Has cycling reached the end times? Jerry Falwell’s death certainly puts me in a state akin to rapture, and everywhere you look, people are spewing Jeremiads: it’s a hard time for cycling; the sport is awash with evil; Georg Totchnig even sees armageddon and rebirth – and keep in mind, this is what people are discussing on the day of the ’07 Giro’s first mountain test; it’s not like there are no other stories out there. Anyway, DiLuca made the most of his second coming at Montevergine, while Paolos Savoldelli and Bettini found themselves a bit “left behind”, so to speak. For those who were not there to hear the good word, Podium Cafe recaps the saved and the damned.

I’m trying to remember all the signs of the Apocalypse – I’m pretty sure the return of the saints on the list, right? Is a comically ineffective justice system among them? If so, better sell off that Google stock now and buy some hot pants because we’re all going to hell. Seriously, the biggest case in the history of anti-doping and we’ve got and hour delay while people scour the greater Los Angeles area for someone who speaks French? Anyway, I’m pretty sure complicated Grand Tour arrangements aren’t commonly regarded as an end times indicator, but to hear Patrick LeFevere tell it, they might as well be. Funny thing is, the riders don’t seem too bothered by it. But whether the coming weeks bring fiery damnation, etherial bliss, or humdrum status quo, I don’t think anything can definitively kill the Unibet saga, but be sure keep the little team that nobody wanted in your prayers

What the – ? Rest day already? A three day chunk of Grand Tour racing is like making out with this totally hot girl you’ve been trying to kiss for weeks – for about five seconds. Honestly, it wouldn’t be so bad if the biggest story thus far weren’t the pink jersey pinballing between Enrico Gasparatto and his teammate/captain Danilo DiLuca. The word from Liquigas climber and functional anorexic Charly Wegelius is that the alleged tiff between the two is no big deal, and given the lack of other compelling story lines, I’d agree.

If I were a real journo, I might focus on the surprising number of casualties thus far – T-Mobile is already two men down, and plenty of other squads are beat up. Cunego, who was caught up in yesterday’s tumble, is apparently ok, as is his erstwhile (and perpetually disaffected) teammate Gilberto Simoni. Yeah, I’d probably write about the heavy attrition thus far. Either that, or I’d do something about how Italians are incapable of doing the Macarena correctly .

Hmm…so, no racing. Then what will everyone talk about? The last bit of Dunkirk? No. Any other guesses? I promise, it’s not hard. Yes, exactly – we’re gonna talk about doping,, with the Landis trial taking first billing. In the sport’s second-most high-profile case, “attempted doper” Ivan Basso has regressed to a state of uncooperativity as he awaits his come-uppance. Experts conclude that doping goes on, but it seems practically nothing can penetrate the reality distortion field hovering around Alexandro Valverde (though if I had the ’06 TdF Victor-Elect on my roster, I might not care who’s riding in my jersey, either.

Sorry for the weekend blackout, folks. I was out of town, watching my grandmother turn 90, which is coincidently the same age as the Giro. I even stayed at a Hampton Inn, which, as you should all know, is the sponsor of OLN’s Versus’ cycling “coverage”. Apparently, there’s a fair amount of money in bringing this sport to Americans, but Versus treats cycling the way I treat my day job. Maybe all the guys at Versus spend their work hours on sweet blogs about telecommunications billing software documentation, but somehow, I doubt it.

Anyway, I did manage to catch a few bits of the opening TTT on Cycling.TV this weekend. The course looked gorgeous and technical (though not so technical as to justify Matt White’s pottymouth – just search for “f***ing”), but I had all sorts of trouble with the feed. That, combined with the fact that Cyclingnews keeps timing out as I try to type this post, gives me the impression that demand for the Giro is outstripping supply. As it is, I’m watching on Velonews‘s feature rich Live Report window; fancy, but, with its Google Maps mashup, slow to refresh.

Ok, so from what I can tell, Petacchi won. And he’s very emotional about it, since he’s been, uh, not so good since that whole kneecap thing last year. I kind of wondered at the guy’s motivation when he said his goal was to get “a” stage win after yesterday’s result. Like yesterday, when a crash inside the protected 3km mark somehow forced a change in the GC, some riders went down, most notably Credit Agricole’s Thor Hushovd, as his teammate and the world’s most Irish Frenchman (or is it French Irishman?), Nick Roche, was blowing his leadout.

Let’s see, other news…oh yeah, doping. The Landis hearing starts today, mere hours after The Floyd called for Dick Pound’s removal, and days after he revealed that USADA officials had offered him leniency for rolling over on Lance. The trial should be an interesting few days. Meanwhile, Johan Bruyneel, perhaps the least ingenuous man in cycling, has cast himself (and Lance) as ingenue in the Basso Affair. Serhiy Honchar, who we were told had a cold has perhaps come down with something more virulent. CSC, the other team foxing its own hen house this season, has noted irregularities in two of its riders. No comments or voluntary suspensions yet, but they say they’ll be keeping an eye on the riders in question.

Ah, there’s nothing like pleasant irony to accompany a warm spring day, is there? Just think, if Tyler Hamilton had simply taken the hit on that whole blood doping thing, instead of going on about his vanishing twin, not only would he be hundreds of thousands of dollars richer, he’d also be racing this weekend. All he had to do was say “yes, I doped, and this is how” and he wouldn’t have to answer for those pesky Puerto documents, even after serving his two years. But instead…poor Tyler. Next time maybe he’ll remember that honesty is the best policy.

Of course, I still don’t much care for this business of preemptive suspension, though its moral, if not ethical, legs appear to be founded on much sturdier ground these days. Sure, I’m ok with a little probing, even across borders, so long as it’s carried out in accordance with the law. I’m not so OK with the apparent en masse bargaining of Spanish athletes involved in Operacion Puerto. This affair has been exposed and under examination for almost a year now – no brownie points should be awarded for confessing just because people are actually starting to get punished.

Anyway, as the seconds tick off toward the first Grand Tour of ’07, Giro previews continue to sprout up everywhere. For a glossy look at the GC favorites, try Pez, while over at the Cafe, there’s an examination of the often unusual Giro KOM battle, which might be more hotly contested this time around, as there’s no Intergiro competition for the rouleurs to fight for. And, for those of you who must have racing, T-Mobile Brit Mark Cavendish continued his ascendancy, beating out Gert “no slouch” Steegmans for the third stage at Dunkirk.

Normally, I sit around before races and shut up. Don’t say much, and just check out the field (unless there’s someone I know, then I chat them up). But not so much before the Williams Crit this past Sunday. I had just pedaled over from my parents’ house (about a mile away), and was chilling by the start line, when I overheard some double-registered dude talking about how was gonna skip the Cat 3 race because all the money was in the pros.

I’d let that slide, but then he started whining about upgrade points, and so I was like “And that’s the only reason you race? Money and upgrade points?” And he was like “Well, I drove three and a half hours to get here, might as well have something to show for it”, to which I replied “I find your lack of spirit disturbing.” Then he went all Ricki Lake on me, being like “you don’t even know me, I train year round in nothern Vermont” yadda yadda yadda.

I stopped my part in the discussion shortly thereafter, because I guess he was getting pissed, and somehow, I figured the officials would turn it into a way to fine me. I guess there’s no real point to this preface, per se, I guess it’s just sort of a disturbing to line up against people who see racing as a means to an end like that. After all, there are much more direct routes to upgrade points and prize money than training year round…

Anyway, true to his word, he skipped the 3 race, which was, like all the races at Williams, pretty lightly populated. It’s a shame, too, since the course is real fun (kinda) – up the hill, down the hill through some sick twists, back up the hill kinda easy, then a 90 degree turn and uphill hard, before repeating. A lot of people say it’s like a cyclocross race, and you have to race it like one. Since most of my ‘cross races involve three laps of sprinting and then holding on for dear life, I really can’t understand that.

Pace felt decent to me, so it probably was slow. No one wanted to lead the descent, which I found incomprehensible, especially with at least two nippy little juniors in the field (juniors are annoyingly good at bike handing, ush.) So as little kinda attacks went, the field thinned down from 24 to 13. Basically, the pattern was suffer up the hill, recover position down it. I think I attacked one time when it was really slow, and immediately regretted it because I am just not in any kind of shape for that.

At about 8 laps to go, I started to get that thing I was having toward the end of Jiminy, where you get sloppy about maintaining position. So I softpedalling a bit on the front, and came through the next downhill 3rd or 4th wheel. Of course, things got slow again after that (Murphy’s Law, since I’d just corrected my pack position) and it was all bunched out and wide. I got boxed in somewhere I should have known not to be, and someone attacked on the otherside of the road, putting me instantly at the back, right before the 90-degree turn and the real uphill.

Each lap, I’d been moshing through the hill in the big ring. I was dropped at Jiminy using a similar gear, and I’m thinking maybe, now that I have expensive parts, I should have more faith in the front derailluer. Anyway, I lost a bunch of space on that climb, and just couldn’t pull it back together. So I finished alone, off the back, as the last person not to be lapped, same as the last time I did this race, in 2003.

Bill Clinton was the reference of choice yesterday, but make no mistake about it, Ivan Basso will not gain the will of the people anytime soon. Even Jan Ullrich’s lawyer is under-awed by the Basso admission. So imagine how little people must care about Michele Scarponi’s confession. He didn’t even get first billing on today’s news! Though his report has been sealed, it’s rumored he’s made up for his late confession by naming names, and detailing to authorities exactly how the Puerto dope network was run.

Sure, there was racing, the second of six stages at the Four Days, to be precise. But who cares? It’s friggin’ Giro time! Word is Honchar’s out due to sickness, Honchar’s out, and Hamilton et al. are stull up in the air, but c’mon, a little doping intrigue is nothing new at the Giro. Cyclingnews thinks this Giro will be one of the most open and fairly contested in years – of course, that’s what they said about last year’s Tour, too.

Speaking of the Landis case, there’s been yet another impropriety by the prosecution; it’s like they’re determined to get Landis sprung on a technicality. Oscar Pereiro, who hasn’t had the best season thus far, is probably pulling his hair out; kind of makes me wonder why Simoni, the first non-Puerto rider at last year’s Giro, has kept his notoriously loud mouth shut on last year’s race.

But who ever said cycling was clean? There’s subterfuge everywhere you look: race organizers complaining about the presumption of innocence; respected “tech experts” still hocking products weeks after a Vegas junket; heck, full-length testimonials parading as news right alongside ads for the very component they endorse – I got your “Real World Proof” right here! Ah well, there’s still one last bastion of bike racing purity – at least, I hope there is.

Ah, Jiminy Peak. The New England spring classic that embodies most of what I hate about
road races; wide roads, non-selective climbs, uphill finish, dead-ahead descent. It is, however, extremely pretty. I figured I’d finally do it this year because it passes, for a time, through my hometown.

Registration was bliss. It was like someone read my thoughts on the subject or something. For the nearly sold-out race, with start times all within a few minutes of each other (except the pros), there was no crowd. Alphabetical registration, signs on the ceiling, plenty of clean, well-stocked facilties – for once in my life, I have nothing to complain about.

The course is a dopey little thing, a 30k loop consisting of a rolling, steady (1-2%) downhill into Williamstown, a few miles dead flat, and three distinct pitches, the finish line being (surprise, surprise) on top of the third, at the high point of the course. It’s followed immediately by a fast, more or less straight descent. It’s pretty hard to get dropped.

The race began with the usual amount of shouting from the officials, over volunteer fire pickup truck loudspeakers, which made them incomprehensible. All I got was if there are any yellow line violations, the entire field would be disqualified (meaning that you have, results wise, nothing to lose by crossing the yellow line). No teammates, but plenty of fans in the field.

The break went early, probably three, four miles in, which made me upset that I had no teammates. I love the long break in hilly road races. They went off pretty much uncontested, and by the time I got to the front for the sharp corner onto Route 7, they were out of sight. I stayed near, but not on, the front for most of the pitches, and over the first two, felt ok. The third was awful, though, and I was hurting the first time over the line.

On the descent, it became obivous that I’d hurt for nothing. The leaders were taking it slow, and the stench of cork-on-carbon was everywhere. As we turned back onto 43, the pace dropped to 13mph, and didn’t go much above it until the flat stretch after the sharp corner. Then people started riding fast, and I was Bob Roll, glued to Alain Bondue’s wheel, for a bit. Then the pitches started again, and people rode slowly.

This time I just played chill, and felt ok over the climb. Nothing really hurt, I guess, but I felt empty, kinda fragile. I figured it had worn off as we started the final lap, and people started throwing those annoying kid glove, looking back attacks. I thought, maybe for a second, there’d be a break, but no one was serious about it. Even Cat. 3′s are silly enough to think they can all win up the final climb/in the final sprint.

The field was, to its credit, pretty safe. I obviously need way more pack riding experience (5 races this year, something like 20 in the last 3) but I found myself bar-to-bar with people once or twice and no one pooped the bunk. One rider was a bit sketchy, but under popular pressure, he managed eventually to uneff himself.

So on the final bit of climbs, I was hanging on OK. I knew from where I wanted to attack, but also knew that I didn’t have it for an attack myself. If someone jumped in front of me, I’d go, if only to punish people for being negative riders. Then I started to slide a bit. It’s such a telltale sign of looming disaster, when you’re revved up pretty good on a climb, and you start dropping spaces to save energy because you can’t muster the extra 2-3 bpm to lock your place down.

Maybe I could have eaten more or drank more, but I think I’m just slow. As I’m sitting mid-pack, this big guy in a West Hill Shop jersey, a regular hockey-playing wedge of flesh moves to the front. Only one reason beefcake like that goes to the front at this point in a race with an uphill finish. He put in the first real attack of the race (no looking back, just stomping away) and I was pretty much toast. More members of the Cosmo fan club tried to pace and push me back to the field, but I couldn’t lock down those final 30 meters, and that was that.

So I tempoed in the last 3 miles, where the dudes at PEP totally dropped the ball and placed me at 32 minutes(!!!) down, in 87th place. Good thing I didn’t fold, clip or otherwise mangle my number, because then you might have missed me with the finish line camera, huh? Jerks. I’d say I was in the 70s somewhere, at least. Next time I get dropped, I’ll be sure to roll up directly to the camera and be like “yo, PEP guy, I’m finishing in 3, 2, 1, now!”

Man, can I call it or what? Not even a day after the big “confession” and the claim of “complete collaboration”, we have nothing but a little omerta and some “attempted doping”. “Attempted” doping! LMAO!! Ah, when any chump 16 year old in East Bumble, MO, can dose up on designer ‘roids, one of the best paid, most successful cyclists in the world just can’t seem to connect syringe to asscheek. Oh, and – best part – Basso says all his attempts at doping came in the negative-three day window between his nine-minute Giro win (over another Puerto doper) and the Operacion Puerto revelation. Cyclingnews clearly blew the caption on this one – it’s not “my lips are sealed” but “I’m having trouble saying this with a straight face”.

Ah – woo, seriously folks, I’m gonna be laughing about this one for a while. Bravo to Massimo Martelli for conjuring up this one – even Howard Jacobs couldn’t concoct something so ridiculous. I’m surprised Basso didn’t add that the doping attempts were for his dog or sick mother-in-law. And while Pat McQuaid refuses any notion of a sentence reduction, Basso was thanked for his honesty by authorities nonetheless – only in Italy, folks. Anyway, I’m sure all this hubbub will drop a fistful of sand into Bradley Wiggins’ chamois – he just took the field at the increasingly-misnamed Four Days of Dunkirk to task in the opening TT, and the news is all “Basso, Basso, Basso”. Keep in mind that Wiggy already has a chip on his shoulder about media coverage.

So the Giro start list is out. But where’s Ivan Basso? Why, finally “confessing” to the Operation Puerto charges, of course. Though I really can’t say what, if anything, he’s confessed, since it was the Italian Olympic Committee, not Basso, that broke the news. And all CONI says is that Basso’s admitted a connection – not exactly Mr. Green in the Study with the Candlestick, if you know what I’m saying. Also suspiciously absent are Tinkoff’s Jorg Jacksche and Tyler Hamilton; no prizes for guessing why.

Still, with Basso now admitting he had at least something to do with the good Doctor Fuentes, Gazzetta dello Sport has plunged ever outward, searching for more possible connections. Next target – Alejandro Valverde, where the links are many and, in the wake of Basso’s confession, ever more convincing. Fuentes might be a dope doctor nonpareil, but he sure does suck when it comes to this secret agent stuff. It makes me wonder how, with rather specific whispers spreading about him for over a year Valverde managed to avoid the scapegoating that befell other Puerto suspects.

Meanwhile, racing continued at Romandy, where riders not currently suspected of anything closed out the event with some mountain stages and a TT. American Chris Horner showed good form in the hills, but cyclochronometry has never really been his thing, and the youngster everyone’s been tagging for awesomeness since he first slipped on a Rabobank kit, Thomas Decker, won the stage and the event on its final day. Flanking him on the podium were Paolo Savoldelli and Andrey Kashechkin, which could bode well for Team Astana in the coming months.

Phew! Yesterday, I almost thought I was reporting on like, golf, or some sport where things actually make sense. Good thing I’ve got Christian Prudhomme, Pat McQuaid, and Tyrannosaurus Lefevere to call for a “coalition of the willing” – I’m sorry, I mean a “sacred union” – to fight against “terrorist kil -” excuse me, “cheaters” – wherever they are. Prudhomme took inspiration from “German justice” – referring obviously to the historic events in Dachau – I’m sorry, Guantanamo – no, that’s in Cuba – oh, he meant the Ullrich thing? Really? But no actual use of the German justice system has occurred yet…ah well – the important part of the message is that the UCI aims to “confound the riders”, which, as the official mandatory riders’ union, is exactly what it should be doing.