"It was not a coup."
Madone Metamorphosis
Earlier this year he was cranking along like a languid caterpillar. But we now see a featherlight presence. The change is nothing short of miraculous. Therefore, it is entirely fitting that Mr Lance Armstrong will exit Mount Ventoux sporting wings. But not just any wings. These gossamer adornments will come courtesy of the enfant terrible of the British art scene - Damien Hirst.
Such a practice is not unfamiliar to Armstrong. During this year's Giro d'Italia he raced a Trek Madone sporting exquisite decals applied by Shepard Fairey, of André the Giant, and Obey Giant fame, most recently creator of the HOPE poster which added urban street cred to Barack Obama's election campaign. In addition, famed product designer Marc Newson has also developed a time trial bike to run in this year's Tour.
It's a fascinating synthesis - that of the functional and fanciful. Something neatly embedded within the futurist manifesto. And likewise, the fetishist's manual. In addition, there exists an additional paradox - unlike the commonly accepted means by which the pictorial is presented, here, the art is the frame. That which it traps irrelevant.
But this is not just Art for bikes sake. For as well as garnering more publicity for the LiveStrong Foundation, these kinetic masterpieces will also be auctioned to raise funds. Who said the art market was dead?
According to Hirst’s business manager Frank Dunphy, 'the artwork features butterflies'. Which makes a great deal of sense. Diamond-encrusted frames tend to be heavy. And formaldehyde tanks cumbersome. Yet imagine the sheer quantity of 'spin paintings' that could be created over just one stage...
Whatever the picture presented at Montereau-Fault-Yonne on Sunday 26 July, if Armstrong floats like a butterfly on Stage 21, will he save the sting for the Champs-Élysées?
The road is open. What will you say?
On only day one of NÖO9 we were forced to deviate from our chosen course. This was under the explicit directive of some suitably robust italian road workers. And so it was, with much ambivalence, that we performed a sizeable U-turn, and took to the high road, back down and thence over the town of Noli. Whilst progressing, one could not fail to notice a string of expansive, tarmac telegrams scrawled across the roadway. Their execution was somewhat crude. One graphic depiction of male genitalia taking this sentiment quite literally. And then we saw the bigger picture. Only days perviously the Milan-San Remo had coursed over these very corsas.
We mention this having observed today's Tour Stage 5 TV coverage. During which some incredibly intricate and graphically superior roadway messaging could be seen. At one point the peloton sped over an enormous LIVESTRONG logo. Its familiar rectilinear form encapsulated at least ten or more bikes. Further on, the same paint, the same typographic purity. Had some dedicated graffiti team been out here since May?
Enter Chalkbot.
Fully-embracing the age-old Tour de France tradition of leaving motivational messages on the tarmac for riders to draw strength from, the LIVESTRONG foundation have employed the services of what ostensibly is a giant, truck-mounted, inkjet printer to take such practices to a whole new level. Developed by Deeplocal, a mobile software design, development, and strategy studio, Chalkbot does what it says on the tin, employing a robot device to spray fully bio-degradable chalk (which uses soy protein as a binder) onto the surface beneath.
More information can be gleaned from the Nike website, which states - Own a piece of the road at the Tour de France. Write your message and it will be sent to the Nike LIVESTRONG Chalkbot. What words of hope, inspiration and encouragement will you share with the world?
Messages can be either sent by text -'LIVESTRONG' followed by your chalk message to 36453, or as a Tweet (naturally Chalkbot has its own Twitter page), or at wearyellow.com
After which, a confirmation email is sent, along with the GPS coordinates of where along the Tour de France route the proposed message will be chalked.
Many questioned Lance Armstrong's motives for entering the Tour this year. Yet with every new day, his genius, and unquestionable willpower becomes apparent. This brings a whole new meaning to 'reading the road'. The writing is no longer on the wall.
"I don't think the jersey changes hands until Andorra."
But who'll be the jaundiced jouster sporting such a jersey? Judging from today's white-knuckle TTT, the jury's out. One thing is for sure, when the hammer goes down, there's a good few riders in this year's Tour who'll be found guilty of malpractice. For, despite the obvious headline grabber, today's 39km grind around Montpellier certainly threw the spotlight on those that ride and those who just make up the numbers. By which token, one would assume there are only two genuine 'teams' in the competition - Astana and Columbia-HTC.
After only four stages, this year's Tour has provided more race excitement than the last two combined. We wonder why?
And so, on to tomorrow - Stage 5, Le Cap d'Agde > Perpignan. Will our pal Greg be clutching a beer on the front step vantage point of Les Volets Bleus? Will the peloton's feed station coincide with Leucate-Plage? NÖ can recommned the Tarte aux Pomme.
"That was utterly painful."
Such words may have sprung from the saline lips of any one of 27 riders, who formed a valiant breakaway group in today's Tour de France Stage 3 - Marseille to La Grand Motte.
REUTERS/Eric Gaillard
But the exclamation was in fact delivered two months previously, by our good selves, having also just battled hard to conquer the Camargue. On both occasions an unforgiving, viciously-gusting headwind had presided over the pan-flat Rhône River delta.
So it was eager anticipation that we tuned-in to today's live Tour proceedings, reaching the edge of our seat, as the peloton carved a hard right onto the reed-lined D37. At this moment, the sage-like Phil Liggett introduced the wind factor (something Armstrong later twittered as 'gnarly!'). Which was something we had overlooked, on our own century ride across this tortuous slab of Languedoc. You could see it etched into the rider's faces today. You're traveling on the level. The road ahead could not be flatter. Yet the cranks get harder and harder to pull. Such is the paradox - this is the longest climb featuring flamingoes you can find.
Then from nowhere, what was shaping up to be a standard reel-in of four early breakaways exploded into genuine drama. Team Columbia-HTC suddenly ripped a generous handful of riders off and away from the front of the peloton. The remainder were caught cold. And in no time a 30 second gap separated the lemon from the pie. Bonne bouche indeed.
Nestled-in among the contenders was The Green Machine, Mr Cavendish, nudging shoulders with the Astana banana himself, one Lance Armstrong. And in the blink of an eye, the 2009 Tour came to life. The Bouches-du-Rhône were agape.
We'll never forget the double-take from our table server. "Where have you cycled from?" he enquired of the two slumped figures who had just ordered beers. "Marseille," we replied. Two tables back towards the bar, he theatrically angled a popeyed repost, "Marseille?"
Maybe that's why Mark Cavendish burns-off the opposition so easily. Try the Camargue with panniers. It's utterly painful.
"He will be particularly, particularly, particularly monitored."
On the eve of the 96th Tour de France, the host nation's sports minister, Roselyne Bachelot, may have somewhat over-embellished their primary objective. Not bad for an opening salvo. And the riding hasn't even started.
No prizes for guessing the identity of their focus.
When Saturday Comes
Who wouldn't want to be in Monaco this Saturday?
When NÖO9 previewed the 15.5km opening time-trial route back in April, it was raining heavily, so we eschewed a cheeky Martini in Jimmy'z. Passing through Monte-Carlo, along Avenue Princess Grace, Le Grand Départ of the Tour de France 2009 will open events in spectacular fashion. And looking closely at the route, there will be nowhere to hide.
From there... we wonder who will grab the headlines for the 96th Tour?
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NÖO9 - The Movie
Following last night's high-octane, grey carpet premiere, we are proud to announce the release of NÖO9 - The Movie.
Running time is an hour and twelve minutes, which was a tough ask, given over 8 days of cycling mayhem. The result is a condensed resumé, capturing the essence of NÖ Endeavour.
So sit back. Grab yourself an Amaretto. And you'll go far...
In order to present our movie online, in its full version, much compression has been required. Therefore the original HD quality had to be sacrificed. Additionally, the long running time might mean a few seconds delay as the movie buffers. Please be patient.
"I had no idea that I rode in the Giro or that I had an accident."
During the 8th Stage of this year's Giro d'Italia 34-year-old Pedro Horrillo vaulted a guard rail and fell 80 metres down a ravine. This resulted in two collapsed lungs, a complicated open fracture of his femur, and spinal injuries. He is still wearing a full back brace, and has had several operations on his leg.
When first waking, after five days in an induced coma, he had little memory of his potentially fatal fall, his wife Lorena having to explain what had happened. And he can still only recall sitting in the bus and riding to the start.
He has now left hospital. "My recovery is going better and better," he told sportweek.nl. "The recovery is good. I'm slowly walking again, with support, but still, I'm walking."
Angles Morts (Dead Angles)
You don't have to understand French to maintain focus on this captivating, and oft disconcerting piece of skilled movie-making.
Quatrieme Monde
Where Are You Go
50 riders. 4 months. 7,000 miles. Cairo to Cape Town.
This movie saw its premier in New York, as part of the Bicycle Film Festival 2009 launch weekend.
The Bicycle Film Festival is coming to London - September 23 - 27
2169
To a numerologist this simple array of four numbers might suggest great things. Collectively, the digits do in fact total 9. Which is apparently quite useful for cyclical timing energy. It is also said to be the 'number of completeness', and as any skilled Tarot practitioner will tell you, 9 denotes attainment, completion and accomplishment. And then there is NÖ09...
Yet this number is different. 2169 represents non-completion. The journey from 9 to null. One Sudoku puzzle that will forever remain incomplete.
On Monday 20th July, at about 7am, somewhere in the region of 8,000 cyclists will gather in Montelimar, France. From here they will travel 172 kilometres, passing over Côte de Citelle, Col d'Ey, Col de Fontaube and Col de Notre-Dame des Abeilles. And then the fun starts. For this is the 17th edition of L'Etape du Tour, one featuring the notorious 'Giant of Provence' - Mont Ventoux, all 1,912 metres of it. But, as these gallant riders head into battle, 2169 will not add to their ranks. 2169 will be absent.
We are rider 2169.
It seemed a good idea at the time. Having ridden over 600 miles, in 8 days, over some very challenging terrain, taking this physical conditioning forward shouldn't prove too distressing. Yet we were very wrong. On so many levels. And now the dust has settled, some very poignant enlightenment has emerged from the emotional and psychological discomposure which taunted our Etape entry. This surfaced not long after returning from Spain, having completed NÖ09, whilst out on the first of what was to be many hard-graft Etape training runs. We had already conceded ground to the bunch, and watched the stretch of tarmac between turn from a gape into a cavernous yawn. Our heavy legs had insufficient hi-end pulling power to bridge the divide. And we nodded in comprehension. Alone. Just us, our pedal strokes, and our thoughts. At which point a very worthy fragment of introspective contemplation presented itself - 'Why am I doing this?'
After a good few kilometres more meditation, we were nowhere nearer a satisfactory repost. In actuality, the original proposition had somewhat expanded. The notion now extending way beyond the immediate situation, to encompass the entire activity, to which this 60-mile try-out was merely an aperitif. Further Torq-fuelled analysis heated a swelling catalyst of self-doubt and growing disquietude. 'Why indeed?' And with it, a new emotion, one not unlike dishonour or defection. This 'thing' we had entered into, this race, this potentially-unattainable trophy, was not just one step beyond, it was wrong.
NÖO9 had launched back in the autumn of 2008. And from that point the team pursued a rolling momentum of training runs, course planning, equipment and accommodation research, not to mention other extraneous efforts to guarantee a smooth-running event. Not long into this process we began to realise that NÖ Endeavour 2009 had already begun. The journey, by this time, was well on the road. In addition, we began to respect the investment required. This would be passionate, physical and also financial. All very concrete. All very intensive, such machinations naturally spilling over into the world around you. In particular it is those nearest who must enact that vital role of support, reasoning and reassurance. Therein, it wasn't just about us. NÖO9 was so much more than the 8 days it took to complete. It was (and continues to be) the before, the during and the after.
So having rushed headlong into 'bigger and better', it was with some relief when the decision to pull out of the Etape arrived late one April afternoon. At that precise moment, a Ventoux-sized burden fell away. And the intangible 'hurt' that we were feeling subsided. With it came a better understanding of who we were. Our personal comfort zones became apparent. More specifically we drew closer to an objective formation of the kind of cyclist we were - a NÖ Modus Operandi, perhaps. Whatever labeling results, the sum of our many parts encompasses a shared experience, one which takes enjoyment from the everyday, employs our riding not just as a point-to-point impulse, but provides interaction with the environment. It is about culture, fellowship, and ownership. We made NÖ Endeavour 2009 ourselves, and jumping on to the Etape bandwagon would erase its beauty, whatever the outcome.
"You don't need to prove yourself," said my NÖ colleague when I informed him of my decision. How right he was. There was indeed no need to conquer giants. For NÖ is epic with a small e. Our simple urge to ride a bike makes us who we are. That and the ability to fashion an entity of our own making. One not paying the price for being number 2169, in a cast of thousands.
So the Etape du Tour 2009 will miss 2169. Not because he didn't have what it took. But because he already had what he wanted.
This, our 500th post, is dedicated to the team, and all its members.
Nourish & Flourish. And the revenge of Madame Cholet.
Of the hundreds of two-wheeled citizens witnessed today, we wonder how many knew it was Bike Week?
Today was all about recycling. And packing our Tidy Bags, we rehashed our famous Richmond Run, fashioning a testing rework, one which saw the NÖ Team heading out west via Whitehall, The Houses of Parliament, Tate Britain, and World's End. In due course, we also reached map's end, finding the monster one-way system off Putney Bridge Road somewhat unsympathetic.
Luckily a local shop owner despatched some local knowledge, soon facilitating the necessary workaround. Our target was Wimbledon Common, via the soon-to-be-swimming-in-strawberries-and-cream Lawn Tennis Association. Our slight deviation provided a fascinating backroad transit, a practice which almost without fail gifts the NÖ Team some entertaining visual stimuli. Such are the hidden riches of London's sinuous ancient thoroughfayres. All you have to do is look.
Today's offering was what we believe to be a former flour mill, now breathing new life as trendy apartments. Flour power indeed. And emboldened by the generous proposition - Nourish & Flourish, blazened across its outer face, provided a mantra worth consideration. We rode on. Soon mounting the foot of Henman Hill, as we climbed up past the imposing sight of Centre Court.
Royal Wimbledon boasts glorious parks, the Common being its jewel in the crown. Both wooded and pastural, taking a bike ride through its avenues borders on transcendence. Or maybe that was just the heat getting to us. Once more we readjusted our flight via the help of locals. And before long pulled over under the welcoming, outstretched arms of the Wimbledon Windmill, constructed in 1817 by a Roehampton carpenter. It was here that we consulted a detailed plan of the area, one which declared YOU ARE HERE. And suggested where we might also be - just over the Roehampton Vale, and thence Richmond Park. All we had to do was take a short track, in a roughly north-north-westerly trajectory. Simple.
Minutes later we found ourselves lifting our mud-caked wheels over a dormant brook, in order to avoid another nettle-skirted impasse. NÖ was off road. And off script. How we smarted at the synchronous efforts of the previous afternoon, both members washing down our bikes for the ride ahead. Flesh and frame alike would soon bear testament to what happens when you go down to the woods. A big surprise indeed. The theme tune to Kick Start ringing in our ears. Luckily we were not called upon to bunny hop over a VW Beetle, the greenery soon giving way to a welcome grey uniformity - the A3, and Richmond Park.
A set of familiar curves lay before us. The pleasure was all ours. Even Broomfield Hill smiled like an old friend. How London glows under the viridity of its majestic parks and green spaces. How lucky we are, riding with a silver spoke in one's wheel.
Circuit complete, we made rapid tracks for a rendezvous at the Marylebone Farmer's Market Festival, and some Ginger Pig Sausage roll splendour, washed down with a cleansing ale, or two.
Under a heavy sun scape, we dined, drank and shared in the bounty. Nourish & Flourish my friend.
"Sod all that have a nice day stuff."
How many Lords ride a £7,000 limited edition 'Prince of Spain' Pinarello?
Probably none. But then there is the soon-to-be Lord Sugar, aka Sir Alan, who has a twice-weekly 50-mile ride regime which takes his hand-made Italian carbon frame around the backwaters of deepest Essex. Sir Alan also has another two such vehicles, kept at his homes in Florida and Spain. 'When I travel I just let the air out of the tyres and put them in the hold,' he says. Which is fine, if you own your own jet. Which he also flies himself.
Two years ago Sir Alan was a keen tennis player. But a string of injuries saw him balloon to 14st 7lb (heavy, if you're only 5' 6"). Road cycling saved the day. He lost around 3 stone. But also found his new obsession provided additionally cerebral benefits. 'I like riding alone. It is a good time to chew over problems, discuss them with myself and sort them out,' he says. 'I have my BlackBerry whirring away in my pocket and usually I stop after a while and answer emails.'
At 62 he's not shy of pulling on the lycra. 'Who cares if you look a bit of an idiot? That's far better than getting a sore arse,' he says. Maybe he should consider Biofreeze. Back in the early Sixties, Sir Alan tested his entrepreneurial skills by becoming a part time bike seller. Using components he acquired from Pat Hanlon, legendary bikeframe builder at Tottenham Lightweights, who originally started out as a wheel builder for Macleans during WWII, he cut his mechanics teeth on two wheels. 'I used to do up bikes and we would sell a few, too. It was just a kids' thing really, but I got pretty handy with fixing bikes. I remember I had to have one with chrome forks, which was the thing back then.'
In recent years Sir Alan was to be found riding a hybrid along the coast roads near his home in Florida, working up to a regular 40-mile ride. But in time he found the periodic brush-passed of drop-handlebar road bikes ignited his competitive spirit. 'They would say, "Passing by left. Have a nice day." I thought, "Sod all that have a nice day stuff." Seeking out a bike shop in Boca Raton, he was measured up for the latest Pinarello. 'With my new bike I was now saying "Passing by left" to other riders, and I would do the 40 miles in half the time, soon increasing to 60.' Yet reality is never far away. 'When I begin thinking I am the new Lance Armstrong I get a wake-up call. Young lads and girls still pass me by at 28-30mph, but I can give them a run sometimes for a five-mile stretch.'
So if you're ever out and about Ongar way, and find you've got company, take a quick glance back at the crossbar of the bike behind. It might read 'Sir Alan'.
Just don't say "Have a nice day."
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