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Thursday Thirteen: 13 Snippets from 27 Stages!

21/3/2013

26 Comments

 
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Ciao a tutti! Hi, everybody! Sorry about the hiccup posting last week - by which I mean, no TT last Thursday - but I had a good reason (don't I always?). I've been working hard to get things done, writing-wise, and while I'm still lagging behind, I made some time this week to share another sampling of my biggest WiP ever.

So, with your kind indulgence, I'd like to share

13 Snippets from 27 Stages!

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Abby:

Around me the spectators waved flags and signs and cheered – not only for their favorites, but for every rider coming in. All at once, there were excited shouts and piercing whistles all around. Everyone turned to watch the giant screens on the sides of the road. Renard, the rider Charles thought looked so angry, had cleared the second checkpoint in record time. He was presently burning up the road on the descents out of the park, occasionally leaving the less-daring motorcycle cameramen behind. They weren't willing to take the curves at the same rate of speed.

Clearing a bend in the road to fly down to the straightaway beyond, Renard shot past a rider who'd left the start house a full two minutes ahead of him. The next switchbacks in the road made the crowd gasp, and my heart pounded so hard I could scarcely breathe. Finally he swept past yet another rider and out onto somewhat more open road.

The crowd tensed, watching along the road for him. On the screen another dramatic scene played out. Renard had just surpassed the time of his teammate and fan favourite, Heinrich Brunn – quite easily, by the look of it – and was now making his way toward the finish. The seconds which separated them began to expand: Brunn's time was five seconds longer, ten, twenty. The standings on the screen shifted accordingly. Renard rose higher and higher, from fourth to third to second and then to a clear first-place finish.

My camera all but forgotten, I leaned over the barrier and watched eagerly for his arrival. I needn't have worried about missing him – the roar of the crowd swept along with him as he closed in on the finish line. The sound grew louder and louder still, every possible noisemaker being improvised and then employed. Cheers and shouts which bordered on screams, megaphones used to amplify shouts of joy, inflatable "thundersticks" thwapped together to produce manic, percussive sounds. People clapped their hands and banged on the barriers, jumping up and down.

And then, there he was. I gathered my senses and snapped photos of him approaching the line, one arm raised over his head in a show of jubilation, complete and utter joy on his face.

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Federico:

Back at the hotel, I had two thorough goings-over at the same time. The team masseur worked his magic on my legs – cooling the fire smouldering just beneath my skin – while Jerzy tore into me with a restraint I'd never seen before.

"Grandstanding," he growled, pacing the length of the room. "Shameless grandstanding, Ciccio. I don't approve of such things. It could have cost you time."

"But it didn't," I said, looking up at him from the massage table.

He whirled around and narrowed one eye at me, his signal that I should shut up if I intended to keep all my most precious body parts. The masseur kept his head down and continued working as though the threat weren't hanging in the air amongst us.

"It could have, is what I said. Save the shows for when you join the circus."

The blood drained from my face as shame filled it. He was right. Sure, I'd managed a phenomenal lead – fifty-five seconds ahead of Brunn, forty seconds ahead of Schlessinger and Maxxout, who would be marking my ass as a personal vendetta for sure – but starting tomorrow, the stages would be longer and harder, and I wouldn't be on my own.

"Work with the team, Ciccio, not against them."

I nodded, chastened. Jerzy remained at the foot of the table, behind the masseur, and glared at me before storming off. The masseur glanced up at me with a sympathetic look and I closed my eyes, exhausted.

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Abby:

...we stood at the barriers along the road, along with other spectators waiting for the stage to begin.

The riders wouldn't race within the city limits. They'd ride slowly together behind a car full of Tour officials until they reached a more open part of the road. Everything would get off to a proper start then, likely with a group breaking away from the pack to try and gain time, while the rest sat back and waited for their chances closer to the finish.

As for us, once the riders had gone past, we'd check out of the hotel, then drive our rental car to Castro Verde, where the stage ended. I'd take pictures of the finish, and in the morning I'd photograph the opening of the next stage.

This was the plan for the next few weeks, too.

A ripple of applause made its way toward us, reaching a peak when the peloton passed. I smiled as Renard went by, clad in the royal-blue jersey which marked him as the Tour's current leader. I framed him carefully and took several successive shots while he raised his hand and waved at the crowd on my side of the road. An obviously disgruntled Jürgen Schlessinger of Team Maxxout rode alongside him.

A flare of excitement flashed through me and I continued taking photos of the rest of the pack as it streamed by, southward bound.

The whole event didn't last long. Even with all the behind-the-scenes 'mood' shots I'd captured, Charles and I had only been out for a couple of hours.

"Finally," he said with a sigh. "Now let's get our bags before someone steals them, and find some lunch before the restaurants close for some bloody siesta or something."

"There's plenty of time." I checked my watch for good measure. "It's barely twelve-thirty."

He shrugged and turned in the direction of the hotel. "Let's go to that pub again. It's English-owned and they had a nice fry-up listed on the menu. Could be worth trying."

Turning my head so he couldn't see me roll my eyes, I packed up my things. "If you say so, hon."

"I do." He took me by the crook of my elbow and led me through the crowd. "I suppose this whole travel thing isn't so bad, once you find decent places to eat."

"There are lots of great restaurants in Lisbon, Charles. You just have to be willing to try something different."

"And risk Montezuma's revenge? No thanks."

"That's what you call it in Mexico, I think," I offered in mild protest. A shake of his head dismissed me.

"It's all the same, darling. I don't doubt that some of this lot would do it on purpose."

"I think that's pretty unlikely. I mean, they'd lose business if that were the case."

"Not with the bloody Euro in the marketplace. Now they can do as they please without fear of losing their livelihood."

"You're talking like a businessman again. Couldn't we just play happy tourists and have fun?"

He held the door of the pub open and I stepped reluctantly inside.

"Maybe later," he said. "Right now, I want my fry-up, all right?"

"All right. But I'm having the cozido this time."

"Suit yourself – and best of luck to you."

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Federico:

While I warmed up with my teammates on the stationary trainers alongside the team bus, I puzzled over the lack of communication from Solange. Still no calls in response to mine. No messages, either. An unpleasant voice in the back of my mind insisted something was going on: she'd never gone so long without contacting me before.

When I noticed Rom watching me with open curiosity, I returned my focus to what I was doing. I couldn't afford distraction.

I thought about the route ahead for that afternoon. I closed my eyes and visualized the profile: a few gently undulating hills but mostly flat, with one climb once we were well out of Lisbon. The whole course would run about two-hundred kilometres. Remembering the day before, my mood lightened.

I could do this. I knew it.

Supporters watched while we warmed up, taking photos, calling out good wishes to us. I turned up the volume on my mp3 player and let the percussive techno beat drive me on. I looked up only when my trainer nudged me and motioned for me to adjust my position on the bike.

Shit. Focus, Renard.

I let the music play and narrowed my world to the rhythm of my feet on the pedals and to keeping myself steady on the bike. I concentrated until I didn't hear the music anymore, just the thrumming of energy passing through me to power the bike. My legs pistoned smoothly and the hum of my rear wheel reassured me of my steady pace. The longer I went, the better I felt and the clearer my head became.

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Abby:

"Come on, Abby," Charles said from where he lay under the covers, "let's go to sleep."

I looked at my watch; it was only seven p.m.

"I'm hungry." I stood and got my handbag. "I'm going out for a bite. Do you want me to bring anything up for you?"

Charles groaned in reply and rolled over.

"Fair enough. I'll be back soon."

Key in hand, I eased the door shut and went down to the hotel restaurant. I'd forgotten that the Spanish tend to dine late, with dinner beginning around nine at night. Most of the restaurants, including the one in the hotel, weren't even open yet. I certainly didn't want pub fare so I headed along the street in search of something light.

In the main plaza people mingled and chatted around the fountain and in the cafés and pubs. Fathers played with their children or sat with their wives (or girlfriends) sharing coffee or sweets at the outside café tables.

I felt decidedly out of place, flying solo as I was.

I bought an iced lemonade and sat on a bench in the plaza, wishing I had my camera. What wonderful shots I was missing!

The last of the summer evening light gave the plaza a nostalgic feel. The sepia-toned light cast soft shadows with an almost liquid texture in the fading heat of the day.

Finishing my drink, I decided to go and get my camera. Maybe I could still get some good photos after all. I hurried up to our room and slipped inside quietly, hoping Charles was asleep and would stay that way.

No such luck.

"You're back," he said sleepily.

I stopped, putting my camera bag back on the table. "I thought I might get some photos. It's a beautiful evening."

"No, no… Why don't you come to bed? You can get your little snaps in the morning."

I wanted to protest but I was in no mood to argue. Instead, I went to the window and pulled the curtains closed on the plaza.

My 'little snaps' would just have to wait.

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Federico:

With each crank of the pedals, liquid fire ran through my legs. My skin burned in the late afternoon heat radiating from the tarmac. A grimace carved itself into my face, a death's-head grin for exquisite suffering under the summer sun.

Up ahead, a motorcycle swayed to and fro, going slowly up the steep incline so the camera operator on board could keep filming. In its wake the crowd on either side of the road spilled toward us, swallowing us up in a constantly shifting, screaming mass of humanity – all of whom were too close for comfort.

All the usual chaos of a mountain stage on the Tour d'Europa.

The peloton had broken apart prior to the climb, with the leaders and the better climbers forging well ahead of the pack. The blur of colour and noise on either side of my head was lost to my tunnel vision and the sounds inside it.

"You're doing fine, Ciccio." The voice in my earpiece was Michael, our directeur sportif's-second-in command. "Once this climb is done it's straight down to the bottom for the stretch to Granada."

That we were doing well wasn't news to me. That it wasn't Jerzy's voice in my ear, however, was. Brunn had caught up with me after we'd cleared the previous, rather dodgy, descent, where I'd thought he was well behind me. Now he was recovering on my rear wheel and Rom and Attila were doggedly leading us up the hardest climb of today's stage.

I still had no intention of letting Brunn ride my slipstream all the way into Granada. His job – at least for now – was to help protect me and keep the Royal in my possession as long as possible.

Right now the greater threat was Schlessinger, coming up slowly alongside me. Maxxout's blue-green team colours stood out even in the confusion of the crowd surrounding us. I refused to look his way, knowing his smug expression awaited me.

There was a basso profundo shout from somewhere in the crowd as Schlessinger made a subtle gesture in my direction – something between a wave and an obscenity, I thought – and then he crept upward,  first aligning himself with his support and then slyly sidling next to Rom.

I ducked to avoid a carelessly-handled German flag, and heard yet another guttural shout, this time cheering Brunn on. There was no point in responding, no sense in coming any further out of my trance. Some of these people cheered for all of us, which gave the riders the will to dig deeper and make the climb. Others were oblivious to the mayhem they caused while they mugged for the television cameras, and frankly, for the most part, so were we.

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Abby:

We only just made it into Granada before the end of the race. I changed quickly into my walking shorts and left Charles unpacking at the hotel before hurrying to the finish line, camera in hand, still hoping to salvage something of the day. The crowd was raucous and I knew something huge was happening. Fuming over my continued lack of credentials, I pushed through the crowd, trying to get close to the road.

Thanks to a generous group of Germans, I managed to squeeze up to the barriers where I could hold my camera out and snag some shots. I managed just a few as the breakaway group crossed the line, fighting for the stage win in a bunch sprint.

The chanting began soon after the sprint ended. It started out at a moderate tempo, accentuated by handclaps: "Brunn! Brunn! Brunn! Brunn!"

I looked up at the screens showing an overhead shot of the final stretch into Granada. Five cyclists – two of them in Alta VeloCidad's violet and grey colours, one in Maxxout's blue-green, one in the red and blue of Ligne Infinie and Renard in the distinct Royal jersey – had broken away from the peloton and were bearing down on the finish with all their might.

One in particular was swiftly pulling ahead.

At this, the chanting grew louder, and one of the Germans next to me began to pound out a steadily intensifying rhythm on the barrier ahead of us. With every thunderous whap of his hand on the plastic banner taped over the railing, my heart sank lower into my stomach.

"BRUNN! BRUNN! BRUNN! BRUNN!"

I looked up at the times on the screen above the road. Brunn had broken away from Renard and Schlessinger. As I watched the broadcast, the other rider in Alta VeloCidad's colours dropped back, head hung low, slowing while he drifted to the side of the course to wait for the peloton to pick him up. Renard's domestique was exhausted, unable to help him any more.

In spite of the late afternoon heat, my arms were covered in gooseflesh.

No…Please, no.

I didn't know why I wanted so much for Renard to win, but I did. I wanted it with all my heart.

As one, the crowd turned their attention away from the screen to watch Brunn's actual arrival. His name was no longer being chanted, the crowd was screaming it, the noise riotous and manic until my heart raced so hard I could barely keep my camera in hand. I managed to lean out across the barrier to capture his arrival. I squeezed the release and the shutter obligingly snapped shot after shot in quick succession as Brunn lifted his hands from the handlebars of the bike and waved to the tumultuous crowd, long before he crossed the line.

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Abby:

The sky grew dark, the clouds gathering for a late-afternoon shower. Photographers instinctively covered their precious cameras and other equipment as thunder rumbled and rain began to fall. I couldn't speak for the others, but I was slightly relieved. In the muggy mid-afternoon heat, the rain brought some relief after standing out on the tarmac for so long. The rainfall was short, but intense, over almost as quickly as it had begun, leaving shallow puddles to reflect the reemerging sunlight.

As the helicopters hovered overhead, harbouring the arrival of the riders, more photographers assembled until the lines of our designated box seemed completely arbitrary. A final few arrived at a dead run, one of them vaulting the barrier to take a place directly in front of me.

"Hey!" I jostled him out of my way, gesturing angrily toward the road and the line at my feet. He shook his head and made as though to take the spot again, before another man reached out for his arm and tugged him roughly to one side. I glanced over to find my supporter was the French photographer who had sneaked me inside the barriers a couple of days ago. He smiled warmly and gave me a wink and I couldn't help smiling in return.

The crowd noise ratcheted up a notch – or ten – and all of the photographers took their positions. Some lay on the ground sniper-style while others, like me, knelt precariously in a line, aiming our cameras down the final stretch. The rest stood waiting, ready to jump or shift as necessary to capture their shots.

A rising roar of excitement rolled toward us, chasing the bunch sprint as it thundered our way. The battle for the stage win was fierce, and even though I'd photographed a few finishes already, this was the first time I'd seen one from this point of view: through my lens, it seemed that they were barrelling straight toward me with no sign of slowing. Several riders skidded through the water still on the road, losing control of their bikes before they could slow down.

One moment I was taking photos of riders crossing the finish line, the next I was backing up and stumbling over the feet of one photographer and being knocked to the ground by the elbow of another.

I landed hard, breath wooshing out of my lungs even as I held my camera aloft in an attempt to protect it. I was aware of equipment scattered around me – lenses, battery packs, memory cards – some of it mine, some of it theirs. Then the base of a crowd-control barrier was at my back, the sharp metal edge of one foot biting into me.

Winded, I lay on the pavement, my eyes closed, one hand clutching my side as though I could press the pain so deep I wouldn't feel it any more. I was dizzy; taking quick, short breaths had pushed me to the point of hyperventilation.

A moment later the sun broke through the cloud, warming my face before shadow settled over me.


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Federico:

Brunn and I were riding at speed amongst the peloton, but the group containing the sprinters was well ahead of us, gunning for the finish at the end of this flat stage. From Valencia to Torreblanca, Alvaro had sparred with Teodoro, promising his own victory to even the score with his brother. Teodoro had instead assured us all of his own imminent victory, going so far as to predict a one-second gap at the finish.

Braggadocio, all of it – but the good-natured teasing between the brothers was enough to entertain the rest of us for the length of the stage.

A burst of shrieking and screaming across the team's radio frequency was difficult to comprehend. Either Jerzy had just slipped over the edge into insanity, or somewhere closer to the line, one or more of my teammates had made a tactical mistake.

Brunn glanced at me, his expression inscrutable, save for a flicker of concern in his eyes before he turned back to the matter at hand.

Listening to the invective spewing over the airwaves, I had the feeling things weren't exactly going according to plan at the finish.

We pressed forward, the final roundabout looming ahead when Attilio gave a shout and bumped shoulders with another rider who was riding too close as the curve tightened.

Rom broke through the last few cyclists blocking us and I followed close on his wheel, the two of us making our way up to the head of the pack to lead the group through the roundabout and down the short final stretch.

We breezed our way down Avinguda de Sant Jordi, avoiding the concrete lip of the island separating the lanes of the road, but other riders weren't so lucky, judging from the shouts of the crowd and the skree of titanium on pavement which followed the final turn.

Rom fell back behind me in short order and Brunn was soon at my shoulder, a slight grin on his face the only indication that he was pleased with how things had gone. As far as I could tell, there wasn't even a hint of curiosity regarding Jerzy's previous rant, not one iota of concern for Alvaro or Teodoro or for how they'd fared.

We'd find out soon enough.

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Abby:

I did my best to remain professional as Renard stepped out to receive his Royal for the stage. A strange melancholy came over me as he stepped off the podium and shook hands with the town officials and other guests, before making his way backstage.

I thought of his expression when he'd checked on me after the crash and felt a slow melting inside. Ridiculous. A schoolgirl's crush, and I was – what? – at least ten years older than he was. At least.

I made a mental note to look up his birthdate online when I got back to the hotel. Or maybe I'd look it up on my netbook from the bar before I went up to the room. I didn't really feel like enduring any snide comments from Charles when I returned to Barcelona.

Then again, maybe he wouldn't be making them anymore, now that I'd called him on his "phone mate" and everything.

Drifting back to my car, I paused as a shiver ran along my spine in a light, tingling caress. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I turned toward the Village, where the remainder of the crowd milled around just outside the team areas.

There was no-one there, but I would have sworn I'd felt his gaze on me, if just for a split second. I clucked my tongue dismissively. I'm getting dotty in my old age, I reckoned, and resumed my walk to the car.

When the feeling came again, I took out my camera, aimed it over my shoulder, and clicked the shutter. I'd examine the shot when I got to Barcelona.

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Federico:

James sat on the edge of the big bench, his head hung low, only chancing a glance at Jerzy as he moved away. He caught my eye and his expression was one of purest misery. He'd fucked up and he knew it.

And so did Jerzy.

"It was stupid! Careless! What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Jer-" Alvaro didn't get the chance to finish.

"Where was your focus? On your stupid jokes with your brother? When you race you aren't brothers, do you understand? You are teammates. You are riders, nothing more!"

A torrent of rather colourful Spanish followed, and Teodoro, seated next to James, winced.

Adrie was reflected in the back window of the bus even though he stood just out of my sight. When Jerzy turned on James, Adrie's arms were folded across his chest in the posture of someone about to be sick.

"Sloppy! I should send Goosh out there tomorrow in your place, if I only could. He'd do a better job, if that's the best you can do. You had it! You fucking had it, and then you let the American get it? The American? It's his first fucking Tour and your third, and you still let him by? You fucking Brits are useless!"

I couldn't bear to watch any more but I couldn't avoid hearing it.

"Did you see how he was riding?" Adrie shouted back, and the murmur of conversation in the main cabin of the bus silenced. "It was too dangerous to hold the line, Jerzy. If James hadn't let him go, he'd have taken the whole lot of us out! The pack was too goddamn tight!"

"I watched the video, Adrie. I watched it. Where the fuck was your defence?"

"I shouldered as hard as I could, and he came back with more," Adrie answered calmly. "That little fucker is crazy. The finish was suicidal in that last turn – you saw how many got taken out by the kerb – and, frankly, I thought I'd like to end the stage without a busted collarbone or a broken neck."

Another silence, this time including the group at the back of the bus. Only Brunn had ever been so bold with Jerzy in the past, and he got a special pass by being his best friend.

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Abby:

"You've been drinking...?" Charles put his cell phone on the bedside table and gave me a quizzical look.

"Not much. Just a little wine with dinner. You know, as you do." I shrugged and went through my suitcase, digging out my nightgown and slippers.

"Are you upset about something?"

The disingenuousness of the question was insulting.

"Charles, how do you play at ignorance so well?"

"Come on, Abby." He stood and came over to my side of the bed to stare down at me while I changed clothes.

"You can't honestly be this oblivious." I looked up and met his eyes, daring him to pretend further.

He didn't.

Instead, he returned to his side of the bed. After a moment's silence, he sank down onto the bed and sighed. "This is why I thought we should consider…"

"I've already told you why I don't want that." I got under the coverlet, and Charles kept his back to me.

"I'd just feel better, Abby, if I thought you had someone with you when I'm away."

Bullshit.

"No, you'd feel better if I said you could have someone with you when you're away. That's what this is all about."

"No, it isn't."

"For all I know, you already have."

"Abby…"

I turned onto my side and resisted the urge to sigh, too.

"I didn't want you to feel this way about it," he said.

"How else would I feel? You're talking about taking a lover." I turned to face him and found him staring at the carpet, shaking his head. "And me, giving you the okay."

"No, I'm not."

My throat tightened and I got out of bed. I stood up straight and smoothed down my nightgown, trying to keep my hand from shaking. I held up the other hand and started counting off: "You put down the phone when I come in the room, you stay late at work even if you don't have to, and you get more phone calls than you need from work…"

"That's not proof of anything, Abby. Circumstantial at best."

"Give me time..." I gathered my clothes and piled them into the laundry bag. "I'm sure I'll dig up ample evidence soon enough."

Charles said nothing, just exhaled softly behind me. I got back into bed and pulled the blanket up to my shoulder after putting my back to him. Silence stretched out between us until he switched off the light and lay down.

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Federico:

The pub was practically empty and I wasn't really surprised. The team made up the majority of the patronage of the hotel, and most of them were either with their families or attending the festivities in the city centre.

The server led us to a circular booth in one corner. I liked the enforced privacy of the set-up right away. Between the high edges of the booth seat, the plentiful greenery scattered around the top and the low lighting in the pub, there was little chance of someone spotting us.

Abby ordered a white wine and the server looked expectantly at me.

"Una birra, per favore," I said, figuring today I'd earned at least a beer.

We sat in silence, which gave me a chance to consider a few things. First, there was the fact I'd repeatedly run into Abigail in the pubs. The second thing was that I always found her alone, in spite of her claim she was married. I'd yet to see this phantom husband, though she said he'd somehow played a part in her photographing the Tour.

Any mention of her husband saddened her – that much was clear. When we discussed the stage, or I told her about events on the road, her mood improved. Every time she laughed – or even just smiled – I felt myself getting drawn in deeper than ever.

This is bad. Very, very bad.

My heart clenched tight with understanding: married woman or no, I wanted her. Never mind the Solange debacle. Never mind her mythical Charles, wherever he was. I wanted Abigail White, and I couldn't have her.

"Federico? What are you thinking?"

I had to laugh. Why do women always ask that? If men were ever honest enough to answer with the truth, women would never come near us again.

"What's so funny?" she asked. "Tell me."

"You really don't want to know."

"Sure I do."

Her wide eyes searched mine, and I had no choice but to be honest. Maybe it would be best if she did go away.

"For a while I was thinking about the next stage," I said. "Then I thought about how I keep finding you alone in these places. Then I wondered where your husband really is. And then…?" I shrugged, hoping to make light of my next thought. "I started thinking how much I want to kiss you."

I looked down at my drink, not wanting to see her disappointment. I'd had enough of that in the past week to last me a lifetime.


Well, there you have them: 13 Snippets from 27 Stages - due out this summer (or sooner, if I can manage it)!





I sure hope you've enjoyed them.














And in addition to all the lovely photos accompanying these excerpts, I'll share one more pretty photo.

















Of course, it's of my favorite cyclist, who provided much of the inspiration for the story.





















And you know what?
















I reckon many of you will understand why that is.
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Fabian Cancellara, Swiss cyclist. General hottie.
Ciao for now!
26 Comments

Thursday Thirteen: 13 Books on My TBR Pile

4/10/2012

18 Comments

 
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Hello, all! While I'm excitedly making preparations for a visit to the Museo del Ciclismo in Magreglio, Italy, I didn't have a lot of time to prepare a full-bodied Thirteen for today. So I've decided to share a portion of my TBR pile (that's "To Be Read" for those unfamiliar with the term) with all of you, as I've well over the requisite number of books waiting for my attention.

Shameful, I know.

So now, please allow me to present to you:

Thirteen Books (and e-Books) on My 'To Be Read' Pile

1) John Irving: In One Person (Hardcover)
2) Stephen King: The Wind Through the Keyhole (Hardcover)
3) Stephen King: Full Dark, No Stars (Paperback)
4) Matt Shaw: 9 Months - Book One (9 Months Trilogy) (e-book)
5) Tim Krabbe': The Rider (Paperback)
6) Margaret Atwood: The Year of the Flood (Paperback)
7) David Nicholls: One Day (Paperback)
8) Kurt Vonnegut: 2 B R 0 2 B (e-book)
9) Matt Seaton: The Escape Artist (Paperback)
10) Jonathon Budds: Consumed (ebook)
11) Simon A Forward: From Evil With Love (ebook)
12) Graeme Obree: Flying Scotsman (Paperback)
13) Amanda Egan: Diary of a Mummy Misfit (ebook)



And there you have them: Thirteen books which are currently resting atop my TBR pile. Maybe you'll feel compelled to check them out, too, now you've seen them listed here?

















At least you'd be reassured of a lovely selection of books for yourself as the autumn nights grow longer and cooler.


















You could curl up on the sofa with a cup of cocoa, or coffee, or tea...




















And then, you know...




















Select a good book and...















Enjoy.

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Ciao for now!
18 Comments

Thursday Thirteen: 13 Photos of Fabian Cancellara

29/3/2012

12 Comments

 
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This week, I ran a bit late (again) in trying to get a Thursday Thirteen post up. Since I'm a tad pooped, I thought I'd do a quick photo post with a pretty simple theme. After all, I'm coming down to the wire with 27 Stages, and hope to have it wrapped up pretty soon.

So, in the meantime, I hope you'll be entertained with these

Thirteen Photos of Fabian Cancellara

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Fabian training with his RadioShackNissanTrek teammates on the cobbles in Belgium.
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After being hit by another rider while getting a flat tire changed in a feed zone during the E3 Harelbeke race last Friday.
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Moments before stepping up to the second-place podium at Milan Sanremo.
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Waving to the crowd at Milan Sanremo.
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Goofing off at the Tour of Oman last February.
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Off-the-cuff interview in Oman, 2012.
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Racing to the finish in Qatar.
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SSSssssmmmmoooooothhhhhhh.
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Fabian gets a helpful push, post-repair, during the Strade Bianche race in Italy.
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Crossing the finish in Siena, miles ahead of the others (literally).
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Post-race, still covered in the white dust of the Strade Bianche.
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Atop the podium.
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My liege. My king. My Gracious Goodness Me!
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Just, um... Yeah, nothing but gibberish when I try too hard with this one. *ahem*



Needless to say, these are inspiring my story quite well.


















And just in case that wasn't enough eye candy for you (and I'll try to understand if it wasn't, really, I will!)




















One last little tasty bit for y'all who appreciate that sort of thing:

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I hope this suits ya!
Ciao for now!
12 Comments

Thursday Thirteen: 13 Characters from 27 Stages

13/10/2011

16 Comments

 
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Well, now I'm getting back to serious work on my WiP, I thought I'd share some of the visual shorthand I've been using while creating it. So please, allow me to present to you:

Thirteen Characters from
27 Stages

1) Federico "Ciccio" Renard - cyclist (AltaVeloCidad).

Although he's half-French and half-Italian, the inspiration for Federico comes from both a Swiss rider and an Italian rider, who happen to be two of my favorites: Fabian Cancellara and Daniele Bennati.

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2) Abigail McGann-White - amateur photographer.

Abigail is another character with a split nationality.
Her father is American, her mother is British. Born in the US, she's lived in England with her mother since she was seventeen. Now forty years old, Abigail is dealing with a number of issues of identity and working to determine what she wants from her life. My visual inspiration for her is harder to pin down, but this stock image made a good starting point:
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3) Jerzy Jankowski - lead directeur sportif/team manager/Svengali for team Alta VeloCidad. This was another instance where I saw a photo by chance and thought: That's the look, right there. Of course, Polish actor Łukasz Simlat is much, much younger than Jerzy, but the photo below shows some of the intensity I picture every time I write about the team's boss.
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4) Charles White - Abigail's husband, a barrister in the UK. I'm sure quite a few readers, should they see this, will be rather displeased with me. LOL! But I thought Colin Firth was a perfect model to build Charles on - particularly since he has that "proper" air about him at times, but could also have a slightly "deviant" side, too, as Charles does.
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5) Heinrich Brunn - cyclist (AltaVeloCidad). Brunn, a German cyclist, was much harder to pin down. I had more of an "archetype" in mind when he started taking shape, but there was one cyclist in particular he seemed to resemble - at least, physically. No matter, this is fiction after all.
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6) Romuald "Robaczku" Brodowski - cyclist (AltaVeloCidad). When I saw this photo of French actor Stanislas Merhar, I knew I'd found my Rom.
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7) Adrie "Major" Meijer - cyclist. Athough he's a different type of rider, and a different nationality, Italian Filippo Pozzato (to my everlasting chagrin) has similar physical attributes to Austrian super-domestique Adrie. Temperamentally, however, I don't think they could be farther apart. LOL!
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8) Jurgen Schlessinger - cyclist (Maxxout). This character is probably Federico's strongest competitor in the sport, and still he is someone I have a lot of sympathy for. In my mind, he's the also-ran always struggling in Federico's wake, a sort of Salieri to Federico's Mozart, if you will. (I'm seriously considering a short story from his POV, too.) He's played in my mind by Gerald Ciolek.
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9) Solange Melo - model, former "podium girl", Federico's fiancée. I don't know the name of the girl in the photo, here, but she's a podium girl for the Tour de France. Solange is a model just starting to make waves, but her ambition proves to be a bit too much for Federico's taste.
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10) Pascal Savreux - professional photographer, French, an acquaintance of Abigail's. From the start, I've had in mind a Vincent Cassel-type, just a little rounder and a little softer 'round the edges. The fact he's closer to Abigail's age makes him an appealing potential disruption to her plans.
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11) Alvaro and Teodoro Mendoza - twin brothers, Spanish, cyclists (AltaVeloCidad).
Almost in spite of myself, I wound up picturing the Haedo brothers (Sebastian and J.J.) when I wrote these characters, even though they aren't twins (thank goodness). There are loads of brother acts in cycling, though.
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12) Philip Mason - cyclist (AltaVeloCidad). Welshman Geraint Thomas is a good fit for Philip, a British rider with a bizarre sense of humor, which is shared with his roommate, James.
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13) James Bradford - cyclist (AltaVeloCidad). Alex Dowsett was another rider who came to mind when writing many of the scenes when the riders are off the road. There's just something about his facial expressions which came to mind during James' and Philip's cutting up at various points in the story.
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And there you have 13 Characters from 27 Stages - my current Work in Progress.























I think you might agree there's a little something for everyone in this story, eh?



























And if not, well, c'est la vie!
























At any rate, I hope to include something that'll please a few of my regulars.
















After all...






















I'm a giver!

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Mathis Streitwieser
Ciao for now!
16 Comments

Thirteen Cycling Hotties (Post-Grand Tours Edition)

15/9/2011

8 Comments

 
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Inspired both by a fairly recent post at the Bicycling.com site and the emergence of a new blog based on one of my favorite topics, I've decided to share a few of my favorite cycling hotties. Some of them (possibly most of 'em) are repeats, but I doubt you'll mind much. Heh.

And so, I present to you:

Thirteen Cycling Hotties
(Post-Grand Tours Edition)

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1) Nicolas Roche (AG2R Mondiale)
Irish, but was born in France.

A personal favorite of mine for many reasons.

*heh*



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2) Tom Boonen (Quick Step)
Belgian - and has quite the party-guy reputation.

*ahem*

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3) Maxime Monfort (Leopard Trek) 
Belgian.

Just watch him on the bike.

'nuff said.

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4) Tyler Farrar (Garmin-Cervelo)
American

His commercials for Transitions got annoying after a while, but I wuvs me some Tyler...


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5) Dave Zabriskie (Garmin-Cervelo).
American

If you search for him on Youtube, you'll turn up loads of amusing clips featuring DZ's rather odd sense of humor.  I wuv him.

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6) Philippe Gilbert (Omega Pharma-Lotto)
Belgian

There are some folks who say Philippe isn't that good looking. The thing is, when he smiles, he's absolutely gorgeous!

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7) Thor Husbhovd (Garmin-Cervelo) 
Norwegian.

He seems quite reserved, but I suspect he has a wild side to him.

*oh, yeah*

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8) Eros Capecchi (Liquigas/Cannondale).
Italian.

Look at that smile! Just look at it!

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9) Lloyd Mondory (AG2R Mondiale).
French.

I love this photo. Purrrrr...

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10) Manuel Quinziato (BMC Racing Team).
Italian.

BDIPC added him to their list after his disappointment in not making it was tweeted by his teammate, Karsten Kroon.

And, of course, three of my absolute, tippity-top grade-A faves:
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11) Daniele Bennati (Leopard-Trek).
Italian.

I adored him in his previous team kits, but when he was named as a part of L-T, I nearly swooned.

True story.

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12) Jens Voigt (Leopard-Trek).
German.

A senior member on this list (Jens is my age, after all), he's still one of the hottest hotties in the peloton. And one of the funniest.

And one of the hardest working.

JENSIE!!!!!

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13) Fabian Cancellara (Leopard-Trek).
Swiss.

Did you really think I'd leave my muse off this list?

Just look at him!


And that's this round of cycling hotties wrapped up nice and neat in a pretty little bow.







Now I must go prep myself to watch the UCI Road World Championships.















But you know I won't leave you hanging.













What with Autumn just around the corner...




















Ya gotta grab one last splash in the surf!
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Ciao for now!
8 Comments

108 Presente

11/5/2011

5 Comments

 
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On Monday, I came home from the start of the third stage of the Giro d'Italia with the intent of posting a Thursday Thirteen consisting of photos I'd taken that afternoon. I was so excited to have gotten what I knew were wonderful photos - and my excitement grew when I got home and saw just how good some of them actually were.

I called my mother to thank her for the camera she'd given me. I called my husband to share my joy at having had the experience of my first-ever stage race start event. I shared my happiness on Facebook and Twitter.

And then I sat down to watch the race.

Roughly 24 kilometers or so from the finish everything changed. A rider crashed on the descent of the Passo del Bocco, heading toward the finish at Rapallo. Hardly surprising - it was a rather tricky descent, and riders crash all the time under such circumstances.

I saw the live video on RAI, when they showed the rider being tended to. A heavy sickness settled in my stomach when I saw the boy was from my favorite team, Leopard Trek.

The fact I couldn't recognize his face was disturbing. The sense of "knowing" was worse still.

As the race continued, it quickly became clear just how bad this crash was. When they said his name, I started crying. That wasn't his face I'd seen. He wasn't there anymore.

I kept hoping. I kept praying he'd be okay, that they'd airlift him and he'd go to the hospital and someone, somewhere, would do whatever it took to put things right again.

But I knew better. Even before the director of the RAI broadcast shared the news long after the program was supposed to end, I, like so many others, already knew we'd lost one of "our boys".

Wouter Weylandt was only 26 years old. He has a baby on the way. His family has to deal with their loss - so sudden, so unexpected - but I hope they will find some comfort in his child, and I hope they know that his fans are thinking of them at this time, too.

A friend of mine said she felt as though the son of a friend had died. I think she captured perfectly the way so many of us feel. His loss isn't ours, and yet, it is. We will miss the young man we cheered for, pulled for and wished great things for. We didn't know him, but we mourn his loss and we celebrate his life.

Yesterday, the race stage was neutralized. No-one won or lost and the standings didn't change. Wouter's teammates crossed the line together, embracing and carrying along with them a member of another team: Wouter's best friend, Tyler Farrar. They wept, openly and without shame, and countless riders in the peloton wept, too.

It was, quite simply, one of the most moving events I have ever witnessed.

Today, Tyler and the Leopard Trek team have left the Giro. They will all go home to grieve and recover - at least a little - from the loss of their friend and teammate. They will ride again - they have to - because it is more than their job; it is their calling, their passion. But for now, the Giro continues without them. The show goes on. Life goes on.

For all my joking and silliness, I hold a deep and abiding affection for these young men who truly do risk themselves every day in a sport which, for all its faults, is still beautiful and frequently amazing to watch. They inspire me every single day, when I watch them race and achieve the things which I never could do in a lifetime.

Tragically, for some of them, a lifetime is all-too-brief a moment.

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Wouter Weylandt 1984-2011
5 Comments

13 Facts About Il Giro d'Italia

5/5/2011

14 Comments

 
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As you might gather from the above photo, this is going to be another cycling-related post. I can't help myself, though -- il Giro d'Italia begins this weekend and on Monday, will be starting a stage right here in Reggio nell'Emilia! Woo-hoooo!!!

And since I'm so late getting this posted, I'm going to re-post my Thursday Thirteen on this topic from 2008. I hope you don't mind...

So now, please allow me to present

13 Facts About il Giro d'Italia!

1. The first ever Giro d'Italia was begun May 13th, 1909, and was won by Luigi Ganna.
2. This year marks the 94th Giro. It begins on May 7th and will continue through May 29th.
3. It has been suspended twice - for World Wars I and II (1915-18 and 1941-45, respectively).
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4. Ever since 1931, the overall leader of the Giro sports the maglia rosa (pink jersey), which corresponds with La Gazzetta dello Sport 's pink newsprint. (The yellow jersey given to the overall leader of the Tour de France is done for similar reasons - to correspond with the yellow color of the pages of France's L'Auto sports newspaper.)
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5. The different portions of the tour are called "stages". The 1909 race had eight stages. The 2011 race will have  twenty-one.

6. Like all cycling races, the person who crosses the finish line first on the final day is not necessarily the winner. The winner of the Giro is the person who has the overall shortest time for the whole tour.

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7. Last year's winner of the Giro was Ivan Basso.
8. In 2006, the Giro passed through my new "hometown". I took some photos, one of which is my TT header this week, and here's another:
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In 2007, Reggio nell'Emilia played host to the beginning of a stage. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to attend, as I had to work. (Yeah, I'm still bummed.) I'm hoping to make up for it this year - wish me luck!
9. An American rider won the Giro once upon a time. In 1988, Andrew Hampsten of Columbus, Ohio, raced for team 7-Eleven.
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10. The route of the Giro varies each year. The Alpine and Apennine passes are probably the most difficult stages of all, and it's not unusual for the riders to endure wildly varying climates from the beginning of the tour to the end. Occasionally, the weather is a greater obstacle than expected, as Hampsten found out in 1988:
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11. Three different cyclists have managed to win the Giro five times each: Alfredo Binda, Fausto (Il Campionissimo - the Greatest Champion) Coppi and Eddie (the Cannibal) Merckx.
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12. The Giro d'Italia is considered part of the "Triple Crown of Cycling", along with the Tour de France and the Vuelta a España.

13. The Giro itself was started with one purpose in mind: to boost the sales of Italy's La Gazzetta dello Sport (The Sports Gazzette). I dare say it's proven to be a success!
And there you have them! 13 tidbits about the Giro d'Italia!













And I'll have you know that I've searched high and low for a suitable pic to close with...


















And I did the best I could, honestly!



























I went a bit retro, actually, but I think you'll approve.













Besides, I think there should be more ads like this, don't you?
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Ciao for now!
14 Comments

13 Photos Currently Inspiring My WiP

3/2/2011

16 Comments

 
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ACK! <scramble, scramble>

Yep - I've been caught unprepared again this week. There's been a lot going on "behind the scenes" as it were, so I didn't have time to do a heavily-detailed Thursday Thirteen this week. I'm afraid I'll have to repeat a theme I've done before, but with new material. (Does that make sense?)

So here are

13 Photos Currently
Inspiring My WiP

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The Leopard Trek team at the Tour Down Under last January.
1) A morning briefing. This is a good example of the stuff most people don't think about when it comes to this sport. There is more to it than getting on the bike and going faster than everyone else (though that helps, of course). The tactics and strategy for stage races can be surprisingly detailed, and the riders meet to discuss the race before and after every stage.
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Heh. *ahem*
2) Prepping for the race. Numbers have to be pinned on to jerseys before the riders can get dressed for the race.

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Fabian Cancellara. I wuv him. (Look at that HAIR!!!)
3) More preparations - that helmet has to fit properly, after all - and as always: Safety First!
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Smmmmooooch!
4) A quick peck for your sweetie, and then...

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Um... What? Did someone say something to me?
5) Waiting to start the race. Seriously, for the material I'm working on, this is more than sufficient for inspiration. ;)

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Whoooosh!
6) They're off! Of course, this would likely be well into a stage. I love the movement in this pic.
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He's silly. Wuv.
7) Lunch time on-the-go! Things can get a bit silly, too, at this point during a race. Just about everyone takes it easy while they refuel. Or, at least, they should.

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A little to the left, please... Ah, that's the spot!
8) Actually, in a race everything has to be done on-the-go, whenever possible. Here my boy Fabian gets his shoe adjusted while discussing race matters with (presumably) his directeur sportif.
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Definitely not in the plan.
9) Occasionally, of course, things don't go quite according to plan...

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I mean, seriously. Look at that road. Now enjoy Fabian's legs.
10) This photo is providing much inspiration at the moment, as I'm working on a Stage featuring a crash modelled after a) what has been called the "Stockeau Massacre" in the 2010 Tour de France and b) the following day's ride over the cobblestone roads which normally feature in the Paris-Roubaix classic road race each year.
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Just so... Intense. Rawr.
11) Fabian again - this time in Time Trial mode. The picture isn't exactly clear because it's a screen capture. But it's an excellent screen capture, IMHO. It really conveys the intensity of the moment.

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I'm wandering toward my happy place. Excuse me.
12) The boys have to make themselves presentable before they go on the podium. They get wiped down and cleaned up (I can't help thinking of racehorses when I see video of this. Is that wrong?), are given a fresh jersey, and then go out to be photographed with the pretty girls in front of the fans.
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Jens Voigt, chatting while getting his post-race massage.
13) A very useful photo. Without shots like this, the little details would get past me: note the placement of the blanket, the towels, the slow-cooker on the table (presumably to heat the oil before it's applied). Excellent stuff.




And there you have them - 13 Photos Currently Inspiring My WiP.

















I know, I know...

















After all the boys on bikes, you want something else.





























And it's only fair.



























So here ya go:
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Will this do?
Ciao for now!
16 Comments

The Devil is in the Details (part one)

26/1/2011

0 Comments

 
There are people who are surprised by how much attention I'm currently giving to details in my WiP, 27 Stages. I am teased on a regular basis about the research I'm doing (real and fanciful), because I clearly enjoy cycling so much.

Well, there are many reasons I'm putting so much time and effort into this project. Not only is cycling a passion of mine (at least, as a spectator), not only do I want to write the best possible story I can and not only do I want people to read this and really and truly feel like they are there...

I also don't want a review like this:

Zosia's Review of Amorous Liaisons.

It's not that I feel the review is in any way unfair - far from it, in fact. I think Zosia has legitimate gripes and complaints. Absolutely legitimate. While the author of Amorous Liaisons seems to have done some research, it would seem she didn't dig quite deep enough. Granted, I don't have an in-depth/expert knowledge of ballet, but even I know (courtesy of a brief but intense love of the art while I was in my teens) some of the things this author got wrong.

My point being - when it comes to research, I think it's vital to go the extra mile. Don't sell your audience short. Don't skim over details which are important to the plot. Don't assume they won't catch if you're bluffing.

Because they will.

Knowing that a good portion of my target audience will, at the very least, be familiar with le Tour de France, I know I have to maintain a certain level of realism and detail in 27 Stages. If I don't, they'll catch me out on the big things. The members of my audience who know more about cycling (perhaps are even riders themselves) will pick on the smaller details, the lesser-known things. I know it. I expect it.

And I hope I can write this book well enough to avoid it. At least somewhat.

The only way to do this is to write to the best of my ability, to find common ground for everyone and to do as much research as I possibly can. And, in the meantime, I need to create a story that'll suck everyone in so they don't care if/when I go a little wrong.

Cross your fingers for me. I could use the luck.

And now, I've got to go do some research.
0 Comments

13 Random Thoughts

6/1/2011

20 Comments

 
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Where does the time go? As usual, I've been caught unprepared - so here's a totally random collection for you all:

13 Random Thoughts

1) How do I keep forgetting the Thursday Thirteen? What's up with that? Or more to the point, why do I think about it and then forget it? Hmmm...
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2) I've got to find a way to use this in the story. Ouch!

3) I've got to find a way to WORK on the story. ACK!
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Blurry or not, this photo kills me. NOM! *happy sigh*
4) ACK! Team "Leopard" presentation is tonight! TONIGHT!!! WheeEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

5) Urp. Maybe a serving spoon of cheesy rice and then a bowl of Coco Pops wasn't the best lunch co-ordination I could have managed this afternoon. I'm definitely NOT a teenager anymore.
6) Sometimes, nothing cheers one up quite like blasting Falco's "Der Kommissar". Too bad I don't understand a word of it. Or would that make it less fun?
7) Time for the video! Wooo-hoooo!!!!
8) Thanks to my mother, I'll never again be able to listen to Muse's "Time is Running Out" without hearing Matt Bellamy's huge "whoop" before every line. Grrrrr...
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For reals, yo.
9) Oh. My...

Fabian in a suit and tie with floppy hair.

If he put on glasses I think I'd spontaneously combust.

For reals.


10) If I weren't married to the most patient man in the world, my crushes would surely drive him nuts. <see above and below>
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Yes, it's true. It's all my fault.
11) "You go out there right now and make her leave."
    "Listen, Bjarne, buddy - if I go out there, she'll NOM my leg. Again. You tell her to leave, or I'll go join the Schlecks - and the rest of the guys!"


12) I should get back to work. That story won't critique itself.
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13) Thank god cycling season is getting rolling again. I need to do some, ah, research. Yeah, that's it. Research.




And there you go.




Another frightening look inside my head.





















You should have known what to expect by now, shouldn't you?























And to my usual Thursday visitors I say, "Don't worry."























I just need to focus.




And while this isn't *quite* to my taste....












I reckon it'll be okay.
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*ahem*
Ciao for now!
20 Comments

Raising the Stakes

3/1/2011

0 Comments

 
I feel like I'm slowly getting back on track after a very unproductive holiday-filled six weeks. It's been difficult -- much harder than I'd have anticipated, actually.

However, I'm determined to get back into the proper headspace for 27 Stages, and I made a little headway last night, thanks in part to a documentary Alle and I watched about Italian cyclist Fausto Coppi. Yesterday was the fifty-first anniversary of Coppi's death from malaria at the age of forty-one, and since Coppi was one of Italy's greatest cyclists, it is not a day likely to pass without commemoration in this country.
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Memorial to Coppi at Pordoi Pass, Italy.
Just about every fan of cycling is aware of who Coppi is. The son of farmers in the Apennines in Northwest Italy, he rose to the heights of his chosen sport, fought in World War II, then returned to compete and achieve further acclaim as Italy worked to find its footing as a nation once again. Only his affair with a married woman -- while still married himself -- managed to tarnish his reputation in many eyes, and brought him into conflict with the laws of that time.

It's hard for me to imagine, now, that an extramarital affair could be punished by sending the participants to prison. It's hard to imagine how strongly he must have felt for "la dama in bianco" -- "the woman in white", as she was described in the press at the time -- that he would be willing to endure such public outcry (which included being spat on by spectators of the races he rode) and criticism (from no less than the Pope himself).

But he did.

He loved her and gave up his family and a good deal of his popular acclaim in order to be with her. Right or wrong, he followed his heart and did what he thought he had to in order to be with her. They dealt with the consequences, started their family (they had a son in spite of the fact they couldn't legally wed in Italy) and tried to go forward together. In the end, of course, it didn't work out the way they'd planned. Coppi died after contracting malaria during a safari trip in Burkina Faso. (The malady was misdiagnosed as influenza when it emerged after his return to Italy.)

In the last few weeks, I've seen this documentary and I've read William Fotheringham's biography of Coppi. Viewing what Coppi went through makes the prose on the page still more vivid.

After watching the documentary on television yesterday, Coppi has been on my mind even more: what he sacrificed and what he salvaged, who he loved and who he hurt, his own private losses throughout it all (his brother, Serse, who became a cyclist after Fausto did, died after crashing during the final sprint in the Giro del Piemonte in 1951).

And all of this gets turned over and over in my head, tiny elements sticking together and becoming a different whole.
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Coppi in a breakaway. There is a lithograph of this in my living room.
I'm thinking a lot about what I've written so far in 27 Stages. Yes, it's fiction, but it's clear to me that the stakes need to be raised, the risks need to be greater than what I've written up to now. I know, if only because the reality is so much greater than anything I could ever invent, I need to do my damnedest to do the stories justice.

Because their stories deserve no less.
0 Comments

Thirteen Photos Currently Inspiring Me

4/3/2010

5 Comments

 
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Hello, all! Thanks for coming by this week.

Once again, cycling is the theme of this Thursday Thirteen. Next week I hope to have a different subject for you, but this week, I'm sticking with the tried-and-true. I hope you'll bear with me, 'cause I've got my WIP, 27 Stages, on the brain. That's a good thing, right?

And so, I present to you:

Thirteen Photos Currently Inspiring Me




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1) Fabian Cancellara, waiting as an official counts down at the start of a time trial. This was actually a key source of inspiration for the first Stage of the story.

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2) Inside the SaxoBank team bus. Very inspiring, particularly when writing scenes showing the team traveling in-between stages.

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3) Fabian Cancellara's leg. Umm...yeah. I think the pic says it all, really. Quite inspiring.

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4) Cyclists on holiday, sporting their "Cyclists' tan lines." I find this shot incredibly endearing. And inspiring.

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5) God bless Tim de Waele. He got this shot of Fabian Cancellara during the Tour of Oman. (Did you know there was a Tour of Oman? Now you do. It started this year.) Very, very inspiring. ...sigh...

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6) Fabian Cancellara, again. (Have you spotted a trend, yet?) Here he's toting his stuff around. Ah, yes... He's a down-to-earth kinda guy. And that's inspiring, no?

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7) Fabian Cancellara (center) during a rainy stage. (I believe it might have been a Tour of California a couple of years ago, but I'm not entirely sure.) Nevertheless, I find the smiles here very inspiring.

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8) Fabian after winning the maillot jaune in a stage of the Tour de France last year. Endearing, and exceptionally inspiring.

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9) Jimmy Engoulvent (in green) takes a fall during le Tour in 2008. He got up to finish the stage on a new bike. I find that inspiring.

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10) Daniele Bennati, sprinter. Darned inspiring. heh.

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11) Now that's a tuck, y'all! Maximum aerodynamics at work, here. When I see cyclists riding this way, it always makes me nervous. And yes, it inspires me to write scenes in hopes of making them just as nerve-wracking to read. (I hope I can do it.)

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12) This shot brings to mind the scenes in Reus, Spain, where there are several accidents in the final kilometers of the stage. The original inspiration was provided by using GoogleMaps and their 360-degree views of the city. Very useful. Very inspirational.

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13) Cancellara, yet again. Look at his leg!!! Very, very inspirational. Heh.

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14) Fabian Cancellara, post-World Championships road race in 2009. By the time he finished, he basically had nothing left to give. He made his goal of winning the Time Trials competition a couple of days before, but missed out in placing in the Road Race. It was a bad call on his part - he "went for it" too soon - and Cadel Evans took the title instead. But the photos of Fabian post-event are exceptionally inspirational for me. (And the photos of him with his family after this are heartbreaking, in my opinion.)

And now, a change of pace, of theme, of location.










Because, ya know, variety is the spice of life, they say.












And who am I to say they're wrong?









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Sorry, ladies. No name for this pic. My bestest-best friend Anthony took this one while on vacation in Puerto Rico last week. Anthony has a talent for finding the hotties, I must say... WRAWR!!!
5 Comments

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    Kimberly Menozzi

    Author. Happily Married. Survivor of life with two deranged kitties.

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