Part 2 Has Arrived...


...So the fact that I was now at the airport 12 hours after my flight had already departed posed a much bigger problem; I was meant to be back in Europe for the team training camp, which us TDU guys had already missed half of. We were all suppose to hightail it back to Spain in time for all the media and sponsor doowop so I didn’t have a spare day to waste on a ‘oopsy daisy’ like this. The other problem I was now facing was that by missing this flight there would be an ensuing knock-on effect on my connecting flights. Now I was faced with having to rearrange my entire trip – and all from the comfort of an airport check in hall!

Anyway, after a bit of to’ing and fro’ing, the wonderful people at Emirites sorted me out with flights and connections that worked out pretty sweetly; instead of arriving mid-afternoon, I arrived later that evening so all in all it didn't work out too bad.

After it was all sorted I had time to reflect on my complete cock-up and I just couldn’t believe that after all these years of travelling I could have made such a mistake. I think it’s only the second time something like this has ever happened. The other time was after the Tour of Romandi. I stayed at an airport hotel in Zurich and had an early morning flight the next day. I took a sleeping tablet and never woke up till mid-morning.

...Although that’s not counting the time Carole and I turned up a day early for a flight out of San Fran back to Europe after a mid-season holiday in Northern California.


So while my oversight meant that I had to spend an extra 10 hours in Melbourne Airport and 7 hours in Paris Airport which was a little bit of a drag and tiresome, to say the least, there was only one thought at the forefront of my mind. “At least I don't have the two boys in tow”!!!!

No matter what goes wrong these days it never seems to make travelling as difficult as it can be with the boys at times. Not that they are bad travellers or naughty kids. But they are just kids and kids just wanna have fun and then they have needs that need all hands on deck and then they get tired but can’t get comfy and then they get hungry and the aeroplane food just doesn’t always cut the mustard and so it goes on...

But before you even get on the plane, there’s the ‘checking in’ to nail and no-one gets more bored in a queue than a kid or two. After check in there’s the tedious chore of getting through security. Another queue where - for a child - there’s only fun to be had if you can escape your parent’s iron grip and do a ‘runna’. When our circus finally gets to the front of the queue while keeping one eye on the kids (actually to be fair Tanner is a star traveller, it’s the almost-2-yr-old Val who is the ‘unpredictable random guy’), we take out the laptop and the see-through plastic bags containing the ‘liquids’ and/or thereabouts with no more than 100ml per item and place these into one of those plastic trays and put that along with the rest of our carry-on crap onto the x-ray machine. At this point it’s time to ‘unfasten’ the small child from the stroller and collapse it ‘coz that has to go through the x-ray machine as well.... of course. So now we have small child in arms. While Parent 2 is holding on tight to small child, Parent 1 is hastily trying to squeeze the stroller through.
As soon as we get the nod from the usually overzealous-on-the-authoritive-pose security person, Parent 1 whizzes through the metal detector followed quickly by Tanner. Val generally wombles through looking for mischief while Parent 2 ‘tut-tuts’ him on and equally whizzes through like Parent 1 did. Now it’s time to re-gather everything and everyone. Parent 1 has to quickly gather up the belongings while Parent 2 is busy holding small child in one arm while trying to ‘pop out’ the stroller in a swift one-arm flick, which generally doesn’t always happen in a single flick so Parent 2 is left looking like a right twit doing some kind of uncool arm-flicking dance while holding a child in one arm and a half-opened stroller in the flicking arm. Meanwhile Tanner is maturely taking responsibility for his wee ‘Cars’ backpack loaded to the brim with his ‘chosen’ toys.

All the while we are going full-gas; we know that not everyone in the queue has children and therefore sympathetic to our situation so time is of the essence and this is made ever so more apparent by the hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into the backs of our heads trying, and successfully, letting us know that our circus is holding them up...

Finally, once we stock-take our bits and kids, we sigh a huge sigh of relief and feel as though we’ve truly accomplished a small miracle... And then of course we head off to our departure gate for the beginning of the first long-haul leg of the journey home....



So anyway, God knows what we would’ve done if I’d made that mistake while travelling back with Carole and the brothers Dean. It would’ve been total carnage.

After thanking my lucky stars for the smooth result to a lumpy problem, I figured I was home and hose all the way to Europe. Except when I got to Dubai where we were to change planes, I wasn't going to be allowed on the flight ‘cause my passport was stuck in my jeans pocket! The one time I’m vigilant about my passport and zip up my pocket, the zip breaks. I wasn’t too worried about it – I found it pretty funny but the ground staff were hell-bent on setting my passport free of its dungeon. I had three Emirites staff at the gate trying to get the zip open on my back pocket. And if that didn’t look hilarious enough, I had to bend forward so that they could get a better grip on my jeans. Anyway, it all ended up ok once one of them finally cracked it after ordering in a safety pin from Head Office to solve the problem.

So now, 72 hours after saving my brothers belongings and 50 hours after leaving my brother’s house in Melbourne, I am just about to touch down in Valencia. I will now have a few days with the team for our pre-season camp before I head home early next week. It feels like I’ve been on a big mission over the last few weeks; it’s been all go since before Nationals. I’m certainly looking forward to getting back home here in Spain and most importantly seeing Carole and the boys when they arrive back in Spain later next week. Their arrival will see our life return to normal as the season kicks off proper.

It’s nice to feel on top of things going into the year. I’m hoping that this year I’ll load up the end of the year a little more. I had the chance to check out the Worlds course also while I was in Aussie and saw something that I quite liked so I’m looking at that as one of the last chances I’ll have before I retire, to improve on the top tens that I have managed at previous World Champs. So coupled with the Tour I think that I now know what I’m about this year. At least, that is the plan but as we have seen so many times before things can change very quickly in this game. But one thing is certain I am as excited as ever for the 2010 season with goals, aspirations and dreams that are clearer than ever.

Julz

Part Two Arriving Soon

Hi all,
The second part to a possible three-part 'Comedy of Errors in Motion' is definitely going to happen.... It's just that I, Ed-ess, am about to head back to the other side with 2 small children in tow and so haven't the time right now to finish off the editing of Julian's most captivating and comical diary entry in a very long time. In fact probably since the last time he flew long-haul alone.... without me. Maybe I'm somewhat of a 'lucky charm' for Julz when we travel together because we are seldom the main characters of a 'Comedy of Errors' when I accompany him....

Anyway, hang about.... The next part will give you all another bout of the chuckles...

Ciao,
C

Just Another Oopsy Daisy
I've just touched down in Europe. It's 12.30pm and MINUS 3 degrees. That might sound pretty bad but actually things seem pretty good after what has been a comedy of errors throughout my return back to the continent of my livelihood.

After the TDU, I had to return to Melbourne to hook up with my flights back to Europe. I had a night at my brother's place there before I got on the flight at 2.55 from Melbourne to Dubai. Now you'd think that at the age of 34 - actually 35 tomorrow - I would be able to tell the time and after having travelled the world for the past 20 years doing my sport, I would've cottened on to to the fact, or at least remembered, that flight times are given using the 24-hour clock. Well, for whatever reason, on this particular occasion my brain obviously subconsciously refused to acknowledge that departure time as 2.55 A.M. It didn't even 'surface' in my process of planning to get from the finish of the Tour Down Under in Adelaide to my bro's house in Melbourne then to the airport on time. I had planned on a cruisey night at my bro's then a nice, relaxing morning before wombling off to the airport for a very respectable departure time of 2.55pm. Unfortunately it turned out a tad pear-shaped. Instead of arriving at the airport to catch my flight at 2.55 am on the Tuesday morning, I casually rolled up Tuesday lunchtime thinking that I was there with ample time. In fact, I thought that I had extra time to spare as my bro dropped me off early; he was heading to the Big Day Out concert for the day. So as I waved 'toodle loo' to my brother from the curbside at Melbourne airport, I was still blissfully unaware that I was 12 hours too late for my flight.

Actually at that particular time of doing my wee wave, I was feeling that in general everything was going pretty well in life. I had gotten through the Tour Down Under really well and I was happy with how I was going. Granted it was the easiest Tour Down Under I've ever done but all the same I felt that my general condition was ahead of previous seasons at this time of year and I was able to enjoy the race, feeling comfortable and stress-free throughout. A perfect way to start the season.

The day after finishing the race, I had spent the day with my brother. Something we haven't done for several years. We had a couple of hours relaxing at the beach, hanging out and enjoying the great weather - although that nearly went pear-shaped (even though unbeknown to me I had already missed my flight so things were already pear-shaped!). I spotted someone rolling my brother's bag off the beach while we were down swimming. In true David- Hasselhof-Baywatch style (apart from the fact that I have a hairy, skinny white chest, very distinctive tan lines on all limbs, including the ankles of course, brown hair with more than a few flecks of grey and oversized thighs) I leapt up out of the water in hot pursuit. Trying to take big leaps to make faster progress through the water as I saw the thieves casually walking off trying not to draw any attention to themselves. Unlike 'The Hof' though just as I was almost out of the water, I stepped into a hole and fell flat on my face. Un-phased, putting my fast twitch fibres to fine use, I sprung back up to my feet and continued with my pursuit.

As I followed them up off the beach through a cafe, where I nearly slipped over on the tiles thanks to my wet feet, they headed out the back entrance up two flights of stairs to the roof terrace on the beach front building. At this point I began to wonder how I was going to approach the situation when it came time to confront the teenage muppets. My first instinct was the desire to beat the shit out of the twits but thankfully I quickly came to the realisation that I'm not actually that good at fighting and taking on two blokes was not going to be good odds for me. It was all feeling a bit tense and my option to go against my instinct in such a situation was a very weird feeling for me when I thought about it later. It seemed like 'The Way of the Peaceful Warrior' (Ed. Book by Dan Milman) spoke to me and by confronting the youngest with a 'Give the bag back and walk away and we'll leave it at that.' got me all that I needed out of the situation without creating more problems for myself. Sure I was afraid and a part of me wishes I had a more of the fight than flight response. Must just be getting old (Ed. Or possibly wiser????). I think that's more how I roll in my racing now also these days; I choose my time and take the risks when I have to and at no other time.

Anyway, I took the bag back as the thieving bastards sweared and declared that it was their mate's bag and that they'd been asked to pick up but must've taken the wrong one my mistake, bla, bla, bla. I just wished at that moment that I had it in me to give the little shits what they deserved. Anyway, I got the bag back and everyone was in tact. All that aside, I felt pretty chuffed that I had been so cool and calm in the whole situation. It made me feel a little grown up. A great performance followed by a great result!

So, I stood there at the airport feeling relaxed that I was early, proud of the fact I had chosen 'the way of the peaceful warrior' and content that I had made it through the TDU feeling good. Everything almost seemed too good. And it was once I tried to check in for a flight that had departed about 9 hrs earlier....

To be continued.....

NZ Road Nationals 2010

There hasn't been too many occasions in my career where I've gone good even though I hadn't really put in the work. This year's Nationals turned out to be one of those rare occasions. Something that hasn't happened to me for a looooong time.

I think when you race at the level we do, unless you are an exceptional talent, you can never expect to go good without doing the training or having the race condition. Certainly there have been years when I have trained very little post Tour de France and have gone well but once you do the Tour in July, you set yourself up with good condition for the rest of the season.

One of the problems going into this year's Nationals was that I was in two minds as to whether I was going to ride the race until a few days beforehand. This meant that I wasn't ever really committed to training specifically for the Nationals. After my 2009 season, I was more keen on gradually building up my condition over the off-season with no mental pressure to be at a certain physical level by the first week of January.

After a lot of to' ing and fro' ing, in the end I felt like I had to be there. More than anything just to show that I'm not the sort of athlete who is afraid of losing when I know that I'm not in the best condition. I would always prefer to be known as a athlete who tried and lost rather than one who didn't because he knew the chance of winning was not as good as it could possibly be.

By the time I made the decision to ride, I had no expectations going into the race. With no racing whatsoever since the end of September, I had no clue as to where on my scale of form, I fell into. Although my training had been alright pre-Xmas, it wasn't so flash in that wierd time-disappears-into-the-post-Xmas-Pre-and-Post New-Year-void and on those days where my training particularly sucked, I decided the Nationals would be somewhat of a weekend away for Carole and I before heading back to Europe where we predominantly live 'baby-sitterless'. Not to say that I wasn't secretly hoping that some good legs would fall out of the sky and attach themselves to my slightly overweight torso allowing me to be active in the race. But I know after all these years that hard work, focus and determination is required for me to be good and that this time around I had chosen to 'save those cards' for later in the year.

What I did forget - even though my wife tried to remind me several times over - are the years of miles and races that I have under my belt and that in certain environments this will be enough to get me through. And as it turned out, the Christchurch Nationals 2010 was one of these environments.

The early part of the race seemed very had and I felt more than ever the I really hadn't done enough to be competitive in the race but as the race progressed and particularly into the last few laps, I began to realize that those around me were starting to crumble. I wasn't feeling any better but nor was I really feeling any worse while for the majority around me, their Freddy-Go-Fast-Legs had done their dash and they were left pedaling squares.

A big part of me still had a lot of doubts about who had what left until the last climb and then I realized that no one was better than me. Until this point, I had been ticking the laps off and particularly for the final three, it was a case of, "Well, I made it through that one, that's a bit of a surprise."

It wasn't until I crested the climb the last time that I realized that I could actually win the race. From the top of the climb until the last 150m, when I went to start the sprint, I felt like I was going to win. But at the most crucial moment when I locked in the upper body, focused on the line and stepped up out of the saddle to accelerate with everything that was given to me, my entire self - except my heart - came to an incredibly abrupt halt. Both legs locked up with cramp and for the life of me I could not turn the pedals. It was an incredibly bizarre sensation. I almost crashed as the normally fluid process of my body acting in sequence as I stepped up out of the saddle was derailed and all that momentum culminated into an explosion of mispent energy through the rest of the bike as both legs were locked in place.

The 'good' legs that had miraculously befallen me for that particular day had failed at the 59th second of the 11th hour and the possibility of having the National Champion jersey for a third season in Europe was gone.

At the end of it all, in one way I was disappointed that I had been so close to victory yet the bigger half of me was happy that I had been much better than expected. For much of the race I didn't think that I would even be there at the finish. And I was, so that was gratifying.

My approach to the race was casual and unexpectant. Which is very unlike me. Especially on a day when I road so well. So although I did not end up with what I was so close to getting, there was a certain amount of satisfaction that I did get from the race. I enjoyed it immensely and have been gently reminded of two things. One is that I am a good bike rider by ways of natural talent and, secondly, that an approach to a race does not always have to be wired and dialed for a good performance.

Julz

Mid-Offie Update

Hi there all.

Yes it's been a long time without a peep out of me. It seems like so long ago now that I was fighting so hard to get through the final days of the Vuelta....

I had every intention of writing up a season overview once I had gotten over my chest infection and insane fatigue post-Vuelta but although I have gotten over the chest infection, the insane fatigue seems to be lingering longer than I had expected. Or maybe it's just that I've been whacked with a new bout of it since arriving back in NZ. We haven't stopped since we touched down here in the land of the long white cloud and to be honest with you, I'm hanging out just to sit in one spot for longer than an hour and do absolutely nothing - not even think a single thought.

So alas, no deep and meaningful season overview to speak of just yet.... It may still happen though...

I'm back on the bike now - albeit fairly casually at the moment. I've been doing loads of cross-training gigs like pilates, gym work and running. I've been enjoying the change but my body has definitely had to adjust to it. I've spent a few days with sore muscles - especially after the first few runs but it's been fun and refreshing, and the higher impact stuff every now and then is always great for strengthening the bones of a pro-cyclist.

As for next year, although it's old news now, I am staying on with Garmin. I have signed on to do 2 more years so that's been a huge relief to have our immediate future sorted out.

And that will have to be it for now.

I hope all is well out there for you guys and thanks again for following me and my adventures through another season.

Take care and have a safe and exceptional Christmas.

Julz and the rest of Team Dean.

Still Paying...

Hi guys....

Over a week has passed since the end of the Vuelta and still Julz is paying the price. He spent the first week coughing up his lungs all over our toy-littered floor, although he did manage to get out for a couple of rides with Trent Lowe, fellow team-mate who lives nearby.

He finally started to feel better on Sunday - as we watched the Worlds while it thundered and rained outside. Monday cursed us with incessant sheets of rain so it was a day spent climbing the walls inside with the kids. Tuesday and the rain continued but Julz had enough enthusiasm and amphibious tendencies to venture out into it for a long-anticipated mountain bike ride, which he LOVED. Tuesday arvo and KAPOW! Man down yet again. A tummy bug has wiped him out and Tuesday night was spent with his head in the toilet bowl! Wednesday and it's a gorgeous autumn day out there... just perfect for a leisurely bike ride!

So that's the situation for now. He IS planning on doing a season 'round up' when some semblance of normality presides....

C :o)

63 - The Magic Number

Yipeee! Whoot whoot! Yay! Whoo Hoo!

I got an early morning call from Julz this morning. I asked him why he wasn't sleeping.

-"'Coz my coughing keeps me awake" was his reply.

- "Ohhh. Lucky it's just a womble into Madrid then today." I said.

-"Yeah... But I'm a bit worried I'll get dropped once we hit the circuit into Madrid and the tempo rises".

-"Surely the boys will tow you to the finish if that happens?".

-"I've never been worried of not finishing the last stage of a Grand Tour before".

-"You'll be right."

And he was. He was even there vying for position in the final until he had to go at maximum, at which point he left a trail of his exploded mucus-filled lungs along the main drag of Madrid! That was his cue to sit up and just be content with finishing.

So he's fizzing to have made it. I talked to him tonight and he's quietly chuffed with himself. In true Julz style he's certainly not out there blowing his own trumpet... But then leave his trumpet-blowing to me, I reckon.

Scraping In By The Hair Of His Chinny Chin Chin...

Well, the nut-bag has pretty much nailed it! Just the 110km womble into Madrid tomorrow left and barring any bizarre meteorite-crashing-into-Spain-and-wiping- out-the-parcours-into-Madrid-incident, Julz WILL cross that finish line tomorrow.

He IS the walking dead right now. He has an ever-growing list of 'ailments' which now include mouth ulcers, cold sores and the flu - all on top of his sore neck, skinless back and the hole in his knee (from his crash in Stage 4). How he is still racing is beyond the comprehension of a non-athlete such as myself, but why he is still racing is something I can understand and have fully supported even if it does mean the boys and I will be left with trying to 'rebuild' Julian from the squillions of broken pieces that'll get sent home to us on Monday!

Today David Millar won the TT in Toledo. Nice. For a very diminished team (only 4 left now!), it's impressive that they can still feature so strongly on a daily basis in this body- and spirit-crushing Vuelta. As for Julz today.... Well, he had no choice but to go as slow as he did in the TT. He sent me a text afterwards that read, "I think I have reached a new level of f#$&ed-ness". Needless to say, just putting on his skinsuit and signing in was half the battle for him in today's stage!


Tomorrow will signal the END of his season. And what a bloody long season it has been. Although it hasn't been a fruitful one result-wise, he has achieved plenty. Just to put Julian's achievement into context... as David Millar pointed out: Julian would have completed 63 Grand Tour stages this year by this time tomorrow, and since the 9th May, he has raced every other day! That's insane. And that's not including all the racing in between each 'Grandie'; nor that before the Giro; nor the gash-to-the-bone to his quadriceps in Ghent-Wevelgem; nor the insane infection followed by urgent finger surgery after being one of 2 riders 'shot' at the Tour.... I mean, really?!?!?!?

So enough from me. I could go on and on and on but I too have battled through 3 'Grandies' of my own this year and I didn't get 'rest days' so I too, am buggered!

I shall suggest, nudge, urge, and then probably coerce Julz to give you all a Vuelta wrap-up. But I'll have to revive him first so give us a week or so...

Carole :o)

...And He's Still Truckin'

Hi again. I just wanted to let you know that although Julz's back has been deprived of a substantial amount of skin and his neck is duly unimpressed with the impromptu headstand it had to support, all is ok in his camp...

The smell of the end to all this Vuelta madness is wafting closer and teasing his nostrils and that is why he is still truckin'. I think if the crash had happened a week ago, he may have actually hung up his crash-mangled bike shoes and come home.

He has two more monumental stages to survive before the 30km TT on Saturday and the final 100km dead flat stage into Madrid on Sunday - which, until the final 20km or so, will be more ceremonial than serious racing.

It'll be an incredible achievement - if not a slightly insane one - if he can make it through to Madrid.

Ciao.
C

Unlucky...But Lucky.

Right, who's stabbing the crap out of a voodoo doll of Julz??? It's mad. Unbelieveable.... Friggin unbelieveable. That guy has the shittiest luck...

The 16th stage of the Vuelta came down to a sprint today. I was glued to the tv watching the final kms and spotted Julz nicely tucked in the front of the peloton.

I was fizzing that for the first time this year Julz was going to have an opportunity to sprint for himself. Great, awesome, wonderful and all those other superlatives wandered through my mind as I watched him unassumingly muscle his way into position.

Things were unfolding nicely in the race for him while my house was unfolding chaotically at the wee hands of the boys as they took full advantage of my complete and utter focus on the telly. They were blissfully unaware of the possible result Julz was in the process of trying to make happen. Piling every cushion in the house into a metre-high tower and diving into it from the couch was way cooler!

Anyway, with about 3km to go, the peloton was seriously getting down to pre-sprint business through the city streets of Puertollano. The overhead TV shot showed the front of the peloton and me being soooo familar with Julian's riding style I quickly picked him out. He was without a team-mate and making his way up the outside of the peloton to get into a better position. I was impressed with how easy he was moving up.... at which point one guy got squeezed out, which squeezed the guy beside him out, which squeezed Julz out toward the barrier. That was ok, Julz still had enough room to move... until he collided with a spectator who was hanging too far over the barrier! Beauty. So there my eyes were fixated on this body tumbling over the handle bars. At that split-second, I wished I wasn't so good at picking him out of the bunch 'coz the feeling that floods me whenever I see him crash is that of such dread and fear that it really does make me nauseous. And then there's the wait..... Waiting to see whether he's ok or not. One eye wants to continue watching for any signs of 'ok-ness' while the other eye just wants to seal water-tight shut just in case Julz is really hurt. I've witnessed too many of his crashes on live TV and shared every post-crash rehabilitation period with him so my 'fear-metre' is hypersensitive these days.

When I took the boys to see Julz while the Vuelta passed through our territory, I was talking with Michael, the team doctor. He asked me if I still like watching Julz race after so many years of crashes. I replied, "No, not really... It makes me too nervous. I've seen him crash way too often." It's funny, no-one has ever asked me that before. But it made me think about just how intricately woven together age, experiences and fear are in shaping our reactions. Many moons ago, I simply loved watching Julz race on live TV. Now it just makes me feel fearfully nervous.

Anyway, thankfully Julz was ok. The camera was super nice enough to zoooooooooooom in on his road rash and the pained expression on his face - none of which looked ok to me at the time, but Julz sent me a message as soon as he got back to the bus to tell me he was fine; no skin left but no broken bones. Grated like a chunk of parmesan cheese but not crumbled, I can handle. Phew.

Carole.