May the Border Patrol Angels Have Mercy

I spoke to my parents yesterday while they drove from the North Shore to Walker, MN. They were realizing how beautiful the iron range really is in late August while I, on the other hand, suddenly realized that simplicity of my life here in Lucca was going to vanish with a vengeance very soon.


First of all, Phil and I are head up to Fredrichshafen, Germany on Monday for the EuroBike show. As someone who has attended furniture and interior design trade shows as both press (Coverings, Cersaie, ICFF) and PR at a booth (Royal Botania at ICFF), I know how chaotic they can be. It's like you almost need to expect a handful of things to go wrong or you'll be thrown off your game when the potential clients show up.

Five action-packed days of bottom bracket, fork stiffness, and carbon fork talk later I'll get on a plane to jet back to Portland, Maine for the wedding of my dear San Francisco friend Chelsea Holden Baker. I am pretty sure I love going to weddings. Some people complain about attending loads of weddings, but seriously, I could name the number of weddings I've been to on less than two hands. Wait...that would be one hand then...but you know what I mean. The truth is though, I'm not a sappy marriage girl. I just think any excuse to gather a ton of old and new friends together and enjoy one of the biggest days in someone's life is pretty freakin' awesome. I'd go as far as saying it's an honor to be chosen as one of the select few people that they meet in their lives who get to witness such a day.

Moving on... Tuesday, the 7th of September, I head back to good old Minnesota for a few weeks while the leaves - and my age - turn color. I'm pretty stoked that for the first time in my life I can buy a plane ticket with my accrued miles on Delta. Just a small detail, but a great one at that.

After I return it's all gets a little fuzzy. InterBike in Vegas? Visa stuff in Chicago?? Ironman in Hawaii??? To be honest, my main goal in going home is to get my game plan ready for our bike tour company and other freelance gigs. After that, I have been chosen to do a Cannondale/SUGOI photo shoot for their 2011 catalog! It's going to be very exciting, and is sometime in October.

On another front, Phil signed for our sweet little apartment yesterday that we'll begin renting on Oct 1, 2010. It will not be sad to stuff away our dilapidated suitcases and put 20 months of living under 9 roofs behind us! (This doesn't even count all of the hotels, hostels, and friend's houses we've stayed with briefly.) Although it's just wishful thinking, I am writing about an awesome Lago bed called the called the Col-letto bed today for Designer Pages. Not sure I could handle the sides standing up like that since I'm a touch claustrophobic, but definitely flipped over.

The cool thing about other people opening their home up to you is that you feel happy to do the same for them, anytime they need it. That overwhelming appreciation for those who have been so kind makes me want to usher everyone one and make sure they enjoy it here as much as we do. That said, I encourage any and all folks to make themselves welcome, even if we haven't crashed your pad. Lucca has vineyards, cycling everywhere, beautiful views of the tuscan hills, and the beach only 20 minutes by car from our future doorstep.

Did I forget to mention the La Voglia Mata pizza, the Bruton brewery, and Il Rey di Cappuccino's coffee drinks? Shame on me. (I'll leave it at that to make you salivate.)

Bruton, Bike, or Maybe Just Bust

So tonight was our fourth night in two weeks eating at the Bruton Restaurant and Birreria located on the fringe of our dear little city of Lucca.

Now, let's get something straight here: I'm no fan of becoming a regular at bars or restaurants. Not even department stores if I can help it. What's funny is that the young crew that runs this awesome spot feel much more like professional friends than they do like the lady behind the diner counter who knows how you like your eggs every time or how you take your coffee.

Certainly we all know a place like The Bruton in Italy would not offer eggs, but they do serve a mean caffé post-meal if you do the whole caffeinated digestion thing. Their menu, however, does everything from Italian fare of tortellini and thin, wood fire pizzas, to incredible burgers. To top it off, their beer is made in house - artisan-style - to make even the finest Chianti and Limoncello palettes salivate. (We brought our Italian-to-the-CORE roommate there the other night and he sampled our Momus and Lilith glasses with hesitation - since the only beer they get to know is a malty Moretti - but ultimately, he gulped that thing with great pleasure.

Speaking of which, I just gotta say that my favorite of their brews is the Lilith. Since I'm no beer girl normally, I'll give you my best description without it feeling loaded in random adjectives I've heard. It's a light, crisp amber beer that's got a little fruity zest and is semi-sweet. Without much knowledge in beer flavors (since I typically just tax Phil on his glasses of choice when he's mid-cycling lingo) I'm not qualified enough to compare it to what we've got back in the states, or to other wonderous Belgians, but I can say that it's divine. And that's really all I carea bout.

Okay, okay, you've had enough piddly talk about caloric consumption so I think it's caloric extraction time...

I've been riding a ton lately. Today I got a splitting headache halfway up the 3rd of 4 climbs we were doing in 88F humidity. By the time I reached the top, Alison and Phil were there patiently waiting. You know, you never want to be the one complaining when you reach the crest of a climb as the last one up. It's uncomfortable for everyone if you blab on or shake your head - unless of course you can show that you were maybe side-swiped by a vehicle or chased down by a hungry Brittany Spaniel. If you do opt for the mouthful of begrudged moans and pithy information about your legs, you'll just look that much weaker than you normally would.

Fully aware of my predicament, but barely feeling functional enough to make out sentences - I'm not lying, my jaw was sore and my eyes burned to keep open since my head was pounding so hard! - I just said that "I didn't like that one very much. I think I may be dehydrated...let's keep going, nice and easy." Or something to that effect. So, shortly after grabbing fresh water for our bottles, we went along our way. Neck sore, shoulders tight, head heavy, we just about passed Balbano on our left when Phil whips a turn and says "last climb!" with a big smile. I let out a little murmur... Well, not exactly a murmur. I blurted out some angry words that basically meant I wondered why we were choosing to climb so much on a day that was supposed to be steady. I kept thinking about that the entire ride actually - what is the difference between a hard, climbing day and a steady day that includes 3 big climbs and 1 small one that totals 90km after it's all said and done?!?! I mean seriously. The girlfriend's got a bit of a dehydration thing going on here! Thankfully Alison was there or I probably would have tackled Phil to the ground with my crank set ripped out.

Moving on...tomorrow is Sunday.

Sundays here mean we have the opportunity to do a group ride with the Fast and Furious crew. Yet somehow it is the one absolute, no-excuses-accepted obligation that seems to thunder into every weekend like a bull with up to 140km horns.

Once, I felt sort of tired and ill earlier this summer, and I refused the "option". For the next 20 minutes as I sauntered to the kitchen and made coffee, my phone vibrated on silent with different people calling me to say the entire group would be passing right by the apartment to get me. Pretty soon I found it and succombed to the peer pressure even though I was pretty bitter about my relaxing Sunday morning becoming a beat-up-your-body session on some pretty rugged climbs near Montecatini.

For now, let's just say I'll keep you posted whether or not I forge up the infamous Cipollaio mountain for a 13km climb after a 60 km to and from journey....

Weather Reports

Before we left to go on the Fast and Furious group ride yesterday morning, I heard Phil say to Cristiano (in italian), "It looks like it might rain". A very accurate statement, considering the clouds were a dark gray in the distance, it had rained off and on for the last two days, and the wind was blowing hard. Cristiano said while grabbing a clean kit from his wardrobe, "NO. It won't rain. There will be sun all day." Skeptically, we changed into our kits and in the big "furgone" truck we bellowed into town down the narrow roads of Lucca ten minutes later.

There were 20+ people on the ride. The plan was to do 110 km with a 12 km climb at the halfway point and an easy 3 km climb on the way back. Fine. Dandy. Whatever. It still looked like rain.

I was still thinking about the way he responded to the weather comment this morning. Where I come from, unless there was no dark clouds in the sky, you'd at least acknowledge Mother Earth's tendency to throw a curveball by saying "hope not" or "it might".

While riding, it hit me: Since I don't see Cristiano with a doppler radar channel plugged into his TV (I don't think they exist as channels in Italy) and I know that he doesn't have a laptop - or even internet on his blackberry - I wondered if his definitive answer to Phil's earlier question was just to be funny... to convince the skies... or if he actually had proof that water wouldn't drop from the nimbostratus clouds above. Focusing on the busy road on the way to Pietrasanta, I got distracted from my conundrum to focus on Angelo, the old Italian dude cyclist, whose incessant cussing at screaming cars and deep potholes next to me was beginning to make me feel awkward.

Fifteen minutes later, we diverted from the busy road and were starting to climb. I stopped to pee (two strong italian coffees are not a good idea before riding) and the group chugged ahead. Catching up, I passed a couple of people and found a good speed next to the mesmerizing Brazilian woman named Elika. I say that because most Brazilian people I've met exude this vigor for living life. She definitely possesses it. But anyway, she was nice and we chatted in Portuguese-flavored and English-accented Italian between steep sections of breathing. There was one point towards the top of this climb where it felt like we entered into the thick cloud I'd seen in the distance before. I was reminded of Cristiano's statement again from earlier, so I thought I'd see how a Brazilian - who has lived in Italy for 8 years - would respond.

"Hey Elika, it looks like it could rain, doesn't it?" Taking my sunglasses off since it was so dark and stormy looking.

"No," she shakes her head, "There will be no rain."

At this point, I wanted rain more than ever just to prove that the dark, hanging clouds speak louder than word-of-mouth Italian weather reports. Actually, I take that back. Most Italians have voice boxes unlike any I've ever heard (which is probably why operas originated here).

Now, at 11am on Monday morning, Cri is out on his bike. Although I didn't ask him for the weather today, it just began to drizzle.

A Big First Month: June 2010 in Europe

Last year at this time I was back in the states, sharing the good and the bad of living in Lucca, Italy and Flers, France with my people after my three months abroad.

This year, after living in the states for seven months (from Dec 5, 2009 - June 6, 2010) I had the structure I had so longed for last year - with two jobs to get back on my feet, my awesome family and friends to plan gatherings with and walk with around the lakes, a car (thanks parental unit!) and a dependable gym membership.

But the longer I spent away from Europe, the more I wanted another shot at it. Last year was chalk full of crazy experiences that were all new and exciting. Some erupted in our faces (ie: the colossal argument over a flat tire on Via Pesciatina) and other adventures were out of a dreamland (ie: weekend in Rome, Tour of Slovenia's city of Bled, etc.)

Needless to say, it's been just over one month of being back in Europe. Phil and I have spent the first three weeks in Lucca, but with very different experiences. I think the nine months or so have shown us that we have many common interests, but that our differences must be embraced and appreciated more than the things that bring us together. That said, I've spent the majority of my time balancing minimal work (design writing for Designer Pages) with running and riding a bike. When not working or bumming around outside, I clean and cook for the two busy men (Cristiano and Phil) that I live with.

This brings me to Phil's experience this year. Every day is filled with French, Italian, and English on his cell phone and on skype. He often lays down to sleep and falls asleep in less than 2 minutes. Although I wish I had a big job to relieve the stress of loan repayments, I am happy tShow allo support him. It's a very exciting time for him and cycling, and a very unique position that I'm put in, acting as a sounding board, an accountant for expenses, a chef, and a sponge for the cultural differences abound.

Now, we're in Flers, France with the beautiful Beucherie family. It's been so great. I think the fact that I understand more of the language and that I know them so much better has helped immensely. We have been here just over a week, and will depart tomorrow for Italy again. This week of pseudo-vacation followed two days in Luzerne, Switzerland and three days in Bensheim Germany. Each were for work, so not all fun and games, but they have opened my eyes up so much to all that surrounds us in this great continent.

Photos:
1) An evening trip to Sienna to see Mark and Trish, friends in Italy who are from New Sweden, Maine
2) July 3, 2010 - Léa Guesdon and I on our first day in Flers at Franck Beucherie's 40th birthday celebration
3) Sunset over the Swiss Alps while driving to Luzerne, Switzerland
4) A view of the Luzerne waterfront - BEAUTIFUL city!
5) The Beucheries: Steph, Franck, Simon, & Romaine
6) Walking around Bensheim, I ate a salt herring sandwich called Matjes. It was...interesting.

Austria's MTB Worlds and the future of Barcelona!

Last week Phil and I were in Northern Italy for a couple of his team's races, and after that, we trekked up to Austria for his Worlds Mountain Bike race in a tiny town north of Graz. It was a beautiful area, with huge, lush mountains, people willing to help you regardless of the language barrier, and with the worst city planning experience of our lives. Honestly, they have no restaurants in that entire Graz Metropolitan area that are not tiny bars serving only wiener schnitzel or ultra fancy spots in the "Zentrum" of the city. We did manage to get great service at a last resort - Hooters, where the waitresses were quite pleasant and not-so-well-endowed - and then at a small Italian restaurant where they spoke no italian whatsoever (he couldn't understand what Phil was saying when he ordered the "Gnocchi Pomodoro". Quite funny, given that it's on the menu written that very same way...

We stayed at a tiny little B&B in a suburb of the tiny city where the race was held. And by tiny, we mean one street with my estimation of about 43 people living there. It was adorable, we thought, until we realized there was no front desk, and quite frankly, no one anyone who could tell us how the tv and internet might work, after they let us in the room. Speaking in complete Austrian-German. I ended up knocking on random houses around the neighborhood to find the old woman who had initially spotted our car drive up and had given us the keys to our room.

All in all, it was an awesome adventure. The mountain bike race was going so well for Phil until his handlebars became loose, mid-climb, and flipped around so that he couldn't brake well. After waiting for a fellow Canadian's allen key and fixing it himself, he got back in the game.... only to flat his front wheel after about 50 km. Sadly, the race was over then, so we jetted onward to the other feed zones and helped out the other Canadian rider, Tim Carlton, as he came through. After the race ended, the Austrian mountain biking community livens up even more with fresh beer on tap and music. This culture is much different than that of the road biking community. Both have their perks, but we both find the mountain folks to be in such great spirits regardless of the outcome, that it has become a new group of people that I feel right at home with.

As for my Fulbright plans, I'm in the thick of finalizing our apartment situation. Phil will stay in Italy through the end of September, while I move there and dive into my research. The tricky thing with the two apartment finalists are that they are so unbelievably different! I can't even describe them (probably because I'm judging off of emailed photos and words from the owners in text form), but also because one is outside the city about 15 minutes, and it's a little more expensive, while the other is in Barcelona, a bit cheaper, and has wifi internet (but may be a bit more crowded). Sigh. I have faith that without worrying, I'll be able to truly enjoy my last few days with Lucca and Phil than if I take even one more minute to stress about not knowing where I'll put my minimal "stuff" once I'm there.

Off to go for a run now, as the temperature seems to be cooling a bit (from 90F to 87F or so)!

Whit, Luci, Lucca

Here's my friend Whitney and I, outside of Lucca's city centre: the walled fortress. She's awesome. The wife of Phil's team director, Roberto Gaggioli, and originally from Milwaukee, Wisconsin. We normally find time to ride and run when the team goes out of town, while taking along her adorable little son, Luciano wherever we roam.

Whitney's son, Luciano, working on his cell phone promo skills. He's been training very hard for this shot. The monstrous choocha-in-mouth effect brought in the ironic element he was describing earlier that day over coffee in the plaza.

The infamous Lucca Granfondo

I raced my first Granfondo, in and around Lucca, on Sunday, May 17th. Well, it was the shorter version, called the Mediofondo, at 105km. The Granfondo was 130km.

Granfondos are races around Italy that anyone can participate in. You sign up and pay a bit of money to get a number and a Real Time chip to tie around your ankle that tracks your time. Sort of like marathons, or any public races. But some of us just hop into the race for the training. It's nice because they block off the streets and provide you with water and refueling stations equipped with orange slices, half bananas, gatorade-like drink, and miniature apricot pies, etc. Since this would be my seventh time ever riding my road bike so I was scared to death. Phil, his Ukrainian teammate, Starchyk, and I rode from the villa to the city of Lucca at 7:00am.

When we arrived, there were about 2,000 people preparing for the start. Unlike running races, bike starts can be very dangerous. You are locked into your pedals at a virtual standstill, and other people are riding into you and stopping in front of you. As to not tip over and get trampled on, Phil cautiously led me to a curb about 50 meters in front of the start line. That way, I started when they did, and the group would be diffused by the time the lead guys were zipping past my front wheel. It worked out well. Phil was kind enough to ride nice and easy next to me for the first couple of minutes to make sure I was okay, but I could tell he was itching to ride up in front with the big boys, so I sent him along - assuring him I'd be fine back there if I let everyone around me make the hasty decisions to pass or not pass.

I must admit, from the moment we began, I felt out of my league. My legs weren't warmed up at all, but I swear, almost all 2,000 people passed me at superhuman speeds. Didn't they know there were mountains and over 100km (80 miles or so) of racing left?!?! Seriously. Big, small, old, young, fit, very unfit, everyone passed me... except for Carla. She is one of Phil's friends who knew I'd be racing for the first time. She is the girlfriend of Cristiano, the owner of the bike shop "Fast and Furious" here in Lucca. I struggled to keep her pace against the wind (and demotivation after having been smoked by everyone else). After about 30 km, we arrived at the first climb.
Instantly, I realized that my legs can climb easier than they ride long, straight flats. Hmm. "Perhaps I am a climber", I thought to myself. You see, in the sport of cycling, there are different categories. Some are sprinters, some climbers, and some are attack specialists, and some are descenders, etc. There are probably many other names that I don't know yet. At first, I didn't understand this since everyone races the same distance, does the same climbs, the same flats, etc. Like in track, I would never have raced against the 2 milers. They were distance. I was a 400 and 800 meter runner. They were different events altogether. But in cycling, the strategy is so vastly different than running. I had no idea at first, and the revelations continue to reveal themselves each time I hop into my pedals.

But back to the race... I start climbing and felt a burst of energy from having passed some people. It was a gradual climb but everyone was moving at slow, slothy pace. I didn't understand it. Why were the going so fast in the beginning and now they were hardly moving? "I guess I'll have to make up the time I gained by climbing faster than them on each climb" I thought. Hesitating at first, since Carla had waited for me, I huffed and puffed ahead. I thought we could reconvene when she catches me on the flats since apparently, I am pretty weak at them. I passed at least a hundred people going up that hill. Maybe two or three hundred, actually. I heard old Italian men shout "Dai ragazza! Ale!" (Go girl!). After about 15-20 minutes of climbing, we got to the top and began the first descent. Right when I switched into my big ring, my chain came off of the rings. I sat there for a couple of minutes as many of the people I had sweated to pass up soared by me. Sigh. All of that for nothing!

After descending, there was a long, straight flat along a highway. I tried to catch the back of a couple groups that came past me, but to no avail. I was left alone, riding against the mighty Tuscan wind that kept the tears in my eyes from swelling. Feeling defeated and wishing I could turn around, I continued on for the sole fact that if I stopped or tried to go back, I'd have to climb that same mountain, and that wasn't appealing at all.

An older man at the end of one of the groups hung back next to me and started speaking to me in Italian. I told him I didn't really understand, but that this was my first Granfondo so whatever advice he was trying to give me, I really needed. He motioned that I needed to change to an easier gear, and that I should get right behind him, and hang onto his backwheel. AKA: I needed to learn how to draft, especially with the gusting headwind. He was so kind to help me, that naturally I did my best to stay with him. But his body odor was so pungent, and although riding behind him made taking the wind a bit easier, it made it hard for me to breathe deeply (or at all). After about 8km of riding with him, and gaining a bit of energy back in my legs, I couldn't handle not being able to breathe well so I told him I was going to slow down. After all, I wasn't trying to win this race at this point. I would have been shocked to cross the finish line as they were breaking it down at the rate I was going.

After I ditched the kind, stinky fellow I took the next couple of climbs by myself. It felt about 90 degrees outside. The rare shade cast on the winding road was ineffective against the heat. As was the water in my two bottles that became so boiling hot that it was almost better to swallow my own spit for hydration. At one of the rest stops, they had run out of individual bottles of water, so they were pouring water out of big bottles in our mouths. I needed to refill my water after the dreadful third climb, before trekking the last 35 km to the finish line, but I figured I'd just wait. And as for eating during the ride, I thought that would make my stomach hurt as it would if I started gnoshing on food mid-run or something. Boy was I ever wrong about that.

With about 20 km left, one of the arrows was flipped in the wrong direction. It led me into highway tunnel through the base of a mountain that had no shoulder. It was dark and dangerous in there, with cars zipping past us left and right. I turned back without being hit, but it was a point of frustration that I could barely bounce back from since I had been ready to finish this race when it started! On the home stretch, I was suffering. For someone who doesn't get headaches, mine was pounding against my helmet. I loosened it, but it still managed to thump. I had been fully out of my boiling water for some time now.

My thoughts at the time: "Phil is insane for wanting to do this for a living", "Grandfondo? Try Grand NOT fond o cycling", "This is probably what hell feels like", "I hate cycling. I hate cycling. I hate cycling."

When a 40-something Italian man, also cycling alone, slowly passed by me with about 10 km left, he said something like "Che forte, ragazza. Molto bene." (You're strong, girl. Very good.) My delayed reaction to his comment came as a shock to me: I burst into tears. I couldn't believe he would say I was strong as he passed by me. That's when I knew there was something wrong. Why would I cry when someone offers me support during a training race?!

When I finished, Phil greeted me and asked how it was. I lied, saying it was fine. I didn't want to spew out my hatred for the race, the sport, and his passion - even though I felt like I could vomit, pass out, and cry at the same time.

Turns out I had heat stroke. I wanted to sleep, and drinking water hit the bottom of my stomach and wanted to bounce back out. Phil and Carla force fed me oranges and orzo. I laid down on this super comfortable gravel in the shade of the Fast and Furious bike shop tent. People walked by and stared, but I didn't care. I had rocks imprinted all over my whole body and when I opened my eyes, I saw ants crawling all over me and the rocks that cradled my head.

I vowed to never do another Granfondo again. It was probably the worst 5 hours of my life.
Little did I know that one week later, I would try it again.

Steady or not...

So I took my beautiful bicycle (steed) out for her first true ride in and around Lucca yesterday. After being motivated by the guys' last week of racing, I figured it was a sport I really wanted to give a shot despite my unfortunate hand/clipping out of the pedals incident in Flers previously. And boy was I right. I have found out where the passion for cycling amongst Phil, his teammates, his coaches, and the entire European community comes from.

Dressed in brand new pro gear from last year's Amore & Vita team, I sped down Via Pesciatina toward the city center of Lucca. Pretending to be a confident cyclist, I leaned side to side through the roundabouts and hunched down real low to gain maximum velocity. I rarely used hand signals. I acted like the real cyclists on the streets here. Basically everything that I thought made me seem like I was an experienced rider, I did. (I had practiced my braking on the villa grass a bit before taking it to the streets to avoid falling per Phil's text message advice.)

Needless to say, I think I both confused and pissed off one in every three vehicles due to my unorthodox and somewhat staccato method of turning, slowing, and pushing off from the curbs. But I'd like to think they were mostly confused because I wore that cool, new pro garb so naturally --- and not because I almost took out their tail lights.

Tonight I am staying at the house of Phil's team director whose wife (Whitney) is from Milwaukee. They have a young child (10 month old Luciano) who is such an adorable, happy little guy. We made salad and had pizza from a nearby pizzeria, then took a walk around their town of Montecatini, located 20km from the villa on the way to Florence. It was great talking to her on many levels since she's a Midwesterner, a twin, about my age, and living here to support her cycling-obsessed husband. Tomorrow we'll get up early to do a long, hard ride while her sister-in-law watches the baby. I can't wait! Must get sleep. My neck and back are still feeling the stress from my hunched riding yesterday (a position that goes so far against all of my yoga and running training of straightening and lengthening the spine). But Phil says my neck will get stronger and more used to the the strange way it leverages to hold up my head.

*The following video is a clip I made on my camera while the guys rode the Tour de Bretagne last week. I hope it works!