took a few pictures of the race.  Here's one of Kiryienka, the stage winner:

Here's the maglia rosa group:

          Susie Hartigan for Podium Cafe

I haven't had a chance to post anything for the past few days, so I'll try to post two stage reports today.

The stage start in Sondrio seemed a lot more chaotic than the one in Urbania.  Sondrio is a bigger town, for one thing, so there were a lot more people around.  On my way to the start area, I passed this group of school kids with their teacher, taping their signs to a fence that the riders would pass by.

I spent a little time near the team buses, where I saw Bennati posing for pictures with some fans.  A few days ago, I wrote that Bennati seemed to take to the limelight more than any other rider I've seen.  Someone asked about Bettini, and he, too, seems to enjoy being a star.  Bennati, though, is like a movie star on the red carpet.  He seems perfectly comfortable with being constantly ogled, and whenever a camera is pointed in his direction, he flashes his beautiful smile, even if it's just a mom or dad taking a snapshot of him with their kids.

The sign-in area was smaller than in Urbania, and the announcer's sound system was painfully loud, so none of the riders were lingering there.  Instead, they all headed for the "village," where the race sponsors had little hospitality areas set up.  Most riders sat down and chatted with each other or read the paper, some having a snack or a coffee.

Di Luca, restless as ever, circulated around on his bike, even though there was no room to do anything but push along slowly with one foot on the ground.  This meant having to accomodate near-constant requests for photos and autographs.  He acquiesced gracefully to all of the requests, as most of the Italian stars seem to do.  I wouldn't say he seemed to enjoy the attention, but he didn't really seem to mind it.

I was determined to get at least one rider interview, but I hesitated to break into the conversations of the riders who were hanging out with each other, and I didn't really see any other press people talking to them. 

Finally, I spotted a likely candidate.  I'd seen Nick Gates earlier, taking with some fans who were displaying an Australian flag on the side of the road.  A bit later, I'd seen him helping his family, including three kids all in Lotto jerseys, over the barricades, and walking with them into the village.  Now they were sitting at an outside table.  I saw several people approach Nick for a photo or a chat, and he seemed to receive all the attention with good cheer.

On the day of the Fedaia stage, before riding up the back (easier) side of the Fedaia to watch the stage finish, I'd ridden a few kilometers up toward Passo Pordoi, to see the riders descending.  My Aussie tour group roomate was with me, and she put out her flag as we waited on one of the hairpin turns.  When the riders came by, Gates called out, "Hey, Aussies!"

So now, I went over and introduced myself and mentioned the flag on the Pordoi.  He said, "Aw, yeah," with a big smile, so I asked if I could do a brief interview.  Here it is:

Susie: Crazy hard Giro this year, huh, Nick?

Nick Gates: Oh, it's been really hard the first two weeks.  We're in the home straight now; there are four hard days to go.

S: Do you think it's even harder than last year, with the Zoncolan and Tre Cime?

NG: It's been hard from day one.  We've only had four sprints over all.  It's just been a really tough race.  But, we've still got two big mountain days to go, so it should be all right.

S: What do you think about today, a little bit easier?

NG: Yeah, today normally should be a sprint.

S: You think so?

NG: Yeah, I think it's going to be a bunch sprint.  After a time trial and a rest day, it'll be a bunch sprint.  Then, three hard days before the finish in Milan.

S: Is this your family here with you?

NG: Yeah, with the kids.

S: Are they traveling with you at the Giro?

NG: They've come to have a look.  They're here for three days.  They're going to go to Lake Garda today, then meet me in Milan on Sunday.

S: Well, they hit a little bit of the good weather, finally, huh?

NG: Yeah, it's true.  It's true.

S: You must have been getting sick of all that rain.

NG: Yeah, I was.

S: All right, thanks so much.  Have a great race today!

NG: Bye.

           Susie Hartigan for Podium Cafe

I arrived in the start town for the Plan de Corones time trial at about 1:30 pm yesterday, just in time for a break in the action.  The first 100 riders had gone off before 1:30, then there was a break until 3:00, to allow the early riders to finish and ride back down.

After having my lunch -- a sandwich scavenged from the breakfast fixings at my hotel -- I headed up to the start area to watch the top 52 riders take off.  It was interesting to watch the different ways in which the riders used the last minutes before their start times.

Bettini showed up well before his start time, and just hung out.  He chatted with other riders, joked with the cops, posed for a picture with a one of the motorcycle drivers, and just generally seemed to be having a fine time.

Leipheimer and Kloden seemed relaxed, just sitting on the chairs in the bike-weighing tent until it was time for their starts.  Others seemed like cats on a hot tin roof.  Di Luca, in particular, wasn't still for a second.  After having his bike weighed, he rode up and down the road behind the start area until just before his start.

I mostly stayed near the bike weigh-in tent, since every rider had to appear there at least once.  The bikes had to weigh at least 6.8 kilos, and most seemed to come in at around 7.1.  The Navigare Colnagos were heavier, around 7.4, and Simoni, Valjavek, and Contador had very light bikes, all in the 6.8 to 6.9 range.  One rider Van Den Broeck, had a bike that was too light, 6.74 kilos.  He had waited until just a few minutes before his start time to weigh in, so  it was a frantic few minutes for the team mechanics to work something out.  Someone ran in from the follow car with another Ridley, which weighed in at 7.4.  Too heavy; they weren't happy with that.  Someone did something to the saddle of the original bike, then they weighed it again, but it was still too light.  Then they switched out the rear wheel.  Now the bike weighed 7.4, but it was too late to do anything else.  In the start house, they were blowing a whistle to signal that Van Den Broeck's start time was fast approaching, so he just had to grab the bike and go.

Simoni, like Di Luca, rode up and down the road until just before his start time.  When he finally came it to have his bike weighed, he consulted briefly with one of the officials doing the weighing, then hurried back toward his follow car, calling, "Lucho, Lucho!," and motioning for someone to come.  A guy ran in, cut the plastic bands attaching Simoni's race number to the bike frame, and removed the number.  After Gibo left for the start house, I asked the official if the number on the bike was not necessary, and he said that in a time trial, only the number on the rider's back is required.

I headed around to the front of hte start house to see the last few riders start.  Simoni looked serene in the start house, acknowledging the cheers of the tifosi with a beatific smile.

Here he is taking off:

Di Luca looked calm, but did not smile.  (Does he ever?)  Contador looked the most nervous.  He crossed himself three or four times in quick succession, and fiddled with the sleeves of his skin suit, and when he was given the ok to start, he took off like he'd been shot out of a cannon.

I'd run into Bob from Cycleto.com earlier, and after Contador started, we went in search of a tv to watch the rest of the race.  Bob spotted some Saunier Duval mechanics watching a tv that was mounted on the back of their truck, so we joined them.

It was another good day for Gibo, which I'm always happy to see.  This morning, it was reported in La Gazzetta that Reinhold Messner, a son of the Dolomites and the greatest mountaineer of all time, was at the stage start yesterday, in the morning.  He's quoted as saying, "I can't say that I have a favorite champion [in the Giro], but every good mountain man appreciates Simoni as one of our own."

          Susie Hartigan for Podium Cafe

Ah, the first mountain stage.  The pain, the drama, the "crisi psicologiche" (psychological crises).  And that was just me, reintroducing my legs to the Dolomites. 

Unlike the racers, I had the luxury of taking it pretty easy on my first mountain day.  The stage headquarters, including the press room, was in a hotel half way up the climb to Alpe di Pampeago, so that was my destination.  After a short, flattish ride to the village of Tesero, I started the climb.  Tesero is a charming place, but its steep, cobbled streets make for a cruel start to a long climb.  Once I was off the cobbles, the climb wasn't too bad.  Of course, I only did the first, easier half.

Only a short distance from Simoni's hometown near Trento, Alpe di Pampeago was obviously Simoni country.  Most of the roadside signs were of the "Forza, Gibo!" variety.  A Pantani fan club had had a bar set up along the road, complete with blaring hard-rock music.

As usual, there were a lot of people riding up, but not many of them were women.  The few of us on the road were getting lots of cheers from the tifosi gathering on the sides of the road.  My Lemond bike also got a few shout-outs: "Greg Lemond."

I reached the hotel pretty easily.  As I stopped near the entrance to the car park, two smiling older men were walking down from the hotel, looking like they might have enjoyed a few beers with their lunch.  One of them asked me, "E finita la benzina?" (Are you out of gas?)  When I laughed and said yes, he pointed up the road and gave me some advice: "Dica, 'ho bisogno di spinta! Spinta!'" (Say, 'I need a push! A push!)  Words of wisdom; I'll keep them in mind on my next climb.

Inside the hotel, I found some others from my tour group having a coffee, so I joined them, and when the RAI coverage started at 3:00, most people gathered around the lobby tv to watch the action.  When Sella was in Cavalese, a few kilometers from the start of the climb, I went outside to find a spot on the road.  It looked and felt like it was about to rain, but only a few, sporadic drops actually fell.

Before long we could hear the helicopter, then the police motorcycles roared past, and, finally, a rider.  Sella came by first, fighting like a tiger.  You could see on his face that he was going to win the stage or die trying.

After Sella came the remants of the breakaway, in various states.  Rodriguez and the Tinkoff rider were still going balls to the wall, trying in vain to catch Sella.  Bettini appeared to be suffering mightily, and Vande Velde and Voigt looked to be riding more within themselves, maintaining a solid pace to the finish. 

Here's a picture for Nikki:

And one for Ruthann:

Next came the race favorites group.  They were going visibly faster than the earlier riders, and were still all together.

After the favorites' group passed, I went back inside to watch the exciting finish on tv (Vai, Gibo!) 

The ride back down to where our bus -- and the team buses -- were parked, was typical: throngs of people walking down, riders like me stopping and starting as cars pulled out and pedestrians spread across the road, and the pros screaming down helmetless to their buses at a spectacular pace, calling out, "occhio, occhio" (literally, "eye," but used like "look out.")  A perfect end to a perfect first day in the Dolomites.

         --- Susie Hartigan for Podium Cafe