Italy
The Giro de Italia was happening the week we raced in Italy. It was interesting to compare and contrast a European road racer to an American downhiller. When I saw Virenque in that hour I was staring at the amazing vascularity throughout his arms and legs, thinly covered by glistening, tanned skin.....umm... I just thought he’s a thoroughbred racehorse. So what are we? We’re dusty, Dianese pad-wearing speed-through-suspension junkies. Just hump and jump junkies. I’m not even sure if we’re considered cyclists by a roadie’s standpoint. But dammit we’re more extreme.
The downhill in Italy is one of the most respected, because of its rock gardens, and its brutal 20% grade. We only got one deluge on the first day of practice, so that was unusual. It typically pours here on the race weekend. This year’s race blessed us with dry and lightening fast conditions. Personally, I never felt like I was smoking on this course, being bad for your health and everything. And my enemy, the dreaded armpump came back to haunt me here for the third year in a row. Once armpump occurs during the week of practice, it’s hard to fend it off on race day. So, that will be my official excuse for a weak 10th place finish. At least I got my worst venue over with, so I was chomping at the bit of Italian pizza crust to go back to its polar-opposite, Pennsylvania..