My Man Crush & the Holy Trinity of Cycling

Back of Cavendish, Full-On Fabian 2010 TOC

You’ve seen the video, heard the stories and all of sudden Sasquatch’s thick matted fur is all up in your grill so close you crinkle your nose and squint your eyes at the Yeti stench.  Yeah.  Mmmph.  You urk back a little puke and say to yourself, “That’s a beautiful Big Foot.”  Seeing Fabian Cancellara and Tom Boonen up close is sort of like seeing Sasquatch, only you’ve never stood on the couch cushions shouting as Sasquatch grits his teeth and pounds the pedals under the red kite with the contorted faces of those he’s dropping in view between his 4 day beard and his shoulder.  I saw Boonen, Cancellara and Hincapie together last year at the tour of California.  My wife blasted me for my giddiness as I angled the camera to capture all three in the same photo.  To her I looked like a tween snapping photos at a Justin Bieber concert.  To me, I was witnessing a cycling holy trinity. 

Stay Thirsty My Friends

Quite a few women read this blog.  While some of you may want to have mad wild Belgian/Swiss RV sex with Tomeke or Fabian after the finish of this weekend’s E3 and Gent-Wevelgem, man crushes are nothing like that.  Let it be clear, I do not want to boom with Boonen.  I don’t want Cancellara to wear my ring on a chain around his neck.  A man crush is nothing sexual or gay.  A man crush is something of appreciation, like seeing the perfection in the Brawny paper towel guy’s beard, admiring the timelessness of Dos Equis’ Most Interesting Man in the World, or the suaveness of the Old Spice guy.  Advertisers are well aware of this.  Dos Equis, Brawny and Old Spice would be out of business if a video ever surfaced of Heidi Klum cleaning the bathroom counter with a Brawny paper towel, a Dos Equis beer in the other hand and a stick of Old Spice in view on the cabinet. 

Beautiful, yes.  But, what The hell Am I looking at?

The emotion behind a man crush is why grown men’s mouths gape and eyes rise in wonder at the cornerstone of the Empire State Building.  It’s why men marvel at the bland smooth concrete massiveness of the Hoover Dam and insist on “popping the hood” and peering at the engine of a Ferrari.  It has nothing to do with understanding the engineering principals behind these wonders.  It’s simply the sight of pure blunt-force perfection.    It’s man beauty.

Stoic Boonen 2010 Tour of California

I think that’s what I see in Boonen and Cancellara.  I saw both of them in person, together at the start of the Big Bear state of the Tour of California.  Boonen, minutes later would drop out of the race.  Cancellara would be pack fodder.  It didn’t matter.  Like the great pyramids and Notre Dame Cathedral, their cache of wins and hard-guy moments earns them a timeless respect.   Conversely Frank Schleck winning the Criterium International did nothing for me.

The Manx Missile? What’s Wrong With Cuddle Comet?

Unless you’re in Europe, The Manx Missile nickname for Columbia HTC sprinter Mark Cavendish leaves more questions than answers. It took 2 hours on Wiki pages and a bottle of scotch before I learned what Manx actually is. Then I passed out.

Manx is a breed of cat with a spinal mutation that causes them to have short or under-developed tails. Really! It’s true. Check out the little nubbin' in the picture. They are cute and cuddly, which does bode well for Cavendish’s spirited post race teammate hugging. However, I doubt any man wants to be nicknamed after something with a short tail. Additionally, I do recall, while watching the podium presentation, a female in the room pointed out that Caven-dash did deliver quite an express package to the finish line. Seriously, Cavendish is from the Isle of Man, which floats in the water off the coast of England. Locally the island, language and people are known as Manx.

I’m sure Manx is a wonderful place, but it might as well be the moon. That’s coming from someone who’s probably more traveled than most. Traveling to Scotland, Germany, and The Netherlands, I’ve probably flown over the Isle quite a few times and didn’t even know it. Till you read this, I’m guessing you didn’t know much about Manx and might be consulting your World Atlas right now. Secondly, I don’t think Manx Missile has the same panache of Petacchi’s Ale-Jet or McEwen’s Pocket Rocket. May I suggest the following nickname idea’s for Mark Cavendish:

Cannon-dish (or any knock off’s of his name such as: Kickin' Kavendish, Caven-dash, Caven-dart, Cannon-flash). While not as creative as Manx Missile, they are all more understandable without consulting the World Atlas.

British Bullet. Sure people from the Isle of Man probably prefer Manx, but nicknames need to cast a wider umbrella. Plus, a bullet with a British flag would make a killer logo or bike paint job.

Space Shuttle Columbia. He’s fast like a rocket. His team is Columbia. Uh…what? Oooh, forgot about that. Nevermind.

Marcus The Tank Engine. Fun and kid friendly, could make for great merchandising.

Highspeed Hugger or Cuddle Comet. Take your pick. They’re both gold baby. GOLD!

Expeditious Cavendishious. Okay I shouldn’t have opened up the Thesaurus.

Juvi Jet or Jumpin Juvi. What? He’s fast. He’s young. C’mon.

Okay. Maybe Manx Missile isn’t all that bad after all.

Caveman And The Zipp Carbon Wheels

Zipp wheels free.  Caveman won at season end OVCX raffle.  Me love.  See happy cave drawing below.  Wheels still in box in garage.  Every two or three moons, when in cave, me open, pull out, marvel at like a monolith and tuck back in box.  Garage locked, alarmed, filled with ferocious dogs and army of Lycra cavemen with clubs.  Caveman protect carbon wheels to death.  However, caveman bummed.  Me can’t ride wheels without tubular tires, brake pads for carbon rims, a glue job and air.  Me grunt and pound on dirt floor.  Caveman has taxes to pay and cave to insure.

Me got air.  Air free, but bike shop say parts and labor cost near $300 with tax.  Caveman taxes due in twenty some sunrises.  Cave insurance due in nine.  Cavewoman reason taxes and insurance come before bike stuff.  Me grunt and pound floor. 

Caveman industrious and inventive.  

Me see solution like spark lead to fire.  Caveman skip weekend races.  Save money.  Work on taxes.  Me thinks there might be more floor pounding before me ride wheels.  Caveman get quote on home & car insurance this week.  Caveman figure how much money left under rock after taxes and cave insurance.  Me spend left over money to finish wheels.  Me want Continental GP 4000 S tubies.  Caveman sees light.

Police Say Local Bike Rider Was Drunk…Really?

My chamois is in a bundle.  I’m offended.  As a local bike rider, I’m offended…well as much as I can be without laughing at the ridiculousness of my feelings.  This story threw the chain in my spokes last night.  I’m talking about the AP copyright story that popped out of Cincinnati Monday titled “Police Say Local Bike Rider Was Drunk” (click here to read it.)  To steal a line from Seth and Amy on Saturday night live…really?  I’m sorry, but I think it takes more than a bike to be a called a bike rider.  I’m not sure what that is, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it.

To say the least, in my opinion, the man who is the subject of the story could be called a lot of things, the least being a “bike rider.”  I’m thinking the headline should’ve been something like, “Police Say Local Man Was Drunk While Riding Bike.”  After all, he is a local man first, who just happened to be operating a bicycle.  I’m not arguing semantics.  There’s a principal involved somewhere.  I’m not angry.  I’m more bemused at myself.  I’m in a slight tiff.  This guy shouldn’t be in the same boat as the people I would call bike riders.  I’m not exactly sure what the minimum credentials are, but I’m 100% sure that this guy isn’t a bike rider.  I think it takes more than being on the pedals of a moving bicycle in Cincinnati to be called a bike rider. 

Forget about the law and the alleged alcohol for a minute and concentrate on the real issue.  What really does it take to be called a bike rider?   According to this story it seems like all you need is a bike and at least the ability to sort of balance it and pedal it for a minimal amount of time.  But you wouldn’t call a five year old riding herky-jerky around their cul-de-sac a bike rider.  I think they’d be called a child riding a bike.  So, maybe there’s a level of expertise and/or intention involved.   You can swing from a monkey bar, but you’re no gymnast.  You can dog paddle 15 feet from your inner tube to the dock, but you wouldn’t be identified as a swimmer.   You can shoot a gun, but you’re not marksman.

Then I brought up the story to some people in the office and told them how I was offended as a bike rider about this story.  After they rolled their eyes and my half joking explanation of why I was offended, one brought up an interesting point.  Respect.  A coworker said, “I don’t think this man respects the bicycle.”  She’s right.  So, I think that’s the difference.  A person riding a bike doesn’t necessarily respect the bicycle. 

A bike rider respects the bicycle.