T&T 2010 I: Cast of Characters

After a few wonderful nights of 10+hrs of sleep I'm finally over my jet lag and ready to attempt to document the pure lunacy that was T&T 2010. There's just way too much to put down in one sitting, so I'll have to break this epic tale down into a few installments. Without further ado, I bring you Episode One.

Down in Trinidad and Tobago everybody gets a nickname. In fact, there are a lot of people whose real names I never learned. I mean, I'm fairly sure that one guy's mom didn't name him Pretty. We all got nicknames too; some of them flattering and some... eh, not so much.

Atze Dijkhuis aka The Bald Eagle

Atze is a Dutch wonder who has been racking bikes since before I was born. He could disassemble and reassemble his bike blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back in under 6 minutes. He can read a race like a Spot book and he is perhaps the funniest man I've ever met. Pure gold.

Tim Ottens aka Lurch

Tim is another prodigy from the Netherlands. An accomplished mountain biker, Tim is making the transition to road and cyclocross, apparently because he's bored with crushing souls on the dirt; he's represented his country twice at the World Championships. He's disturbingly good at imitating accents and climbs like he has wings. So, looking at that picture, how tall do you think Tim is? Here's a hint: Atze is over 6 feet. I'm told that back home they call him Otzi, which is the name of a neanderthal found frozen in ice.

Jamie Sparling aka (S)Perv aka The Champion aka That Canadian

This guy is something else. A true Canuck, he's always willing to remind us how stupid our all green money and private healthcare system are. The guy has an amazingly quick wit, so quick in fact that it seems to outpace his internal censor sometimes, leading to pretty much the funniest commentary I've ever heard and earning him his nickname. The only thing quicker than his wit is his cycling. Hilarious, easy-going, and strong as an ox. This is a man you want on your team.

Nathan Parks aka Nate the Great aka Late Nate aka High Natenance

Nate is a straight up scientist, a true brain, and mad climber. A native of Iowa, Nate added his sing song midwestern twang to the chorus of crazy accents that collided on the islands. Nate's analytical mind always liked to know the plan. Unfortunately for him, creating a plan that we'd stick to was about as likely as getting snowed on. Nate did bring enough tools to start his own bike shop down there, and that sure did come in handy!

Philp R. Mooney aka Shorty aka Short Stack aka Small Man

Poor Phil. He's not really all that short. I mean, he's 5 foot 6 if he's an inch, but when everyone else on the team is well over 6 feet then you're kinda stuck. I think Phil was hoping for something along the lines of "The Beast" or "Bulletproof Tiger" but it just wasn't meant to be. Phil never complained, he just rode like he was ten feet tall and let his legs do the talking for him.

Roger Farrell aka Frenchie aka D Bossman

Roger is the mastermind behind this whole crazy adventure. A native of Trinidad, Rog rode professionally in the US and Europe for a number of years. He occasionally gets back to the islands to further his horse training business and bring a few international riders to lay the down the law in the local races. Why Frenchie? Because he has green eyes, just like a Frenchman. Hey, I didn't make it up.

Peter Sue aka Bruce Lee aka Gunshow aka The Limbo King

In case you were wondering, Peter is the guy in the middle using his ninja skills to get some killer pictures of us at an awards ceremony. Pete is a true champ. Originally from Guyana, Pete is a bay area guy and I have him to thank for getting me hooked up with Rog initially. Peter is Roger's right hand man and a jack of all trades. I suppose if you used the term loosely you could call him the team Soigneur, but he also filled the position of photographer, cook, resident limbo expert and a dozen others. Rog and the other Trinbagonians call him Bruce Lee because he has Chinese ancestry.

Zap... or possibly Zep, I'm not really sure

Hands down the craziest, sketchiest man I've ever met. He was, in theory, our driver, and he also provided us with meals at his guest house. He once left me standing on the side of the road with a flat while he went to get cigarettes and a cd, and that was during a race. Its hard to convey just how nutty this guy is.

Me

Yup, that's me, your humble narrator. They call me Big Ben. I'm not English, I'm not known for my punctuality and I don't appear on the hundred dollar bill. I guess I got the name because I'm larger than any cyclist has a right to be. They should have called me Tanlines.

And now that you know who's who I can start weaving my tale...

Catch-up Part II

Lets just pick up where I left off:

Friday: We sleep in for the first time in ages. It is pouring rain when we awake, but that lets up as we finish breakfast and it is hot and clear when we get to the beach for the "rest day." We are treated to the most incredible caribbean fantasy day ever. We take glass bottomed boats to the reek for snorkeling, stop in shallow water hundreds of yards off shore for an impromptu mid-sea dance party complete with free beers and Shakira, and then head to a little spit of sand straight off of a postcard and spend the day eating, drinking, swimming, jetskiing and generally having the time of our lives, all gratis, courtesy of the race promoters. Peter is crowned limbo king of the island (a joint win for the US and Guyana) and we all suffer severe whiplash from reckless jetskiing and bananafloat related accidents. A good time and horrible sunburn were enjoyed by all. Best rest day ever. EVER.

Saturday: Back to reality and a 5am wakeup call. The circuit is mostly flat, but with one steep kicker and a good deal of wind. I flat in the first K and my follow car driver is busy buying cigarettes and lewd soca cds. I miss a whole lap, and while I can continue the race and help Jamie I am not eligible for a stage win. Luckily the car was so far behind me that I could go through all 12 stages of grief before they returned and I was able continue the race with a clear head. Again, we ride like men possessed and again we defend Jamie's 38 second lead.

Sunday: Queen Stage. Last year I got dropped 10k in and I was determined to finish, determined to help Jamie any way I could, determined, in short, not to suck. This course cannot be described in words, but that will not stop me from trying. We rode only 70 miles. It took over 4 hours. There were close to 8,000 ft of climbing. Through the jungle. On roads so steep cars burn out in the hairpins and people have literally come to a stop and collapsed. In heat so strong it feels like you are being cooked alive. Down wet, moss-covered roads around blind hairpin turns at breakneck speed, with mudslides and parked cars lurking unseen around the corners and nothing but skill and luck between the riders and sheer drops of 30 ft or more. It is, in a word, insane. I made it farther than I could have hoped, and I like to think that I helped Jamie in some way by setting pace over some early stretches of road. Eventually I got dropped. On a particularly nasty descent my wheel became so hot from braking that the carbon melted and the wheel itself collapsed. With no spare wheels I was forced to abandon, and worse still I was forced to ride the rest of the terrifying course with Zap, our oft inebriated and unintelligible caravan driver. Hands down the worst car ride of my life. I did have the pleasure of watching Jamie ride with an otherworldly sense of calm over the most challenging roads I've ever seen and fend off attack after attack from some of Europe's most talented riders to hold on to the Yellow Jersey. Yes. Jamie F-ing won. I can still hardly believe it. We attempt to celebrate that evening, but we are dazed and exhausted and can only sip a few beers while floating in the surf and try to understand the magnitude of the last 10 days.

Monday: We sleep in. We pack up all our cycling gear. We revel in the knowledge that we won't touch our bikes for the next three weeks at least. We lie on the beach. We eat jerked chicken. We try to do as little as possible. I'm so tired, from these races and the 8 months of racing that preceded them, that it requires and effort of will simply to stand up.

Whew. Now that the season is finally over I have a lot to reflect on and a great deal to be excited about for the coming season. I promise that when I can get the strength I'll post photos from this trip and flesh out the bare descriptions above. For now, I'm going to lie on the beach, drink fresh fruit juices and ponder the future. Big things are afoot... but more on that later.