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Do you have a cap for me? Tales from the Pro Tour No. 2... |
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Words: Kris Withington...
Kris - aka Grom - is from Rotorua and is a mechanic with Garmin-Transitions, the cycling team that features another local Julian Dean. Kris will report every month or so from inside the world of the European pro cycling tour.
• Tales from Pro Tour No.1...
More on Kris • BIKE WIZARD...
Thanks to Rotorua Daily Post
I’ve done pretty much the same program of traveling and races for the last 2 years.
No surprise, then, when I’m told I have to drive the equipment truck up to Belgium from our base in Spain to do the two opening Belgian races - Omloop Het Nieuwsblad and Kuurne-Brussels-Kurrne.
Then it was a solo run from Belgium to Italy to arrive in time for a series of races finishing with a big one, Milan-San Remo. This is the the first of the one-day, Spring classics on March 20 (298 kilometres and won by Spain’s Oscar Freire).
I used to get really nervous doing these trans-European drives. But, like anything, you get used to it and start reminding yourself that any problems, en route, can usually be fixed with a bit of arm-waving and a credit card.
And a free cap.
Small cotton cycling caps and plastic water bottles seem to be the currency of all cycling fans.
Team Garmin-Transitions are supplied with about 20,000 water bottles and 5,000 caps a year by our sponsors. When the riders are finished with the bottles, they simply throw them into a field or to eager fans “en course” or freely hand them out to the super fans at the finish line and hotels.
For the Tour de France we arrive prepared to go through 2,500 water bottles. They’re so common and fans expect to be able to pick up a free bottle and - if they come across a really generous staff member - a free cap.
I spend a day and a half crossing France and drive up to the French/Italian border, in the French Alps, at the Frejus Tunnel. All is going well until a very serious looking French Border Patrolman raises his hi-viz flag and pulls me up, just before the frontier line.
“Passeport s’il vous plait” he barks. “Parlez-vous Francaise, Italiano, Ingles, Espanol?”
“I prefer English,” I tell him.
“Where have you come from?” he asks.
“France,” I reply.
He looks at me and frowns. I realize the stupidity of my answer. I was driving from only one possible direction and I was still in France. But I try to play it cool.
“Oui, but before France?” he says, probably thinking he’s speaking to an idiot.
“Belgium,” I say, truthfully.
“And what do you have in the back of the truck?” he asks.
“Racing bicycles and equipment,” I reply.
“Show me the inside of the truck, please,” he says, very sternly.
He gasps when he sees the 25 high-tech racing bikes and 30 pairs of wheels, I’ve carefully racked up.
He examines the machines of the big name riders and the stocks of spare equipment, but he’s still not looking very happy. He asks where I’m going, what hotel the team is staying at and I show him my passport one more time.
Finally, he gruffly says, “OK, you can go.”
I thank him. But as I’m about to let the hand brake off and ease away, he motions to me to wind down my window, Smiling nicely, he asks “Is it possible to have a cap or a bottle from the team?”
The long way around to ask for a bit of free gear…
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