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Posts tagged “USA cycling

USAC Redux, part 2

A month ago, I was engrossed in packing all the supplies for a stage race that usually fit into a truck in the hatchback of a Volkswagen Passat — no easy feat! We were preparing to head out to Zeeland, the coastal westernmost province of the Netherlands made up of several islands and a narrow strip of land bordering Belgium for the Junioren Driedaagse Axel: Three Days of Axel. Axel is the kind of race that riders treat with equal parts love and hate: the road conditions are narrow and uncompromisingly rough, the wind is constant and punishing, and the huge field of riders makes the competition fierce and dangerous. We started 5 riders who would take on a 100 km road race the first day, a technical time trial the next morning followed by another 100 km road race in the afternoon, and another 100 km road race the following morning with 3 circuits featuring 6 major climbs. Axel is like hitting your toe with a hammer to quell a hurt thumb; it will make any other race seem mild in comparison.

As soon as we arrived at the race lodging in Sas van Gent, I went to work finishing up bottle prep, making some race food, and dishing up the enormous pot of pasta salad I had made the night before. Having a captive audience of perpetually starving young elite athletes is a really great way to boost one’s self-esteem as a cook — there isn’t much that they won’t inhale with considerable gusto, especially when it features a high percentage of carbohydrates. The first stage was a late start in the nearby town of Sluiskil. The mechanic and I drove together while the riders made the short 7 km trip to the start by bike. I had been studying the technical guide for days and had a rough idea of where the race route would progress, although it was by far the most incomprehensible race bible I have yet to encounter (in Dutch and Flemish, with some sections helpfully translated into French…provided that one actually speaks French). I had a suitable feed zone picked out that would permit me to feed the riders twice, after the 50 km point and again when they looped back around 68 km — well within the UCI permissible range for feeding. I found my way with the Hot Tubes Development Team race support vehicle in tow, which was wonderful to have a feed zone buddy (and she gave me the best almond cookie I have ever tasted!). We fiddled with the race radio on my car and tuned in, which was really neat to get an idea of where they were on the course in real time and every move afoot in the peloton.

I headed out on the course with a musette full of bottles ready for the first time riders would come through, and was stopped by a race official on a moto who emphatically told me that I was outside the feed zone and that our team would be disqualified if the jury or commissaire caught me feeding my riders. It was a confusing claim, because no allotted feed zone was marked anywhere on the course map in the race bible and not wanting to be the reason our team encountered a problem with the race organizers, I withheld bottles from my riders as they passed (who gave me some very confused and abashed looks).

I headed back to the car so I could find this mythical feed zone for their next pass through, and was shocked to discover that running the race radio, even for a relatively short time, had sapped the battery and I couldn’t start my car. I quickly improvised by throwing all the riders’ gear, chairs, and nutrition in the Hot Tubes team van and getting a ride to the feed zone (which was in a terrible spot, just terrible!), and then back to the race finish.

For a less than smooth race on my part, we got it done — all 5 riders finished with one contesting the sprint for top 10, found their way back to their chairs and their bags, and the mechanic and I got back to my car while a really nice Dutch family came out with jumper cables to help us out (I gave them as many bike bottles as I could spare!). With relatively minimal chaos, we made it back to the race dinner location — another “epicurean journey through purgatory,” as our director so eloquently described it — and I told the director about the feed zone confusion. He informed me that it was a totally bogus threat the official had made and that teams were feeding all over the course, even before it was officially open for feeding, with no repercussions from the jury or commissaire. It’s hard to say whether the official was just being overzealous, or if I was possibly targeted for being a non-European; it does happen, although less often now than in the early days of US racing in Europe. Whatever the cause, I vowed to be exceedingly diligent with feeding in race-approved areas for the remainder of the race.

The next day was another double stage, with a short but highly technical time trial in the morning and a long road race stage in the afternoon. Our best-laid plans to arrive in ample time before the first rider’s start time were somewhat foiled by a bridge closing; the only other possible detour route crossed a drawbridge, which had just gone up to allow a ship to pass when we got to it. We still arrived at the start in enough time for the first rider to warm up, and he posted the fasted time on our team of the day: 7 km in 10:04.

Double stages usually don’t feature a road race long enough for a feed zone, but Axel was an exception; at barely under 100 km, I would have 2 opportunities to feed the riders before the finish. The course looped down the same road several times, so I got a chance to take a few pictures before feeding was open (and inadvertently caught a crash on film).

After the second feed zone, one of my riders rolled up bleeding and shaking his head — he’d had a crash on the cobbles and hit his knee and shin hard, unable to finish the race. I patched up his cuts and we loaded up his bike to head back to the finish. When we arrived at the van, another rider was already there — huddled up against the side of the wheel well against the cold damp wind. He didn’t have any visible injuries but reported that he had crashed out on a cobbled section and bagged it after the first lap through the finishing circuit. I’ve started to learn that a crashed rider doesn’t need sympathy; he needs care necessary for cuts and bruises but painful emotions are often better when given some space and interaction with the rest of the team.

That evening held massages and recovery for the three remaining riders who would be starting the race tomorrow, and a bit of personal good news. I had been doing everything I could to stay focused on the job at hand and not become discouraged that this would be my last race day working with USA Cycling in Europe. That night I got an email from the director with an official invitation to work the Tour de l’Abitibi in Quebec in July, and to come straight back to Sittard for the kermesse racing block and stay through Grand Prix Rubiliand in September. I was ecstatic, with the only caveat of having to break the news to my boyfriend and my mom/dogsitter (they took it really well though!)

The last stage of Axel was a three-lap course with three major climbs and four sets of cobblestone stretches. With only three riders starting, I had two helpers to hand off bottles and a lot of down time for more pictures on the first non-feeding lap.

The remaining three riders fought it out and finished strong, with our top placed rider coming in at 14th in overall GC. One rider crashed on the cobbles in the last 3k and rode in with no broken skin but with bruises starting to blossom; he lamented, “I don’t even get a cool scar!” After much scrambling around exchanging riders and equipment with the Hot Tubes team, we were on the road back to Sittard.

This was a moment I had been dreading for weeks, because it marked the end of my last race with USAC in Europe and I was sad to see this amazing chapter of my life come to a close. Instead of melancholy, it was relief and joy that I would get a bit of a respite and time with my loved ones before heading back for another round of racing in July. I have found a career that feels more meaningful than anything I have ever done in my life; this is a feeling that can’t be replaced, and I am committed to chasing it to becoming the best soigneur I can possibly be.

I am so excited about this amazing opportunity to continue doing this crazy job. I could never have dreamed that I would become so taken with a career that could take me from washing a truck to 50 kph feed zones to emergency first aid and cooking dinner all in one day. As I write, my living room is full of boxes of bottles and nutrition products to transport to Canada in my little Honda Fit mobile service course, as we embark on the next great race adventure.

I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my family and my friends, whose tremendous support has made this journey possible for me. My mother and my wonderful boyfriend held down the fort at our house, kept my dog entertained, watered my garden, and sent their love over Facetime (when the wifi was good enough). My friends checked in and kept in touch, lifted my spirits and gave me confidence on the rough days, celebrated with me, and laughed along with me at my stories of surreal experiences. My employers at E3: Elite Human Performance have been incredibly supportive of my pursuits, and I have enjoyed sharing my insights into elite sports with my coworkers and clients.

Next stop: Amos, Quebec! Watch this space for more reports of the outrageousness of the Tour de l’Abitibi, coming up July 21-26.


USAC Redux, part 1

It’s a pleasantly steamy early summer evening in North Carolina and I’m enjoying a glass of wine on my porch and watching the fireflies dance in my yard. The relaxation and leisure of my life in this moment makes my life in Europe the last couple months seem like a dream. But I loved the thinly veiled chaos of my work in Europe as much or more than the luxurious Sunday afternoon nap earlier today.

To bring this blog back up to speed, we have to go all the way back to the Koga Ronde Zuid-Oost Friesland in the middle of May, a one-day interclub road race in the beautiful verdant farmland and pristinely groomed villages near Appelscha, Netherlands. We had all gotten a few days to recover from the Peace Race and legs were primed, injuries nearly healed. This was a new race on the calendar, and a dream-race for staff — spectacularly comfortable nearby accommodations (with an equally spectacular breakfast buffet), a non-UCI race with no caravan and no designated feed zones on the course, minimal gear, food, and prep necessary. Our seven-man team lined up with the directive of racing forward, getting at least one rider in every breakaway move, communicating with one another, and staying out of trouble. Easy enough.

Once the riders were off, the director, mechanic, and I made our way back to the team car and proceeded to the first point in the race for open feeding, a picturesque tree-lined lane just after a section of pavé. These were not the helter-skelter cobblestones of Paris-Roubaix, but had enough of a crest in the middle to scrape against the undercarriage plate on the team car (which had been installed before Paris-Roubaix for that very reason). Coming off the first stretch of pavé, our smallest, lightest rider who was crushing cobbles for his first time ever streaked off the front of the peloton like a rocket. We knew already that we were in for a show.

We wended our way through the course circuitously and managed to feed the riders at 4 different places before feeding was closed. By the 3rd time we passed out bottles, a dozen or so riders had broken off the front, including 4 of our team. They were doing exactly as their director had instructed: racing forward, being conservative but appropriately aggressive, taking the race in exactly the direction they desired. After the last open feeding, we proceeded back to the finish line. Our director reported that the Dutch race organizer had actually expressed that he wanted the Americans to win, that it would be good for the sport. This attitude is wholly unprecedented in European racing; American riders have almost always been viewed as relatively unwelcome outsiders.

We waited at the finish line, getting bits and pieces of race reporting in Dutch that bode well for our team. I left my cooler bag of water and soda at the end of the barricades, strapped a podium bag with a fresh kit, wet wipes, and recovery mix to my back, and staked out a good position to get some photo ops. Soon we heard that a single rider had broken away off the front, and it was indeed our incredible time trial master who performed so spectacularly at the Peace Race. Minutes later, the race radio reported that two more riders had broken away while the fourth remaining USA rider blocked to let them ride. We realized we were about to see something incredibly special: a 1-2-3 podium sweep team victory.

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It was breathtaking to see, made even more special from the Dutch race organizers and fans who said things like “magnificent!” The riders had truly raced forward, communicated with one another, and put on one heck of a race. Even at relatively small races like this, outstanding performances are widely recognized and not quickly forgotten — every other race I attended with the juniors team, someone mentioned the 1-2-3 podium sweep in Friesland.

After that, the team was on cloud nine. I had made a nice selection of sandwiches and race food goodies the night before, and had stopped at a roadside stand in Germany to buy several cartons of field-fresh strawberries as a special treat. Their excitement and satisfaction was as palpable as it was infectious; being part of the staff behind a big team win is almost as exciting as being out there on the road.

The next day we headed back out to the small Dutch village Lieshout, home to the Bavaria brewery, for an inter-club circuit race — something of a cross between a Belgian-style kermesse and an American-style criterium. The course was surprisingly challenging: hot and sunny with paver brick road surface, lots of turns and chicanes, and several raised roundabouts in corners. The juniors completed 65 kilometers, which is too short to permit or necessitate feeding, giving the staff a break and me a chance to indulge one of my other passions: race photography.

It was a heated race with an early two-man break by one of our riders and his trade team teammate from Hot Tubes Development, which the pack brought back until a bigger bunch got away and stayed away. It ended with a bunch sprint in which another of our riders gave it his all for a hard-fought 2nd, and our 4th podium in 2 days!

The team had such an outstanding, intense weekend that I got permission from their director to take them on a field trip to the nearby city of Maastricht, capital of Limburg with ancient roots dating back to Roman times. Today Maastricht is known for its vibrant city center shopping and dining district, with several beautiful churches and medieval structures still intact. Most of the riders had already visited on other trips, but it was the first trip for several of them, as it was for me. It was a great opportunity to have a nice lunch away from home base or racing with the guys, and to turn them loose while I did a little shopping and sightseeing.

The next day I had to fetch two more riders from the airport in Brussels, one of whom would join us for the upcoming Three Days of Axel race and the other who would ride Axel for his trade team, Hot Tubes Development, and join the USA team later in the season. After a nasty taste of Brussels traffic (some of the worst in the world; I got charlie horses in my legs in my sleep for days after riding the clutch for so long!) we packed up a truck and took the group to Zeeland, on the Dutch coast, to get a first taste of cobblestones and to deliver a couple riders to Hot Tubes.

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It was really neat to see such a large group of the best juniors in the United States in the same place at once. (If the one in the middle looks a little old to be a junior, that’s because he is our intrepid program director, William Innes). Cobblestones, sometimes called pavé, are a classic hallmark of northern European racing and riders who handle them with speed and agility forever have their careers defined by their excellence in “cobble crushing.” Nearly all of the famous spring classics feature sections of cobblestones, which range in difficulty from patio pavers to mud and moss-slick rock gardens more appropriate for mountain biking than road biking. Axel is known for its rough field cobbles with soft, grassy, muddy shoulders; they are as difficult to ride at high speed as they are dangerous, especially for riders without experience or proper equipment.

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With the team prepped and ready, it was up to me and our mechanic to get the bikes and remaining equipment shipshape. The courses of Axel are notoriously hard on wheels, so all the bikes were equipped with our special “Roubaix” wheels: aluminum Easton tubulars with heavy-duty puncture-resistant, wider tires. The wheels were an abnormally heavy setup for racing, but would give our riders the best possible chance at avoiding flat tires or crashes due to poor traction.

Unlike the Peace Race, the race organizers at Axel provide somewhat more edible food options, so I didn’t need to cook. From that standpoint it made the race logistics a bit easier on me, although I packed double of everything in the medical kit in hopes that it would be like carrying an umbrella when rain is in the forecast: preparedness would stave off necessity.

Prepping for Axel also gave me time to reflect on the weeks I had spent traveling to races in Europe, and I was truly sad that this would be my last race with the team. I knew they would get excellent care from other soigneurs as they continued their racing season, but the infectious excitement of racing had done its work and I was hooked. Had it been any other kind of hard work, I would have been looking forward to a respite, but I found soigneur work inspired an ethic and passion in me that I had never experienced to that extent.

The hour has grown late, my candle has begun to flicker, my laptop battery is waning and (most upsetting of all) my glass of wine is empty; we’ll pick this up next week with the pavé pandemonium of Three Days of Axel!


Bretagne wrap-up

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Sometimes in life, I have found that intense, completely immersive experiences often need time to be processed before I can appreciate the content with a more objective, analytical attitude without the haze of emotional exhaustion. A slower Saturday morning today has given me that valuable time for reflection and organizing my thoughts.

Working a major race as elite cycling team staff is not for the faint of heart, and I am coming to understand why the turnover in the industry is comparatively low: people who aren’t up to the rigors of the work for whatever reason burn out quickly, and the few who make the cut tend to become career team staff. I’m not sure who works harder: mechanics or soigneurs — both jobs require long hours of exhausting work.

The Tour de Bretagne was a UCI 2.2 stage race, which means a limited number of national teams were invited (in this case, 2: the USA team, and the Australian national team) along with European continental teams, pro development teams, and pro tour teams. It’s a very high-level race in which stage winners and riders high in the overall finish ranks have historically continued on to successful professional careers. The race consisted of 7 stages between 145 and 200 kilometers long over challenging terrain and road surfaces in the rural northern coastal country of France. The six USA national team riders selected for the race were charged with two major tasks: to ride hard and return some good results, but perhaps even more importantly to learn the skills needed to race at that level which professional teams look for in prospective riders. To paraphrase their director, former pro rider Michael Sayers, racing at events like these presents a goal that isn’t necessarily meant to be attained, but for learning to occur in the process of striving toward that goal. Bringing away a couple good results and a wealth of experience constitutes success, and in that respect the Under-23 riders of the USA national team were very successful.

As for my part, my role was to serve as an apprentice soigneur to Robert Grabowski, another alumnus of the pro leagues who worked for Liquigas-Cannondale and BMC world tour teams. We arrived at the first host hotel in the evening 2 days before the race began, which gave me a day to prepare and learn the ropes a bit.

My first task the next morning was bottle prep. The general policy is to distrust drinking tapwater in many parts of Europe, so I had to make a grocery store run to purchase bottled water for drinking and food supplies for the next few days. Every part of the process involved some unforeseen complication; nothing was easy. I drove the van, an enormous Fiat Ducato, down winding narrow French roads (having to turn back twice because the GPS wanted to take me under bridges too short for the van’s height) only to find that the grocery store had underground parking also too low for the van, so I had to parallel park it on the street. For comparison, I drive a compact hatchback Honda Fit back home — the van is roughly 1.5 Fits wide, 2.5 Fits long, and 2 Fits tall. I’m just relieved my parents insisted on me learning to drive a stick shift as a teen; that was the one part of the whole process I felt competent doing. I managed to park the van without running into anything, popped a couple of coins in the locks to retrieve shopping carts (that part I remembered!), and ascended the escalator. An hour and a half later, I had collected 250 liters of bottled water in various sizes of containers and enough groceries for a small army. It took me a long time to identify the translations of food products in an unfamiliar store layout; my basic French vocabulary got me only so far. I negotiated the transaction in my nonexistent French and haphazardly wheeled about 300 kilos’ worth of water and food back down the escalator (a feat in and of itself), drawing copious weird glares from onlookers. With water and food loaded up, I made my way back to the hotel to wrap up race food and bottle prep and begin with rider massages.

The one part of soigneur work I feel thoroughly comfortable performing is sports massage; I’ve been doing it for 7 years and have taught seminars at the graduate level for the last 3, so I feel like I have that part down. It was honestly a relief to be able to focus my energy for a couple hours on something in which I am well-versed and experienced; it’s hard work of a different kind, but work where I don’t feel like I am constantly questioning myself and I take solace in that practice. I am told that coming from a sports medicine background is surprisingly uncommon among beginner soigneurs; many come from another aspect of sport or industry and have to learn the bodywork and recovery component as they go. Having extensive training in what is ostensibly the most difficult and most important part of the job gives me time to iron out the rest of the details, which are complicated to learn but easy enough to perform once routine is more established. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but in that respect I am very fortunate.

The Tour required several hotel transfers, so the plan was for me to get the riders to the race, do the feed zone, and get to the finish to bring them back to the hotel while Robert drove the box truck to the next hotel and prepared all the details. The first stage didn’t require a hotel transfer, so I was able to shadow Robert and learn the responsibilities and layout of a race stage. I wrote this list up during the week, and it is a pretty darn accurate characterization of most of the stuff a soigneur needs to keep in his or her head at all times:

Before the race

  • Up early, shower and pack, breakfast
  • Prepare race food
    • Get baguettes from hotel
    • Make sandwiches for soigneur(s), mechanic, and director. Pack in musettes with goodies
    • Make post-race sandwiches and rice for riders. Also fill a musette with fruit. Pack condiments, tuna, oil, and utensils for the rice
    • Make 2 thermoses of coffee and one of hot water for tea. One coffee for team car, one for riders. Pack cups, sugar, creamer, and stirring things
    • Make snack sandwiches with milkbread for riders and pack in aluminum foil. Do one savory variety (ham and cheese is good) and several sweet ones (Nutella, honey, jam, etc). Make 1 per rider with some extras for musettes
    • Wrap cake or waffles in aluminum foil for riders
  • Restock race food bars and gels
  • Prepare bottles
    • At least 5-7 per rider — 2 for musettes/feeds, 2 for the bike, and 1 for every half hour of racing. More is better and topping off the coolers is recommended
    • Pack water and fresh mix in the cooler for the team car. Include some mini Cokes and Fantas, some sparkling water for director and mechanic, and any other goodies they request
    • Rotate the previous day’s mix from the car cooler to the van cooler and put it on the top row to go on the bikes and in musettes first. Put fresh mix as needed on the bottom row.
    • Dump mix after day 2; it’s no longer good
    • Pack mini soda in the gaps and include a bottle of ice if necessary
    • Make sure the van is stocked with water, empty clean bottles, chocolate milk, and plenty of mix for hydration, preload, and recovery mixes
    • Mark mix with an X and recovery with an R
    • Bring a large bag of clean empty bottles to fill during the race
  • Fill empty 1.5 L bottle with tap water and put in the freezer to use for ice
  • Pack gels and bars in the team car as per director preference. Some use a box, others just stuff them in the door pockets
  • Clean and stock the van
    • Vacuum and sweep floors, wheel wells, bike area, etc
    • Wash the exterior and Windex on mirrors and windows (this can also be done the night before)
  • Program start parking into the GPS
  • Pack the following race items in the main compartment:
    • Towels and washcloths for each rider plus spares
    • Podium bag with bottle for recovery
    • Race food — bars and gels
    • Spare clothing bag
    • Supply box with chamois cream, massage creams and oils, baby wipes, sports wash, embrocation, sunscreen
    • Medical box
    • Finish cooler bag with bottled water and Fanta for each rider
    • Spare musettes
    • Food box of snacks, coffee, race rice, tuna, bowls, utensils, condiments, etc
    • Folding chairs for each rider
    • Wind vest for the feed zone
    • 2 helmets (small and medium) in the van, 2 in the team car
  • Pack in the bike compartment:
    • Cooler
    • Trash bags
    • Spare bottles
    • Aluminum foil
    • Mixes and hydration supplies
    • Extra water
    • Extra soda and juice
    • Milk/soy milk/whatever they want for recovery that day
  • Black and white permanent markers

At the start

  • Drive riders to the race start and park so as to make a nice area for them
  • Put out folding chairs (under the awning, if necessary)
  • Put out cooler, race food, regular food box, supply box
  • Offer pre-load and put 2 bottles on each bike of whatever the riders want to start
  • Massage legs/apply embrocation as needed
  • Program feed zone location into the GPS
  • If time permits, go to start line with riders to top off bottles and take extra clothing

Feed zone

  • Drive to the feed zone
  • Stop for gas on the way if necessary and time permits
  • Find a good, visible parking place near the end of the feed zone
  • Program the finish line into the GPS
  • Prepare musettes for each rider
    • 1 bottle each of water and mix on opposite sides
    • 1 bar
    • 1 gel
    • 1 bit of cake or Nutella sandwich in aluminum foil
  • Tie a knot at the top of the strap
  • Prepare recovery, mark bottles, and place in the cooler
  • Prepare 1-2 dishes of post-race rice for riders taking the team car instead of the van
  • Fill bottles for the next day if needed
  • Pass musettes to riders on the right side of the road
    • Step into the road no more than 1 meter and face riders fully. Hold the tab straight up so it presents the bag at hand-level to the rider. Let go quickly and gently
    • Pass any extras to the team car
  • Jump in and proceed to the finish location post haste

At the finish

  • Park the van near the finish line in a good location for getting out after the race
  • Prepare an area for the riders
    • Folding chairs out for each rider
    • Bottle of recovery, towel, and washcloth on each chair
    • If in a safe location, put out food box and supply box
    • Riders bags out if someone is there to watch it, otherwise locked in the van
  • Program hotel address into the GPS
  • If there are multiple circuits, take a musette with bottles to feed
  • If no circuits (or time doesn’t permit), also take the finish bag and podium bag with a bottle of recovery inside
  • Set up at a visible location well past the finish line and flag down riders. Give water and Fanta, give directions to the van, and give the first rider the key
  • Check anti-doping at the finish line, and take a picture of it if possible
  • Head back to the van, do first aid if needed, and pack everything up
  • Give post-race recovery food to the director for riders going in the team car
  • Put dirty bottles in a bag or another cooler. Throw away bottles used for recovery; they will always have a weird funky sour milk smell
  • Pack everything up and head out

At the hotel

  • Unload and tidy up the van while riders are getting showered
  • Put perishables in the refrigerator
  • Start a load of riders’ laundry
  • Set up massage table and supplies, overturning furniture or using a hallway if necessary. Try to get linens and towels from the hotel, if not use stock and wash daily
  • Massages for all riders, ~30 minutes each
  • Put riders’ laundry in the dryer or on drying racks
  • Go eat dinner
  • Leave dry clothes in the hall with bottled water for the riders
  • Wash van and team car if weather/time permits
  • Wash dirty bottles if needed
  • Go for a run or straight to bed. Or beer, this is a good time for beer too.

So that’s it, in a nutshell. In addition, hotel transfers require all kinds of tedious minutiae, like getting room keys and wifi passwords, so those responsibilities are added in with a bare-bones staff.

Murphy’s Law hung like a shadowy specter nearby all week — if something could go wrong, it invariably did. One rider crashed in the last few kilometers of the first stage, a face-first header that left him bloodied and concussed, forcing him to withdraw from the competition. Another rider succumbed to a nasty illness during stage 4 and abandoned the race. On stage 5 I had a fender-bender with the team van when another car tried to pass and cut me off in a one-lane roundabout, and the French police refused to help with the paperwork so I did the best I could with the chasm of language barrier. I fumbled musette feeds and completely forgot to check anti-doping on one stage, delaying the whole team’s departure from the finish site. The sky poured rain and blew gale force winds and baked the slimy, muddy roads and cobbles with searing sunlight. I chastised entitled French sports fans trying to steal bottles right out of my musette for circuit feeds (seriously, guys?). I forced back tears on more than one occasion and struggled with the language barrier and shame over my beginner’s pitfalls with Robert, and his frustration with having to take the time to train a novice when time itself is at a premium. It had its tense and terrible moments, and I found myself wondering what I had gotten myself into frequently.

But it also had its moments of beauty and levity; I made it through the week, and I came back to Sittard visibly changed: more confidence in my abilities, more relaxed around the riders and other staff, with better strategies to ask the right questions and keep track of the answers, and a wealth of notable information in my brain and in detailed notes on my iPad. Serving as an apprentice soigneur helped me understand the structure of an elite cycling race and with the basics established, I can focus more of my attention on helping the riders and the other team staff to have a great race.

Bretagne feels like a distant memory now that I’m packing up and preparing to head to the Czech Republic for the Course de la Paix (“Peace Race”) the day after tomorrow. I’ve graduated from second-string soigneur to having my very own program in my charge: the USA national juniors team, a group of six outstanding 17-18 year old racers, some of whom are on their very first trip to Europe. I’m starting to get beyond my new-job anxiety and excited about what I can teach them and learn from them. Putting oneself wholly in the service of others is a humbling and enriching experience. As tough a job as this is, it really is an honor to be a part of the journey for riders on their way to achieving great things.

Tomorrow we make all the necessary preparations to depart, and adventure again awaits. More dispatches from the East to follow!