Five-hundred and ninety-three kilometers is the equivalent of 369 miles, and that's how much I rode during my eleven days in San Juan. And no, I've never said that what I do for cycling is work--it's simply an opportunity to give back to the sport that has given me so much. Sure, as commissaires we do get a small daily stipend, and in some cases (like my being Chief Referee for USAC's National Mountain Bike Championships) the vacation does become work and the stipend is much appreciated because for a week you sleep only three hours every night. But let's be honest: I had such a great time in San Juan that I would have gone down there without
any pay! And I think that riding my bike in the off-hours is appropriate.
Just a couple of hours ago I was in Argentina; then came the spectacular flight across the Andes to Santiago, where I am right now whiling away seven hours before my flight back to frigid Texas. (If the weather forecast holds steady, I will experience a drop in temperature from +40 C to -11 C (104 F to 12 F) within 24 hours. So, I was glad to get to ride while in San Juan, as you can imagine.
My daily rides on the gravel-ready Ritchey Outback were at times challenging to a degree that I asked myself, "What the hell am I doing?" Even starting out right after breakfast in the Del Bono Park hotel it'd be pretty damn warm--OK, pleasant, if you will. An hour into the ride it'd become downright hot. By the time I was back in the hotel, after 35 or 40 miles, I'd be ready for several bottles of refrigerated water and a long, cold shower. But between start and finish I saw so much of life in San Juan that I would have never wanted to have missed it.
My rides initially always took me through some of the pretty central neighborhoods on the way to the outskirts. Despite Duilio's (my local sidekick) proclamations that the barrio of Chimbas is
muj peligroso, I'd cross through the "hood" without a problem. At 9:30 in the morning not too many people are out to stab you, and I don't really think that's the case in the afternoons, either. My favorite rides were into the north-eastern quadrant of the greater San Juan metropolitan area, where there are vineyards and long, straight, eucalyptus-tree lined roads almost totally devoid of traffic. Those were the same roads that the race used in several stages, and when I sat in my office in the late evening watching the live TV broadcast of the race I would recognize places where I had been hours earlier. Very cool.
Riding along these empty rural roads, passing
fincas and
bodegas, I was accompanied by the constant chirping and thrilling of birds in the trees. At the same time, the smell of the eucalyptus trees was overpowering. Add a derelict truck passing by or an old man on an even older bike slowly making his way to some destination, and you feel part of this world that seems untouched by the petty everyday worries in our hemisphere. Gees, how I enjoyed these rides.
While out in the countryside I was able to look at the vineyards, the poplar-lined calles, and the mountains in the distance without too much worry. Get closer to town and the road would deteriorate with the occasional hole or bump that--as I so well know--can turn a pleasant ride into a ride to the hospital.
The happiest times, I think, were those instances when I came across an uncultivated vineyard that was still producing but that had overgrown its bordering fence and would invite me to sample a bundle of grapes. Dude, it doesn't get better than that!
So, I rode a lot and I really think that I started to get a feel for Los Sanjuanitos, as they call themselves. It's an area and a landscape not much different from where I live in Lubbock--both are arid and rocky, both suffer from occasional violent winds and thunderstorms (the local wind from the west here is called zonda), and both rely on scarce sources of water. Agriculture is king, and the people are friendly. The days are hot and the nights are cool, and weather can change from day to day. The only thing San Juan has on Lubbock is that it is surrounded by mountains. Pretty ones!
And what mountains they are. Stage five of the race ended at Colorado Alto, about one hundred miles from San Juan with an elevation gain of almost 2,500 meters over the course of the race. I could see the snow-peaked
cordillera from the finish area, and once the sun set, the temperatures were no longer in the low 90s but in the upper 60s. The remoteness of the finish was daunting: The next town was at least 60 miles away. And nevertheless, international broadcast systems had been set up, the full advertising machine was in gear, and hundreds of fans ware patiently waiting for the arrival of their heroes. Striped blue-and-white Argentinian flags were flying in the hard head-wind the racers faced, carrying with it the smell of dozens, if not hundreds, of
asados, the traditional Argentinian barbecue.
Of course, we had our own asado. My staff of about a dozen people that day had decided that it was party time, and while the Giants of the Road (who, in reality, are fairly small and definitely lightweight) were grinding their way up to Colorado Alto, we enjoyed untold cuts of beef that were expertly prepared by Ernesto. Homemade bread and a token salad ("Hey, we're not just meateaters!") rounded out the fiesta. I finally had to cry "uncle" as I didn't want to throw up whilst fulfilling my duties.
As I said, when the sun sets in the sierras, it gets cold, quickly. And with all of the races not starting until around four o'clock, we never finished much earlier than about an hour, tops, before sunset--several times later. The mountaintop became cold, and then the four of us--Duilio, Florencia, Gaby, and I--piled into the Toyota and headed back to San Juan. Duilio is a good driver, but there are lots of things we don't want to talk about here. I had asked him to keep the speed around 120 km/h--or about 70 mph--what with the burros and cows in the middle of the road. OK, the fastest I saw was 159 km/h, or right at 100 mph. That's on a narrow two-laner, outside of cell range, a long way from the next hospital--and with unlit, slow-moving trucks littering the progress. I'm not even going to go into the passing maneuvers that were required to overtake returning fans....
If stage 5 ended with a killer climb, stage 6 ended with killer speeds. The start and the finale were set at El Villicum autodrome, a modern car race track with grandstands and wide turns that, seen from the helicopter perspective, were simply spectacular. The field approached the slightly downhill finish line approaching 80 km/h, and those dudes were all sprinting full-bore. Just amazing. If I find a YouTube link to that stage I'll reference it.
The final stage was a 9-lap drag race around the ring-road that circles San Juan, just like Loop 289 does Lubbock. For days the portion that accommodated the start/finish area had been closed to traffic to allow the erection of several grandstands for the fans. (As a matter of fact, when I left San Juan this morning for the airport in Mendoza, the westbound lanes were still closed and workers were taking down the last scaffolds.) The atmosphere at the finish line was something from a soccer world cup--and apparently this was carried on all around the
circunvalacion as the paper reported that there were an estimated 200,000 spectators! The racers with whom I interacted after the race were equally full of amazement regarding the crowds and the enthusiasm that they displayed.
So, to wrap things up: This was a truly memorable trip. Everything was simply spot-on, including the final good-bye party that lasted until 3 a.m.--at least for Duilio and me. I made new friends (there's a standing invitation to come back to San Juan, and I will need to figure out when I can do that as I really want to), I drank some really nice wine and ate way too much red meat, I got to ride my bike day in, day out, and I was able to give to the sport that I love so much.
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| Duilio and I |
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| UCI PCP Miguel and I |
Damn good trip.
Jürgen
