Sorni wrote:
> Paladin wrote:
> > I read it last night. Great letter. I always knew you for a closet
> > leg-shaving, gram-counting roadie. Maybe those pedals will help bring
> > you back... ;~D
>
> Anyone wanna clue me in on what I wrote? LOL Seriously, I didn't keep a
> copy and have no idea (other than the gist that I'm a...well, you described
> it fairly well!)...
>
> Bill "JFTR, my diet's horrid and I've never shave anything other than the
> mug" S.
Don't feel too bad. To win some swag (received yesterday, and better
than I expected) I said I'd give up sex for a year. It just gets (much)
worse from there. From
http://www.bicycling.com/article/0,3253,s1-14575,00.html?category_id=441:
"Contest Results In, And You All Scare Me
Thanks to everyone for playing in last week's contest about what you'd
give up to stand on Alpe d'Huez during the Tour. I actually got more
responses to the corollary question, what would be worth giving up a
year of sex? Perhaps it's my fault for even asking the question, but
some of you got a bit, um, explicit in the answers and I just didn't
need to know that.
But anyway, our winner is Scott Gordon, who is probably the biggest
George Hincapie fan I've ever seen because he would give up sex for a
year to A) see George Hincapie win Paris-Roubaix and B) be a Disco
teammate of George's who sacrifices his own opportunity to win to
support his team leader. That's dedication. No, it's a full-blown man
crush. The entry, in full, because it's too good not to print:
"The Mons-en-Pevele cobbles are rain-slicked, it's freezing cold, and
gusts of wind are wrecking umbrellas everywhere. Our faces caked in
mud, our knees and elbows bloodied. I'm protecting George at the front
of the field. Boonen bursts off the front. Maggie and I make the jump.
I duck behind Maggie as he pulls. In the mighty Swede's slipstream, I'm
feeling warm and comfortable for the first time all day. Recharged.
Maggie pulls off, and I'm in a dream world. My legs are no longer
pumping but spinning. I'm thinking of sunny days, the ocean, I hear
music and laughter. By the time I snap back to reality, I find that
I've dropped George and everyone else. Over the radio static and
dropout, I can make out only that it's Johan and he's yelling. Do I
break away and force a chase? Do I drop back to George? 40km left....I
ease up. Flecha passes first, then Thor, Boonen, and Nico. George
doesn't look at me - he's focused. He looks solid. Everybody's taking a
crack off the front but nothing serious until we hit Gruson, when
Boonen drops into a big gear and guns it. Flecha flats almost
immediately and I have to swerve around him. George is drafting but
some of the others get tangled up. Maggie's showing some strain as he's
wincing and squaring off. As Boonen drops he tells George that I've got
to go or he won't work. George, remembering Domo, doesn't respond.
Boonen attacks again and again, but there's four of us heading into the
drome. It's in the bag. Boonen and Maggie are jockeying for position,
but George has too much in the tank for them. He goes into a sprint
just a few meters in and wins it by a mile.
Once I cross the line I realize just how cold and exhausted and
exhilarated I am. I'm not on the podium, but as a 35-year-old rookie
I've opened a lot of eyes. "Mostly," I tell reporters, 'I ride the
streets in NYC. It's good training.' I move to Belgium, where I'll
never have to buy a beer again."
Honestly, it makes me teary. I'm scared to ask what Scott would give up
to see George win the Tour. It also makes me sad that I have no
Hincapie Sportswear to give to Mr. Gordon, although he will get the bag
of Schwinn Schwag. Hey George? How 'bout it? Can you style our man?"
