[BHV] Spring is here!

[Tim Andrus]

I like to think of it as "Mental Training"..... teaches us how NOT to
quit when the conditions are not favorable.



-----Original Message-----
From: bhv-bounces at icycle.org [mailto:bhv-bounces at icycle.org] On Behalf
Of William Lodico
Sent: Thursday, April 03, 2008 11:44 AM
To: Big Horn Velo Cycling Club, Elmira, NY
Subject: Re: [BHV] Spring is here!

A bone to pick with all of this Belgium stuff:  A Belgian winter is  
far less nasty than an Elmira winter, and a Belgian spring comes a lot  
earlier and at lots nicer temperatures than an Elmira one.  I have  
ridden in what would qualify as a pretty nasty Belgian winter day,  
with buckets of cold water, then snow and ice (leading Rick "haven't  
missed a day of training in 15 years"  Pettet to observe: "We could  
die out here" somewhere in the wilds west of Keuka Lake) -- on a day  
far, far along into an Elmira May.  This is but one of many such  
"early" season adventures in our repertoire of stories.  The Belgians  
have no claim on lousy weather riding toughness over BHV's winter/ 
spring crew.

I lived in Belgium, when just a wee tyke, and I speak from experience.

Bill Lodico



On Apr 3, 2008, at 11:18 AM, Bob Nunnink wrote:
> >From my favorite blog.
http://www.belgiumkneewarmers.com/2008/04/spring-is-here.html 
>   After riding last Tuesday all I can say is been there done that!   
> Hope to see everyone tonight
>
> Bobby
>
> ( Caution:The following may cause certain riders to swoon)
>
> Establishing shot: Cyclist shown from shins down walking up stairs.  
> With each step water squeezes from his booties. The brand is  
> unrecognizable thanks to a mellange of mud and sand. As the camera  
> backs up you see the thick tights and jacket covered in sand too.  
> The bike on his shoulder is covered in grime. The cyclist shivers  
> uncontrollably, drops his keys twice before ramming one into the  
> lock on his apartment. He opens the door, sets the bike down and  
> begins to strip: First the neoprene gloves, then the glasses,  
> helmet, struggles with the jacket zipper and as he staggers, naked,  
> from the foyer, we see a wet, dirty spot on the wall where he leaned  
> while he struggled with his socks.
>
> That's a memory I have of a succession of springs I spent in New  
> Belgium. I would ride the eight miles to the university to go train  
> with my cycling team, ride some 40 miles with them, then turn off  
> and head back to my apartment. I'd do this two or three days during  
> week while I was a graduate student and the oldest guy on the team.
>
> On phone calls home to my mother she'd ask me about spring. I'd tell  
> her about eight inches of snow, about sand on the shoulders of  
> roads, about stretches of black ice, the ride nicknamed "DMC," not  
> in honor of a rap star, but rather Jan and Dean's "Dead Man's  
> Corner," how the name was apt, how I couldn't keep my bike clean,  
> that, in short, spring did not exist in New Belgium.
>
> Then, every year, at some point in May the daily temperatures would  
> rise into the 70s, I'd notice the piles of black snow were gone, and  
> gardens sprouting full of flowers; all this, seemingly overnight.  
> Frankly, sitting thousands of miles away, I can't remember a single  
> ride I did in the spring that featured 60-degree temperatures and  
> that distinctly "springy" smell: you know, the one that is part  
> rain, part fresh manure, and part pollen. I hated spring in New  
> Belgium. Loved summer, was crazy about the fall, and as a ski  
> instructor, I couldn't get enough of the winter ... but spring ...  
> spring was a prison.
>
> Miserable training ride after wet, miserable training ride went by  
> and I'd gradually ride myself into shape. I'd arrive home each day  
> humbled-nay-humiliated by the conditions. I'd stagger into the  
> shower and turn the hot water up gradually until I stopped shivering.
>
> I've been away now for nearly 12 years. Or have I? I recently heard  
> the editor of a prominent mountain bike magazine say that Central  
> California was being called "New Belgium" as a result of all the  
> rain that fell during the Amgen Tour of California. New Belgium was  
> meant to refer to a different place, one with snow and maple syrup.  
> But he had a point.
>
> New Belgium is anywhere where the riding is unpleasant. Where 20  
> miles can be epic. Where the stench on the road is organic, stronger  
> than mustard gas and likely to stain a jersey the color of  
> chocolate. The roads are nastier than a Hollywood attitude and the  
> skies grayer than a battleship.
>
> Here I must take a page from my mentor, James Tate. In his poem  
> "Stella Maris" he concludes a harrowing account of an overwhelming  
> encounter with a "beaten, disheveled" priest with the statement  
> "only now do I look back on my darkest hour with nostalgia." I  
> relish the New Belgium spring. I treasure the shivering, the frozen  
> roads, the sand, the frost heaves, my shattered, wretched self, a  
> landscape too hard to love outright.  
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