Dad’s House

When Tour de France cyclists rolled through California the past two years, my kids and I were there to watch, snapping photos and grabbing autographs from international cycling greats. We caught a couple stage finishes in San Luis Obispo (one in the rain) and a time trial in Solvang. And this year in Palo Alto, I actually rode with Team CSC’s Big Jens Voigt. (Okay, so he was on a training ride and I happened to be there, and barely kept pace with him for 200 yards. Whatever – I rode with him!)

As for the autographs – the cyclists were dining en masse in San Luis Obispo at the Madonna Inn. My son hovered near the dining room entrance and scored signatures from the argyle armada Team Slipstream riders Danny Pate and Steven Cozza. Then a woman involved with the race asked if he wanted to meet other cyclists. “Yeah,” he said. She led him into the dining room. We can almost make out all the names.

If anyone can figure out some of those autographs, feel free to chime in. Possible candidates: Ivan Basso, Tommy Danielson, Allan Davis, Jason McCartney, Brian Vandborg, Johan Bruyneel

First, my son met Team Discovery, the former US Postal Team that supported Lance Armstrong through 7 Tour de France wins. There was Levi Leipheimer, George Hincapie, Ivan Basso, and the rest eating dinner together. (Team Discovery has since disbanded, and the cyclists ride for teams like Team Astana, Team High Road (now Team Columbia), and the Argyle Armada - the former Team Slipstream, now Garmin-Chipotle.)

My son told them about his BMX trick bike with pegs. They asked if he had a road bike like ones they road, and he told them, “No, but my dad does.”

When a table full of international cyclists give their nods of approval, definitely Dad points scored.

“Does your dad race?” they asked.
“Nah,” my son said. “I think he’s pretty slow.”
Ouch.

He went on to meet members of Team CSC, including Jens Voigt (my aforementioned riding partner), Stuart O’Grady, and Christian Van de Velde. Everyone was super nice to my son, not only signing autographs but chatting him up in the process.

The great thing for cycling fans at Tour events is sitting right on the edge of the road. Here are photos from the 2007 Amgen Tour of California Solvang time trial.

Rabobank’s Mauricio Alberto Ardila Cano

Team Slipstream cyclist Danny Pate riding for the Argyle Armada

Hey, it’s Nacho Libre!

Team CSC cyclist Big Jens Voigt

Fast Freddie Rodriguez

Love the winged helmet and huge American flag

Stuart O’Grady from Team CSC

Levi Leipheimer en route to winning the Tour of California. (Sadly, Levi and Team Astana aren’t allowed to ride in this year’s Tour de France, through no fault of his own)

If you liked this post, you might also enjoy:

• Way Beyond Soccer Dad
• Go, Daddy, Go! (But in Dockers?)
• Greg Norman’s Yacht Has Nothing On This

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

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A few years ago, a group of neighborhood soccer moms asked me to train with them for the Napa Valley Marathon. I’d just turned forty and was an avid cyclist who’d left hill workouts, interval training, and twenty-mile runs well behind me.

“I can give you some tips,” I said. “But my serious running days are over.”
“We need you out there with us,” they said. “You’re the marathon expert.”

I did know a thing or two about marathons. I’d run seven of them in my 30s, and had a collection of finisher’s medals that my kids and I took turns wearing in a showy display that rivaled Mark Spitz. But in my late 30s, twelve mile jogs brought sharp knee pain, and runs over two hours shut down my immune system, landing me in bed with a terrible cold. My body could no longer take the tremendous toll of training for the 26.2 mile event, and I hung up my Asics Gel Kayanos.

Cycling was a better activity for me. I could enjoy a three-hour ride, then saddle up the next day and do it again. I covered far more ground on a bike than I ever could running. I’d pedal out to Crystal Springs reservoir, up Old La Honda Road into the Santa Cruz mountains, lunch at Alice’s restaurant with the Ducati crowd, enjoy a winding speedy descent, hammer my way home. All on the same ride. Cycling had firmly become my new sport.

While the moms awaited my response, I realized here was a chance to connect with them. As a single dad working from home, you’d think I could have been part of the stay-at-home social scene – morning coffee circles, book clubs, power walks – but the moms did all these things without me, claiming I’d be bored with the motherly, feminine focus of their gatherings. I wasn’t so sure; at neighborhood barbecues, I usually chatted with moms about books rather than dads about golf. But when I’d invited some moms over for coffee, I didn’t have much luck. I simply wasn’t part of their scene.

Training with them for Napa would change everything.

“I could join you for a run or two each week,” I said.
“No, we want you to run the marathon with us,” they said.

No way. Forget the the painful workouts, the torture inflicted by the grueling race. I already had plans. “I can’t,” I said. “I’m riding the Solvang Century, and it’s the same weekend.”

The moms were clearly deflated. “We can’t do it without you,” they said.

I have to admit, it felt good to be needed and included again. Besides, this was a chance to get to know the moms better as friends, and show them that, whether single or married, as parents we had a lot in common. The Solvang Century could wait a year.

“Okay,” I said.

Nothing went as planned. Weekday scheduling proved a major problem, and each mom ran on her own. Weekend runs they did together, but I was busy with my kids and doing activities with friends, like skiing and wine tasting, that had been planned in advance.

As the weeks progressed, one by one the moms dropped out of the race. They were overbooked – weekend soccer matches, morning ceramic classes, the occasional kid home sick. A few moms quit due to injury. Overtraining, undertraining. Soon there were only three of us left.

“This isn’t going so well,” I said. “Maybe I should just cycle Solvang.”
“No, don’t quit,” the two moms said. “You have to run the race with us. Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Of all the marathons I’ve run – Silicon Valley Marathon, Marine Corps Marathon, San Diego Rock ‘n’ Roll Marathon, San Francisco Marathon, and Napa three times – Napa was by far the most scenic, friendly, and enjoyable. And I’d run especially well there, nearly qualifying for the Boston Marathon. Running it would be fun. Besides, the deadline for Solvang had passed, and the century ride was full.

A week before Napa, one more mom dropped out, leaving just one woman and me to run the race.

“I don’t think I can run,” she said.
“Why not?” I asked. “You’ve trained.”
“I’m worried what people will think. A married women and a single dad spending a weekend in Napa together.”

I was dumbstruck. What was she worried about? I wasn’t whisking her off to wine country for a romantic affair. We were running a marathon, and she’d invited me. We’d already booked separate rooms in separate hotels. We could even take separate cars for the ninety minute drive. Once in Napa, we’d stay busy and focused on carbo loading at the pasta feed, downing water and Gatorade, getting extra sleep, running the race.

“We both happen to be running the same race,” I said. “No one cares.”
“I don’t want my husband to worry,” she said. “He has to stay home with the kids.”
Worry? About what, gossip? We were friends, but she was married. My sights were set on eligible singles. “Have him bring the kids,” I said. “You can’t bail on me, now.”

But bail she did. Here I was, roped into a race I didn’t want to run, suddenly left to do it alone. Depressed at the thought of another weekend of solo travel – I’d endured plenty – I dropped out and stayed home.

While my weekdays do not include coffee circles, book clubs, or power walks, my cappuccino machine is always on, ready for a friendly visitor. Just don’t invite me to run a marathon or help you train.

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.

Ski week is upon us, and the kids will split their vacation time equally between their mom and me. The first half of the week she’s taking them skiing at Lake Tahoe. She has everything they need – snowboards, ski suits, goggles, helmets, walkie-talkies, and 4-wheel drive for safe mountain travel. She takes them to the snow once or twice a month, and they all have season lift passes. Oh, yeah, did I mention she owns a ski cabin?

How can I compete?!

Don’t get me wrong – the kids would love to ski and snowboard with me, even if we had to get a hotel room (the CalNeva has slot machines in the lobby), eat in restaurants, borrow gear from their mom, and rent an SUV (I’m not keen on driving my hybrid in a snowstorm). They wouldn’t care, they’d be happy to hit the slopes, pleased to do something fun with me.

While I do enjoy skiing, I’m not a fanatic. I go to Tahoe only once or twice a year. (Which is why I don’t own a ski cabin.) And with so many schools taking the same week off, Tahoe resorts are packed during ski week. Long lift lines. Crowded runs. Not my cup of tea.

So, how can I compete?

A four-day trip to Maui would be nice… or a weekend in Cabo San Lucas… maybe San Diego with Legoland, SeaWorld, the Zoo… or Disneyland… DisneyWorld!… EuroDisney!!! (er, scratch that last one)…

How can I compete? I can’t. I shouldn’t. I won’t.

I love cycling, and it just so happens that during ski week the Amgen Tour of California is taking place. It’s like the Tour de France, only shorter and closer to home, with many of the same riders: Levi Leipheimer, George Hincapie, JJ Haedo, Ivan Basso, Big Jens Voigt; and some of the biggest teams: CSC, Rabobank, Gerolsteiner, Astana. (And who doesn’t love Team Jelly Belly?)

Last year when I suggested attending, the kids were less than thrilled. True, they’d enjoyed watching the San Francisco Grand Prix, with its multi-lap circuit course and plenty of opportunities to see the peloton go by. But for the Tour of CA, we’d be watching a finish in San Luis Obispo (waiting hours for the pack of riders to show up, then whiz by in an instant), and the Solvang time trials (watching one rider go by at a time.)

“Boring,” my daughter said. “Can’t we just ski?”

Our family life is very kid focused – weekend soccer and lacrosse, scout camping trips, time on their own to hang out with friends. But part of being a parent is giving them new experiences, even if they have to be dragged along.

We drove three hours to SLO and headed downtown to stand at the last corner turn of the race. There was a huge crowd, jumbotron TV, free blow-up clappers with colors and logos from the team of your choice, an announcer who worked the crowd into a frenzy. The kids warmed to the event and got in the spirit of things. Then the riders came – but in a flash, they were past – and the race was over. We drove three hours for that? At least we could wander over to the finish area and take close-up photos of some of the cyclists.

Things picked up that night when we visited a hotel restaurant where the riders were eating. My son was allowed into the dining room and got to meet members of Team Discovery and Team CSC. They even signed his napkin.

While pro-cyclist Levi Leipheimer ate a huge serving of broccoli, and George Hincapie (Lance Armstrong’s right-hand-man in the Tour de France) downed dessert, one of their teammates asked my son if he rode a bike.
“Yeah,” my son said. “A BMX bike with pegs for doing tricks.”
The other riders at the table chuckled.

“Do you have a road bike, like the ones we ride?” the cyclist asked.
“No,” my son said. “But my dad does. He rides a Bianchi.”
Nods of approval. (Dad points scored!)

“Does your dad race?” the cyclist asked.
“No,” my son said. “I think he’s pretty slow.”

Ouch.

Time trials the next day were a blast. Staggered starts meant a new cyclist came by every minute, for over an hour. Some of the faster riders made up that minute and passed the next rider, often right in front of us. (We were well positioned on an uphill climb.) Nearby a spectator with eagle wings mounted on a helmet waved a huge American flag. German photographers took action shots of T-Mobile riders. My son sprinted along with each of these famously pink-shirted cyclists, hoping to get his face in a German cycling magazine.

Ski week is upon us, and are we heading to Tahoe to ski? No way. We’re going to watch the Tour of CA again. Already, my kids are talking about it, eager to go. Forget ski week. This is cycling week.

Meanwhile, summer vacations are starting to be planned. I think their mom might take the kids someplace exotic, like Costa Rica. Rainforests, beaches, volcanoes, zip lines, parrots, monkeys, mangoes… Which of course gets me thinking…

How can I compete?

© 2008 DadsHouseBlog.com. All rights reserved.