Lesser-Known Olympians [.. at least I didn't know HE was an Olympian] ... plus a tale yet to be told.

So I was perusing the Yahoo Olympic website yesterday (during Management Information Systems class... errr.. I mean, my "free time") and I saw an article entitled "American Cyclists Arrive in Face Masks" quickly followed by "American cyclists apologize for wearing masks".

Not too big of a deal, cyclists aren't known for their style... any motorist can tell you that. But suddenly, something caught my eye in the article:

BEIJING (AP) -- Four American Olympic cyclists are apologizing to Beijing's Olympic organizers for arriving in China's capital wearing face masks.

Michael Friedman, Sarah Hammer, Bobby Lea and Jennie Reed released a statement, saying the masks were only a precaution, and not an attempt to make a political or environmental statement.

The name Bobby Lea stood out like a saddle soar after 150k.

I don't know Bobby. I know other Olympians in Beijing [see next post] but I'd be lying if I said Bobby and I were friends. No, I remember Bobby from several races where we faced off head to head while I was racing for Vermont and he was racing for our heated rival Penn State University. He was a crit and TT specialist, I was the exact opposite, a mountain and 'tough guy' endurance race specialist. I first remember Bobby from a race back in 2001 (I think at West Point, but I might be wrong)... My teammates were cycling dorks... followed every pro race... knew how to pronounce even the most obscure Dutch cycling names with near fluency despite their anglophone-centric education. I, on the other hand, did my training (short in length, hard in effort), wolfed down a dinner that always included some sort of canned food and a salad, and spent the rest of my time studying Computer Science and Accounting [not recommended if you list 'Partying', 'Personal Exploration and Discovery', or even more directly, 'Chicks' as you collegiate goals]. Not a lot of time for watching Phil Ligget and Paul Sherwin on VHS, perfecting the pronunciations down to the lowest domestique, or going on long, drawn-out road rides while discussing the latest L'Equipe editorial with your buddies (although I wish I could have).

Before one race, they spoke of one name with a slight hint of apprehension (as in... "omg, this guy is going to kill us all.. he's legendary!"). I really don't pay attention to that kind of thing because I always thought that if a person is THAT good, I'll see it first hand during the race. I remember hearing mutterings about some sort of National Championship or Junior National Championship or Track Championship and I even think I heard a few foreign countries mixed in while I took off my warm-up gear.

The race started and we wound our way around the forested hills of West Point. Since it was only April and most of the teams were from the East Coast, we all had pasty-white legs due to the fact that most of us only begun riding outside within the last month (at that time, I would usually ride about 200 hours INSIDE before riding outside ... good thing I'm a lazy ass now :)

Anyway, the race started and we were riding along in the peloton when suddenly I smelled something strange in the air... I looked at the leafless trees... pollen?... I looked at the lack of grass... "hay fever? ... in New England? ... in April? There is still a few pockets of snow in the woods for goodness sake!" Suddenly I realized it was the poser in front of me with the gleaming bronze legs that shined so much that you got a headache if you looked at his calves too long. I vaguely remember my teammates saying something about this "Lea" guy going to Panama, or Columbia, or was it Belize... for the Pan-Am games just a week before the race... must have picked up a tan and some sort of local embrocation cream to "show off" to the New England locals.

"Ha ha, I'm an international cycling superstar... just smell me dude!"
... if his legs could talk.

I drafted in a coconut-oil stupor for 10 or 20 minutes before rightly seeking a new position in the peloton ... maybe tucking in behind someone named Biff or Jake with a Britney Spears sticker on his stem who hailed from the north-country (hey, it was 2001 after all). Ahh, much better, more normal from what I'm used to.

Being cooped up inside a computer lab for 4 years has its cycling advantages... you really don't care who is in the break or what is going on in a bike race, you are just psyched that it's a weekend and for the next 3 hours, none of the people around you would rather be debugging a memory allocation error triggered by a dynamic C++ multi-dimensional array application.

Ignorance was bliss.

The only thing I did was give 100% when someone jumped, or I got bored... whichever came first.

Racing in West Point is always fun. The year before was my first year road racing (after 8 years of mountain bike racing). I was in near the front when I noticed it was getting really hard [insert idiot look here]. Guys kept hammering up the damp windy roads surrounding West Point, flanked with commanding trees on either side just starting to reveal their leaf bud weapondry for the summer. Coming from a mountain biking "every man for himself" mentality, I was like, "jeez-um, you guys 'r really putin' the boots to'her!" (old Maine/New England saying... proper definition not suitable for children under 28). That year, before I knew it, I did a rotation at the front of our break group and after I did my 120% pull (or effort) at the front, looked for support (the next guy who is suppose to take over in order to keep the pace high) and found no-one. "Geez, they are going to make me look like an idiot," I thought since I had been watching breakaways get caught in the last kilometer in the Tour de France recently, only to see the guy end up in 117th place (2 seconds behind first place). "Geeez, I'm an idiot!" I continued on anyway.

In that race, I still thought I was an idiot until the lead car zoomed in front of me (a classic indication that you alone are the leader of the entire race) to provide a lead-out and clear the road to signal that the lead rider of the race was approaching. The car zoomed in front and I got in the drops and continued to push hard as we passed fans and course marshalls [marshalls are people or policeman who stop traffic at intersections to make sure the riders go the correct way and cars do not interfere with the race].

The difference between a 'normal race' or even the Tour de France and this race was that the lead car, escorting me with flashing lights driving down the center of the road, and the course marshalls who control traffic, was that the course marshalls had semiautomatic rifles. They dressed in full battle camouflage and knew how to kill someone just by using their thumb and index finger. The 'lead car' was not a fancy "business man's" car like the Tour de France, but rather a Hummer H1, a vehicle only available to authorized military personnel, fully outfitted in camouflage and military satellite radio with a guy on the other end of the radio with his finger on a big red button (if you know what I mean). This was before the idiotic consumer-driven marketing campaign that you see today where Hummer H2 or H3 are driven by civilians outfitted with fabric seats, music radios, and air-conditioning. No, the vehicle I was behind spewed out even more exhaust, had bigger tires, a MPG efficiency that basically meant that I felt like I was drinking the gasoline straight out of the tailpipe. Instead of comfy seats and an FM radio, this thing had military-only radio contact and an interior specially designed so that if the previous driver was shot down in combat, it could be cleaned by a fire-hose and promptly replaced by a new driver.

Accordingly, even the lowly course marshalls who signal traffic to stop and point me in the direction to go were different from most bike race course marshalls. It was a subtle difference but the camoflague outfits provided a hint as they pointed the direction I should go with one hand while nonchalantly holding a semi-automatic weapon that was probably longer than my bike in the other hand.

No second guessing here. I'll go "that way".

Needless to say, despite my lead position in the race, I took all corners such as this with trepidation.

In that year, another rider finally caught up with me and beat me in the final 3 miles. We worked together until the sprint... (I think even Joe Schmoe on a mountain bike can beat me in a sprint) but it was one of my first road bike races and one that I will never forget. I finished with a huge second place victory for our team, ahead of any and all Penn State rivals... including one named Lea.

Back to the current-year story... I was so use to reading outlandish syllibi from professors and projects assigned to be due in 3 days that would take 2 months to complete that I was idiotic enough to say... "err, ahhh.. alright, still 2 hours left to go... 120% of my maximum heart rate seems like a reasonable and maintainable effort to me!" So I jumped on a wheel. If that wheel failed, I jumped on another.

Eventually, it was just 5 of us. Most of the riders in that pack are still professional cyclists even to this day (7 years later). We rotated through to hold off the main peloton or what was left of it but I noticed that some were holding out for the flat finish.... (did I mention that Pee-Wee Herman could beat me in a sprint?).

I think I got 4th in the race but I do remember that the (in)famous Lea was nowhere close. "Pffft... " I thought. So much for racing in the Pan-Am games... spring in New England is a killer... (or maybe our pasty white legs simply distracted him).

Many years later I discover Lea on the cover of "Bicycling Magazine", one of the biggest cycling magazines in the world. He was always a pretty boy in my mind (see 'leg oil treatment' above), so the cyclist-turned-model seemed to fit.

However, in reading the latest Yahoo! Sports article about the masked cyclists, my eyes quickly focus on a single name.... and suddenly my olfactory glands filled with essence of coconut and rubbing alcohol. Sure enough, he is representing the United States in Track Cycling in 2008.

Curious (aka 'class is getting boring'), I investigate my former enemy further to find an article entitled:

Lea follows family's Olympic legacy

Geez, after reading this article I'm thinking that My dad was an accountant and CFO... his was an Olympian... pffffft, as a kid, I remember having the following argument with my dad, ... I'm sure Bobby had the same argument with his Olympian dad:

"Which is better, Burger King with the Whopper and Strawberry Shakes, or McDonald's with the Big Mac and crispy Apple Pies?"

This discussion could go on and on as we traveled back from the hockey arena or bike race to home.

Epilogue
Bobby did not receive a medal, but the press coverage for wearing anti-pollution, anti-Chinese, anti-cultural, xenophobic masks was well covered.

Neither my Dad or I like McDonald's or Burger King anymore... not sure why though.

Bobby is still a great cyclist. I look like one of those guys with the expensive bike who looks like he just started riding last week. But I still enjoy it.

Perhaps Bobby would have been better off with some military vehicles and M16 bearing soldiers to lead him into China... yeah, that would have gone over smoothly :)

... but you have to catch that break Bobby.

:)