MONDORF, LUXEMBOURG
I love France. In five times of coming here in nine years, I never experienced any road rage. Until today. Early in our ride a car did not like being behind these cyclists and went by with its horn blaring. Damnit France, you went and screwed up.
We rolled out of Luxembourg and only went two kilometers before we were in France. We began a climb up a gradual hill for perhaps one km. Some of our group got dropped, a harbinger of things to come. We waited at the top of the climb which allowed me to talk to some teammates and guests that were with us.
Joining us was a young (20) rider from Canada. Or the States. Couldn’t quite figure it out. Although Alex Lambert told me he was a Canadian citizen so we go with that. His dad, Alain, joined us also. Alex is a Cat 2 racer from Tuscon but is spending the summer in Luxembourg racing in Europe. Fränk is not coaching him but brought him over to expose him to European racing.
We had two motorbikes with us who helped us navigate intersections safely. Gusty’s wife, Donny (I hope that’s right), also rode.
We went through some small villages and on some farm roads. As we came to a turnoff from a busier road (think rest area only little), Fränk said we could pull in there for a nature break. I saw what I thought were port-a-johns but they were recycling bins. Still, some of the guys and one woman found enough privacy for a nature break. I did not.
As we came into Haute-Kontz we turned to ride alongside the Moselle river. It was pretty here and I wanted a picture but we were riding in a group. We turned off the river road and went up a back road that got a little lumpy. I was halfway up when I started to lose contact with my group. Behind me was the second half and I was content to drop back to them.
Fränk Schleck started yelling “bigger gear, Barry, get a bigger gear.” Well, a bigger gear hurt. I wanted to spin easily and drop back with the second group. “Bigger gear, Barry!” Reluctantly, I put it in a bigger gear and I pulled myself back up to the lead group. But it hurt. I could also feel “pre-cramps” coming on, knowing that if I went over the limit I would be in a world of hurt.
Although we were on a different approach coming back, we were on the same ridge opposite the one we had started on. It was Mile 40. I was sitting fourth wheel on a 500-meter climb and got about 150 meters from the top and popped. I was on the right and waved my teammates past me. I just needed to spin slowly and finish the climb, and maybe rejoin them on the descent.
But I couldn’t quit. I couldn’t quite because young Alex came in beside me, put his hand in the small of my back, and was pushing me while pedaling. Here I was, wanting to quit, and Alex wouldn’t let me. With me giving it my all and Alex’s help, I made it over the top where I could keep pace the rest of the way.
I teased Alex about not letting me quit but his helping hand was just enough. Another day riding in France but the image is now gone. And oh, a dog barked at us too. This is not the France I love.
Dinner that night was a bar-b-que at the table. Pork and chicken were served and we grilled the meat at our grills on the table (one grill for 4-5 people). Scott Hesford stood up and held out his finger. Danny pulled it. Scott unleashed the loudest and longest fart which would have been pretty funny. But he looked behind him and a couple was sitting at a table right behind his butt. That made it hilarious. He brought embarrassment to the Roosters but it would not be the last time. What a group.
