Jürgen
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Back in Lubbock, where it was 106 F today (or more)
What a busy week it has been! I meant to write this update on Wednesday, right after returning from Costa Rica, but I just never found the time to do so. But I really don't want to not say a few more things about the remainder of my time in CR, so here we go.
Instead of flying home on Monday, right after the race, I stayed for an extra day. Andres and I went on a great sightseeing trip to the top of Irazu volcano, just about 30 kilometers from where I had stayed. The drive up to the national park provides amazing vistas of the surrounding countryside, especially the city of Cartago. Unfortunately, this time of the year the top of Irazu is mostly cloud covered; on a rare clear day it is possible to see from this 3,432 meter (11,260 feet) tall mountain both the Pacific and the Caribbean. No such luck for us—we were lucky to actually see the crater.
Most of the time we were in clouds, and only occasionally did things open up for some spectacular views of the crater and the surrounding slopes with all their wild colors. Things were cold and misty, and Andres and I didn't traipse around for too long.
Just outside of the small warming hut/coffee shop at the top, we saw this white-nosed coati feeding on tourists' picnic leftovers. I think the coati is related to raccoons, and not only do they live in Central America but in extreme south Texas, too. I had never seen one.
After our excursion to the volcano, Andres treated me to lunch in a road-side eatery and then drove me to my hotel in San Jose. There I hooked up in the evening with Nelly and her husband, Rafael, for a nice dinner that was preceded by a huge pitcher of beer that they made me drink all by myself! Nothing like Imperial on draft, and apparently it was not possible to just get a mug. Oh well.
On Tuesday I flew back to Lubbock, where record-breaking temperatures have been making life miserable. On Thursday, we set a new record with 108 F for the day. Add to that the infernal wind, and it is truly miserable. Today we rode our usual 55-mile beer route, and we damn near didn't make it—the weather service at 3 p.m. listed the temp at 106 F and the wind at a steady 27 mph from the WSW, gusting to 37 mph. We limped in around that time, going west at less than 10 mph. Ouch!
Last night I had invited friends over for a little backyard dinner party, and about a dozen or so folks showed up. I had prepped some pork ribs, and thanks to the Kamado they came out absolutely perfect. I had also prepared another batch of chimichurri sauce for some fine mini steaks. Everyone had brought a great dish, and it was an absolutely wonderful evening with my friends. I had really had the urge to host such a gathering, and I think that everyone had a great time. Here are a few pics from last night:
And now it is Sunday night, I'll fix some of last night's left-overs, and then I'll sit down and read for an hour or two, something that I rarely get to do. It'll be another busy week, with the culmination point the Ironman 70.3 Buffalo Springs next weekend. Most likely I'll take a break from the blog for a few days, unless I can report that the expected "cold-front" midweek drops the temperature into the 80s instead of the mid-90s.
Jürgen
 |
| The crater lake of Irazu |
 |
| The color is really that turquoise |
 |
| At the crater overlook |
 |
| White-nosed coati |
 |
| Real friends order huge pitchers for their buddies! |
 |
| Nelly and Rafael |
Last night I had invited friends over for a little backyard dinner party, and about a dozen or so folks showed up. I had prepped some pork ribs, and thanks to the Kamado they came out absolutely perfect. I had also prepared another batch of chimichurri sauce for some fine mini steaks. Everyone had brought a great dish, and it was an absolutely wonderful evening with my friends. I had really had the urge to host such a gathering, and I think that everyone had a great time. Here are a few pics from last night:
 |
| Sandra and Martha with Randy in the back |
 |
| Sirloin steaklets, Argentine style with chimichurri |
 |
| The smörgåsbord with Martha and Liz and the Kamado and the dead lawn |
Jürgen
Monday, June 13, 2011
Fecha Copa Nacional
For once, more photos than text. Yesterday's race came off beautifully. The organizers and volunteers really did a fine job. There were hick-ups, but overall it was a great event. I'm posting some pics that reflect my impressions—a race in Central America is simply different from what you encounter in the USA. Remember: Clicking on a photo will enlarge it. Enjoy!
Jürgen
Jürgen
 |
| The teams start to arrive |
 |
| The Junior Women line up—note Starter Nelly's handbag |
 |
| The U23 Pan-American Champion proudly wears his jersey |
 |
| Five (5) cronos work the finish line |
 |
| The Assistant and the PCP |
 | ||||||||
Refreshments Central American style
|
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Pura Vida!
It's Saturday afternoon, we just finished the inscription / license check process for tomorrow's UCI race, I just ordered a Bavaria "Michelada," and the view across the Orosi valley below me is to kill for. Welcome to Costa Rica!
When I arrived at the San Jose airport on Thursday evening, a two-person delegation was waiting for me to transfer me to my hotel: 1996 Olympian Andres Brenes (6th place in the mountain bike race) and Chalito, who also has a real name but is simply referred to as Chalito. Andres, who used to race for Team Ritchey together with the iconic Frischi, now serves as the coach for the Costa Rican cycling federation; Chalito is a 64-year-old who thrives on doing stuff, like carting gringo commissaires around, lugging supplies for bike races on his old shoulders, and procuring lunches for the race volunteers.
When I woke up on Friday morning, I couldn't believe what I saw: Below me lies a deep, verdant valley with coffee plantations as far as the eye can see. A river runs from the distant ridges, and tiny houses cling to the hill sides. It's almost like a painting. My huge window opens into the air, as the Sanchiri is built as a mirador right on the slope that drops away precipitously.
After breakfast in the hotel of this eco-hotel Chalito picked me up to take me to the race site. It's only two kilometers away, but it's a harrowing, steep drive toward the bottom of the valley. Waiting for me was Omar Vargas, the young race director with whom I walked the 4.4K-long course. Oh, what a course it is! Part of it leads straight through the rainforest, with lianas hanging from huge trees, boulders all mossed-over, and water running across the trail out of sheer undergrowth. Other parts lead through areas with tall grass, affording a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains and the river that is being mined for gravel. Actually, this mining operation owns the entire area, and tonight I will have dinner with the operators. The course is formidable with its technical descents, leg-breaking climbs, and continuous pounding of the arms thanks to rocks galore.
This mountain bike race is ranked by the UCI as a C2 event (with C3 the lowest category), but the way the course is prepared one could think one is at a minor World Cup: Almost the entire length of the track is taped, the signage is exemplary, and the overall preparations have all been made. In our course inspection we were accompanied by Nelly Rossi, a Costa Rican commissaire with whom I had worked two years ago. She's a great addition to the crew, for sure. Another valuable person to have around is Francisco Chacon, the Technical Director of the federation; he and his wife, Jenny (who is also helping out), were also on my crew for the Central Amercian Marathon Championships in 2009; this time around, they are not commissaires but are working for the federation. The final holdover from two years ago is Johnnie Ching, who is my Secretary this time around. He starts out every sentence to me with, "Sir, please, ..." He's so cute. I haven't met the Finish Judge or the time keepers yet, but I am confident that we'll have a fabulous crew tomorrow.
Late in the afternoon, after I had freshened up in the hotel, Chalito picked me up for a tour of the neighborhood. Unfortunately it was getting dark already so that I couldn't enjoy the sights as much as I would have during the day. We drove on narrow roads—populated by stray dogs, rabid buses, itinerant cyclists, and oblivious pedestrians—through tiny hamlets, passed by coffee plantations, and had a look at an old Franciscan church dating back to the 1740s, which by Tico standards is apparently quite old. I suppose earthquakes and punishing humidity make short work of anything old.
For dinner, Jenny, Andres, and I piled into Francisco's SUV and drove about 20 kilometers to the outskirts of San Jose. We had a marvelous dinner in a Peruvian seafood restaurant. We were joined by the newly elected president of the Costa Rican cycling federation, Hernan Solano, who turned out to be a very nice gentleman. Over ceviche and salmon, helped along by two bottles of Chilean pinot, we talked about the challenges that the sport of mountain biking, organizers, federations, and riders all face together. Sometimes the job of a commissaire is more than just that of an umpire—I was asked about opinions and experiences from other countries, and I tried to be as good and diplomatic of an ambassador as possible.
Today's registration formalities were well handled by Nelly, Francisco, and Johnnie, with my giving some guidance where appropriate. I had a chance to observe riders training on the course, and I think it will be an exciting (and tough!) race tomorrow. The numbers will be fairly low, and none of the contestants are from abroad. Still, everyone is excited about the event, and so am I. We will have San Jose's most important newspaper on-site, two TV stations will shoot footage for their news programs, and a (sponsoring) radio station will provide live coverage!
In a little while Chalito will pick me up and take me to the sponsor's house for dinner. He seems to really like me, especially because he believes that I understand everything that I say. That's what I get for speaking a bit of Spanish and asking the occasional question. On our tour of the area yesterday he provided non-stop commentary, and I am ashamed to say that I understood maybe one tenth of what he mumbled. Nelly, on the other hand, is half-French and teaches that language, and so she speaks French with me, instead of Spanish, because I made the mistake of admitting to my knowledge of cette langue. I don't know what's worse, Chalito's delusion that I understand him or Nelly's ability to make me feel totally discombobulated in regard to which language I am trying to speak....
To end this post, I need to explain its title: Pura Vida is not only the catchy advertising slogan that Costa Rica uses to show its love for life, but it is an actual expression of "hey man, I'm doing great and life couldn't be any better" as exemplified by my greeting one of our course marshals with an innocuous "como estas?" and being beamed back, "pura vida!"
Yes, pura vida indeed!
Jürgen
 |
| Una cerveza Bavaria Michelada |
When I woke up on Friday morning, I couldn't believe what I saw: Below me lies a deep, verdant valley with coffee plantations as far as the eye can see. A river runs from the distant ridges, and tiny houses cling to the hill sides. It's almost like a painting. My huge window opens into the air, as the Sanchiri is built as a mirador right on the slope that drops away precipitously.
 |
| Another room with a view! |
After breakfast in the hotel of this eco-hotel Chalito picked me up to take me to the race site. It's only two kilometers away, but it's a harrowing, steep drive toward the bottom of the valley. Waiting for me was Omar Vargas, the young race director with whom I walked the 4.4K-long course. Oh, what a course it is! Part of it leads straight through the rainforest, with lianas hanging from huge trees, boulders all mossed-over, and water running across the trail out of sheer undergrowth. Other parts lead through areas with tall grass, affording a panoramic view of the surrounding mountains and the river that is being mined for gravel. Actually, this mining operation owns the entire area, and tonight I will have dinner with the operators. The course is formidable with its technical descents, leg-breaking climbs, and continuous pounding of the arms thanks to rocks galore.
 |
| Prelude to the breakfast in the Sanchiri Lodge |
This mountain bike race is ranked by the UCI as a C2 event (with C3 the lowest category), but the way the course is prepared one could think one is at a minor World Cup: Almost the entire length of the track is taped, the signage is exemplary, and the overall preparations have all been made. In our course inspection we were accompanied by Nelly Rossi, a Costa Rican commissaire with whom I had worked two years ago. She's a great addition to the crew, for sure. Another valuable person to have around is Francisco Chacon, the Technical Director of the federation; he and his wife, Jenny (who is also helping out), were also on my crew for the Central Amercian Marathon Championships in 2009; this time around, they are not commissaires but are working for the federation. The final holdover from two years ago is Johnnie Ching, who is my Secretary this time around. He starts out every sentence to me with, "Sir, please, ..." He's so cute. I haven't met the Finish Judge or the time keepers yet, but I am confident that we'll have a fabulous crew tomorrow.
 |
| Andres explains the best line |
 |
| Tarzan just swung by ... |
 |
| Francisco, Jenny, and Nelly get ready for the racers |
Today's registration formalities were well handled by Nelly, Francisco, and Johnnie, with my giving some guidance where appropriate. I had a chance to observe riders training on the course, and I think it will be an exciting (and tough!) race tomorrow. The numbers will be fairly low, and none of the contestants are from abroad. Still, everyone is excited about the event, and so am I. We will have San Jose's most important newspaper on-site, two TV stations will shoot footage for their news programs, and a (sponsoring) radio station will provide live coverage!
 |
| The best Secretary in the known universe: Johnnie Ching |
To end this post, I need to explain its title: Pura Vida is not only the catchy advertising slogan that Costa Rica uses to show its love for life, but it is an actual expression of "hey man, I'm doing great and life couldn't be any better" as exemplified by my greeting one of our course marshals with an innocuous "como estas?" and being beamed back, "pura vida!"
Yes, pura vida indeed!
Jürgen
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Dragon boats, the Manayunk Wall, and lots of homeless folks
Lest you think that my trip to Philly was all about the beer (see my last post), here's a bit more on last weekend—all written with an hour to go before I leave for the Lubbock airport to jet down to Costa Rica.
As I mentioned somewhere, my trip to Philly was based on my appointment as the UCI's Doping Control Officer for two races that were on the World Calendar. The Liberty Classic (Pro women) and TD Bank International Cycling Championship (Pro Men) attracted a total of around 300 racers, and my task was to test six of them for banned substances under the UCI's anti-doping rules. It was my first solo gig as a DCO since completing my training last year in Canada.
I flew in on Friday of last week, and the organizers had reserved a room for me in the host hotel, the Sheraton. since I carry one of their frequent-guest cards (it's really just a scam since I'm a Hilton guy) I was put up on one of the top floors, with buffet breakfast included. From my room I had a view of part of the race course, especially the start/finish straight and the roundabout with about 500 meters to go. I could also see the Free Library (the big building on the right) where countless homeless folks mill around during the daytime as well as at night.
I had been in touch with the organizers ahead of time in regard to the possibility of borrowing a bike for a few rides, and the folks from Fuji generously allowed me the use of a fancy carbon road bike for two days. I had brought my shoes, pedals, and helmet, and thus I was able to ride both Friday afternoon as well as on Saturday between the Team Managers' Meetings for the men's and women's races.
On both days I rode mainly the route of the race course, which leads out along the Schuykill river toward Manayunk, where the infamous 17% wall is located. Manayunk, so I understand, used to be a pretty rough place, where the workers lived. It was been transformed into more of a trendy neighborhood, with lots of eateries, small shops, and boutiques. And they are serious about the bike race! The TD Bank Classic has been in existence for the past 27 years, with different names but always under the same directorship under Dave Chauner, whom I had met the first time two years ago during my early training phase as DCO and who remembered me this year.
On Friday I did only one lap of the course, but on Saturday I did a few up-and-down along the Schuykill, especially since one side of the river is completely closed off to motorized traffic every weekend and one can ride without worries of getting nailed. On the Schuykill, a big Dragon Boat race meet was taking place, attracting dozens of 20-person boats that were battling it out in 500 meter sprints. Here's the final phase of the women's race: The Warrior Women took the gold by a smidgen. Note the big drum that the cockswain uses to set the cadence of her paddlers. It was quite a sight!
That evening, after having had dinner with the commissaires, several of whom I knew or had at least heard about (and vice versa—it is a small community) I walked the streets of Philly in search of, well, a beer place. But that's not what I want to write about: Rather it was on the one hand the artsy-ness of this city, with small galleries, an impromptu concert in an alley, and some very interesting graffiti, but also the many homeless folks that walk the streets or just lie on the sidewalk. Here are a few pics; remember, you can click on them to get an enlarged view.
Sunday, of course, was the real raison d'être for my being in Philly in the first place: race time! Unlike the commissaires, who have to deal with sign in, staging, etc. for the 9 a.m. start, the DCO gets to sleep in and have breakfast after the teams have ransacked the place. So I took my time, loaded all my supplies into my pull-along (those test kits are not heavy by themselves, but 10 of them (you need some extras so that every rider has a choice of at least three, in case he or she thinks that one is not kosher), and then walked myself to the Doping Control Station (DCS), maybe 200 meters away from the start/finish line. The DCS was located in a rented RV, which I had inspected the day before. It had a private bathroom that would allow my medical doctors to observe the actual passing of the urine samples to the collection vessel; it had ample room for the racer, a possible team manager, the doc, and of course me to do all the paperwork and the handling of the sample; and it was away from foot traffic and thus was going to provide privacy from fans and media.
The Pro women started about 10 minutes after the men, but since their race was only about 55 miles long, they were the first ones to be tested. After watching the start of both races I prepared the station, got all the supplies in place, made sure we had sealed beverages for the riders (just in case they needed to wait and rehydrate before being able to provide the sample), etc. Another thing I needed to do was determine the two random riders to be tested, in addition to the obligatory test of the winner. Before long, my chaperones showed up and I instructed them in their duties—they find the respective racer assigned to them after the race and stay with him or her until the completion of the testing. The doc showed up, and we went over the procedure, and then it was time for the finish. The women showed up in short order, each one courteous, professional, and pretty much ready to pee. I tried to minimize the intrusion into their work day as much as possible by staying focused, friendly, and efficient. An hour after the race, all three samples were properly documented and sitting in the RV's fridge.
With several hours until the finish of the 150+ mile men's race I was able to catch a ride in the chief commissaire's car for two laps of the race. The PCP (that's the UCI's official name for the chief, the President of the Commissaires' Panel, and that's what I'll be in Costa Rica this weekend) for the TD Bank International Cycling Championship (different from the PCP of the women's Liberty Classic, Canadian Wayne Pomario) was none less than the "bull-dog" herself, Louise LaLonde. Now, you need to understand that this nick-name is a loving one. Louise is an unbelievable commissaire and DCO with sooooooo much experience. She was my final coach and mentor last year in Saguenay, Quebec, and her reputation precedes her. She has worked pretty much any event out there, outside the Tour de France. World Championships, Olympics, Pan-Ams, you name it—her most recent gig had been as DCO at the 2011 Tour of California.
So here I had the privilege of sitting in the chief commissaire's car, at the biggest one-day event in the US, and seeing and experiencing all the action from the back seat. Of course, I've been Com 1 or Com 2 at road races before, but dude, this is the BIG time! And I have to say, after that hour spent with Louise, her driver, and the man whose voice was "Radio Tour" (more on that in a second) I have even more respect for what road commissaires are doing, versus what we as mountain bike commissaires are experiencing. I would like to publicly state: I am distraught by the fact that I am 55 (and thus way beyond the UCI's age limit), that I never got a chance to progress as a road official (because of the distance from the races), and that I will forever miss the intensity of being in charge of a world-class road event. Honestly, that chagrins me.
The chaos was all-encompassing. With a field of close to 200, everything was in flux. We were in the late stages of the race, and there was a break off the front, and the pack was chasing. With 24 team cars in the back (the break was hovering around 1 minute, and team cars can't move up until it exceeds a minute and the chief thinks it will stick) and no race radios (disallowed by the UCI), there was constant motion forth and back. We had three radios going in the car. The fellow next to me, the voice of Radio Tour (that's the official name of the channel that is being used to communicate between commissaires, motos, and the team cars, informing everyone of what the current situation is on the road—"a break of three riders, #53, 17, 78 has 1:56 over a 5-man chase, consisting of riders # 38, 123, 173, 48, 56, who have an advantage of 38 seconds over the main field"—and at the same time listening to team car requests—"Team HTC wants to talk to its riders"—and letting the team cars know that Team Exergy needs a feed (since one of their riders just raised his arm), was constantly talking, Louise was up and down on her seat, looking through the roof and giving team cars instructions, and the driver dodged riders, team cars, motos, even pedestrians. Holy shit, it was total mayhem! And I loved it and I know I would thrive on it.
Driving up the Manayunk Wall, a place that I had read about in VeloNews forever, was truly a spectacle. Fans were standing five, six deep almost the entire 800 meter stretch of this 17% climb. The noise was deafening. I could have sworn I was on the Mur de Huy in Belgium! The smell of beer and whatever was on the barbecue grill was overpowering. Our driver had no mercy with those who were dropped as he swerved around those riders to make sure we wouldn't lose the field on the downhill afterward. The roads are pretty horrible; when I had ridden this stretch on Saturday I had been wondering how the riders could bomb down going 50 mph and not lose their grip on the bars. Man, the car was bouncing like crazy and we were screaming through the turns!
After two laps I was dropped off at the DCS, just in time to determine the two randoms and meet with the male doctor. Testing the guys took even less time than the women as each one of the three wanted to get back to the hotel as quickly as possible. So, my job was done less than 45 minutes after the race. All that was left was fill out the appropriate paperwork, go to FedEx, and ship the samples to the lab. Easy! My first solo assignment as a DCO had been successfully completed.
I enjoyed another nice evening in Philly and then flew home on Monday morning, for another two days in Lubbock. And now I am sitting in Costa Rica, outside of Cartago, overlooking a verdant valley and waiting for the organizers of this weekend's mountain bike race to pick me up and inspect the course with me. So, come back in a day or two for another update. Maybe the next one will not take 24 hours to write as this one did.
Jürgen
As I mentioned somewhere, my trip to Philly was based on my appointment as the UCI's Doping Control Officer for two races that were on the World Calendar. The Liberty Classic (Pro women) and TD Bank International Cycling Championship (Pro Men) attracted a total of around 300 racers, and my task was to test six of them for banned substances under the UCI's anti-doping rules. It was my first solo gig as a DCO since completing my training last year in Canada.
I flew in on Friday of last week, and the organizers had reserved a room for me in the host hotel, the Sheraton. since I carry one of their frequent-guest cards (it's really just a scam since I'm a Hilton guy) I was put up on one of the top floors, with buffet breakfast included. From my room I had a view of part of the race course, especially the start/finish straight and the roundabout with about 500 meters to go. I could also see the Free Library (the big building on the right) where countless homeless folks mill around during the daytime as well as at night.
 |
| A room with quite a view |
On both days I rode mainly the route of the race course, which leads out along the Schuykill river toward Manayunk, where the infamous 17% wall is located. Manayunk, so I understand, used to be a pretty rough place, where the workers lived. It was been transformed into more of a trendy neighborhood, with lots of eateries, small shops, and boutiques. And they are serious about the bike race! The TD Bank Classic has been in existence for the past 27 years, with different names but always under the same directorship under Dave Chauner, whom I had met the first time two years ago during my early training phase as DCO and who remembered me this year.
On Friday I did only one lap of the course, but on Saturday I did a few up-and-down along the Schuykill, especially since one side of the river is completely closed off to motorized traffic every weekend and one can ride without worries of getting nailed. On the Schuykill, a big Dragon Boat race meet was taking place, attracting dozens of 20-person boats that were battling it out in 500 meter sprints. Here's the final phase of the women's race: The Warrior Women took the gold by a smidgen. Note the big drum that the cockswain uses to set the cadence of her paddlers. It was quite a sight!
 |
| Dragon Boat racing on the Schuykill |
 |
| Music ... |
 |
| ... graffiti ... |
 |
| ... art ... |
 |
| ... fixers and the homeless |
 |
| The race caravan on one of the many laps |
 |
| Louise LaLonde, working the race radio |
So here I had the privilege of sitting in the chief commissaire's car, at the biggest one-day event in the US, and seeing and experiencing all the action from the back seat. Of course, I've been Com 1 or Com 2 at road races before, but dude, this is the BIG time! And I have to say, after that hour spent with Louise, her driver, and the man whose voice was "Radio Tour" (more on that in a second) I have even more respect for what road commissaires are doing, versus what we as mountain bike commissaires are experiencing. I would like to publicly state: I am distraught by the fact that I am 55 (and thus way beyond the UCI's age limit), that I never got a chance to progress as a road official (because of the distance from the races), and that I will forever miss the intensity of being in charge of a world-class road event. Honestly, that chagrins me.
 |
| We were right alongside the charging field |
 |
| The infamous Manayunk Wall, 800 meters of 17% pain |
 |
| The peloton approaching the start/finish area in Philly |
I enjoyed another nice evening in Philly and then flew home on Monday morning, for another two days in Lubbock. And now I am sitting in Costa Rica, outside of Cartago, overlooking a verdant valley and waiting for the organizers of this weekend's mountain bike race to pick me up and inspect the course with me. So, come back in a day or two for another update. Maybe the next one will not take 24 hours to write as this one did.
Jürgen
Saturday, June 4, 2011
"We're pretty serious about our beer here in Philly."
Thus spoke maybe not Zarathustra, but at least one of the bar-tenders at Khyber Pass Pub, just an hour or so ago. If you're like Kai and want to give me a whack if ever again I bitch about something irregular in First or Business, and you on the other hand can't take another post about beer: Please skip this one, but come back, eventually.
So, now that that's out of the way, let's get to the heart of the matter: not riding 53 miles since my arrival on a borrowed Fuji, not my wearing a tie and blue blazer today, not the fact that I still don't have a female doc to watch the women pee in the cup tomorrow—no, this one is about beer culture.
I told you to switch channels if you can't hack it!
Had I known that it was Philly Beer Week, well, I would have done something. Not sure what, but something. As is, I had to be content with Triumph Brewing Company's fine Bengal Gold IPA, which I imbibed last night while listening to some fine live music. Now, if those lads could only find a way to pour a damn "pint" (which, as those who know me, is just a bleating lie when they sell you a 12-oz. glass of brewskie as a "pint" just because all those idiots out there have no idea that a pint is 16 fluid ounces! I know that Kai will back me up on this.) without an inch of foam. Gees! And once again, Kai will gladly back me up on the foam thing, too.
Anyhow, Triumph makes fine beer, with a well-balanced IPA at the very least. They were so good, I had to go back for another pint tonight. (You'll be pleased to learn that a) I instructed the waiter, as I was sitting on the sidewalk, to make sure that the bar-tender would avoid the inch of foam, b) the waiter brought me another small glass to top off the ill-poured pint, all apologetic, and c) I actually left, for once, a decent tip for the waiter.) After that, I was ready to walk home from the olde-town district to the Sheraton, race HQ.
So, here I stumble (mind you, at dinner with the commissaires, I had sampled the Yards' IPA, twice) happily along when I see this hole-in-the wall pub, the Khyber Pass Pub. Make a long story short, the beer list (a.k.a., the menu) was simply amazing. I kid you not: 22 (yes, that's twenty-two) unbelievable beers on tap, three of them straight from the cask. OMG! I also need to mention that my spirits spiraled down a notch when I was told that all IPAs (four of them) had been emptied last night, thanks to the crowds of the Beer Fest. Shucks. I sampled, in order, first the Yards ESA (really an ESB, but they call it an Extra Special Ale, not Bitter) straight off the cask. Talk about smooth. Before I decided on the next one, the bar-tender (holy Moses, he knew his beers!) gave me three tasters, after which I decided on the ever-so-lovely Belgian De Struise's Outback, served in a snifter. I thought I was done for the evening, but then I just had to have one more. It was the Ballast Point (San Diego) Sea Monster, an American Imperial Stout for which—I swear!—you have to have a knife and fork to muscle through. It was served in a tulip glass, letting all those aromas develop while my palate was going to pot. Don't talk to me about the superiority of wine: This stuff was heavenly.
And then I walked home. I wish I had a little tape recorder so I'd be able to relive all those sensation on the way back. They'd be snippets, not vignettes: the chick in the alley, hugging the wall in some impossible pose; all those urban bikes ("fixies" as the kids call those toys that we used to refer to as fixers) locked to sign posts; hot nubiles in even hotter short-short black miniskirts, not even knowing what they are showcasing and doing to us middle-aged fellas; burly dudes accompanying said nubiles, not knowing what could await them if their caps were turned the right way; the bleary-eyed black woman with the cheap glasses who totes several bags and obviously has no destination; the raw sewage smell in Chinatown; the seafood smell in Chinatown; the giggly, hot-panted Japanese tourists in Chinatown; the oh-so-dead Peking ducks hanging in the windows in Chinatown; Joe's Pizza and Philly Cheese Steaks, four blocks from the Sheraton, just outside of Chinatown; the happiness of taking off my damn shoes. That was tonight, and much, much more.
Tomorrow is the race, and pee control. Today there was some race stuff, too, but this post was about beer culture. They have it here, in Philly. Triple Js in Lubbock does not, I repeat, NOT.
Jürgen
So, now that that's out of the way, let's get to the heart of the matter: not riding 53 miles since my arrival on a borrowed Fuji, not my wearing a tie and blue blazer today, not the fact that I still don't have a female doc to watch the women pee in the cup tomorrow—no, this one is about beer culture.
I told you to switch channels if you can't hack it!
Had I known that it was Philly Beer Week, well, I would have done something. Not sure what, but something. As is, I had to be content with Triumph Brewing Company's fine Bengal Gold IPA, which I imbibed last night while listening to some fine live music. Now, if those lads could only find a way to pour a damn "pint" (which, as those who know me, is just a bleating lie when they sell you a 12-oz. glass of brewskie as a "pint" just because all those idiots out there have no idea that a pint is 16 fluid ounces! I know that Kai will back me up on this.) without an inch of foam. Gees! And once again, Kai will gladly back me up on the foam thing, too.
 |
| Live music at Triumph Brewing |
So, here I stumble (mind you, at dinner with the commissaires, I had sampled the Yards' IPA, twice) happily along when I see this hole-in-the wall pub, the Khyber Pass Pub. Make a long story short, the beer list (a.k.a., the menu) was simply amazing. I kid you not: 22 (yes, that's twenty-two) unbelievable beers on tap, three of them straight from the cask. OMG! I also need to mention that my spirits spiraled down a notch when I was told that all IPAs (four of them) had been emptied last night, thanks to the crowds of the Beer Fest. Shucks. I sampled, in order, first the Yards ESA (really an ESB, but they call it an Extra Special Ale, not Bitter) straight off the cask. Talk about smooth. Before I decided on the next one, the bar-tender (holy Moses, he knew his beers!) gave me three tasters, after which I decided on the ever-so-lovely Belgian De Struise's Outback, served in a snifter. I thought I was done for the evening, but then I just had to have one more. It was the Ballast Point (San Diego) Sea Monster, an American Imperial Stout for which—I swear!—you have to have a knife and fork to muscle through. It was served in a tulip glass, letting all those aromas develop while my palate was going to pot. Don't talk to me about the superiority of wine: This stuff was heavenly.
 |
| A snifter of De Struise's Outback and the beer menu, page 1 |
Tomorrow is the race, and pee control. Today there was some race stuff, too, but this post was about beer culture. They have it here, in Philly. Triple Js in Lubbock does not, I repeat, NOT.
Jürgen
Monday, May 30, 2011
A perfect weekend
Even though I had not planned another update from Germany, well, here we go. Sabine and I had such a great weekend that I wanted to share with you.
The weekend actually started on Friday afternoon, with steady rain but a promising trip to the oldest brewery in the world, Weihenstephan. To think that it was only a 7-minute bike ride to get there! Ever being the traditionalists, we went for Radi (a type of mild horse radish eaten with salt and chased with copious amounts of beer) and the ubiquitous Brez'n (accompanied by traditional and sweet, i.e. Bavarian, mustard). You got to agree, that thin-shaved radish looks just great!
With the weather back to sunny and warm, we started Saturday with a shopping spree in the Freising market square. Local farmers have stalls selling everything from chicken and potatoes to honey and olives. We ended up with goodies for our evening meal that were fresh and yummy.
Afterward, we did what one does on a Saturday morning in Freising: We went to Weissbräu Huber to eat Weisswurst and drink beer. Things were fairly well hopping with locals readying themselves for the day with a hearty meal.
In the afternoon, we went on yet another cycling excursion and sampled yet another beer and yet more wurst—fortifying oneself is important, especially when the evening is going to bring on a Zither concert. Since this is Germany, one puts on a decent dress and hops on the bike to get there on time. The Copenhagen Cycle Chick has nothing on Sabine, for sure.
The Zither somewhat resembles a steel guitar, and its sound is rather pleasing. The concert we attended featured the Zither Club Freising (with 12 Zither players plus three with guitarists), under the leadership of a conductor, delighting those assembled in the Pfarrsaal with both classical and traditional pieces. After the intermission of this decidedly very Bavarian concert—which attracted a crowd in which we stood out as the youngsters—an accordion / violin duo joined the fun, and the Meindel family (they looked to us like the elderly parents plus four adult sons or some itinerant uncles) took turns playing folk songs on zither, clarinet, and bass. It was quite an evening.
Sunday was going to be our last day together, and Sabine had come up with a great idea for an excursion: She wanted to take me through the Hallertau to Weltenburg, on the river Donau. I had no idea that the world's best hops are being grown just a few kilometers north of Freising! OMG, Hallertau! The area's crop is well known to true hop-heads, and the countryside is just as beautiful as the smell of those hops implies. The area features countless fields that cover the hillsides like vineyards in Sonoma and Napa.
Onward we went, to a small town called Kelberg, where one of the Ludwig kings (according to Sabine, it was the nutty one who also built Neuschwanstein, the Disneyesque castle whose name can't be pronounced by any god-fearing 'merican) built the pompous Befreiungshalle, which overlooks the beautiful Donau river, also known as the Danube to aforementioned 'mericans. Instead of the Befreiungshalle, here's a pic of the two of us with the Danube in the background.
Ever the industrious cyclists, we continued our bike excursion for a few miles until we made it down to the Donau river. Now, you need to understand that this river continues its run via Vienna, Budapest, and Belgrade all the way to the Black Sea. This is serious stuff, and one can ride one's bike along the river's banks—well, at least if you make it around the Donau Durchbruch just downriver from where we were. Here's a photo of the mouth of this amazing "tight squeeze," which is also the home of the oldest monastery brewery in the world, dating back to 1050! (The local monks obviously had some sort of gentleman's agreement with the Weihenstephan bunch, one claiming the "oldest brewery", period, and the other holding the rights to the "oldest monastery brewery.")
To cross the river we took one of the traditional ferries.What a cool concep: Hang the vessel from a steel rope and let the Lederhosen-clad ferry-dude dip the oar into the river and allow the current to take you across. Voilà, you've just earned a euro and a half.
After riding a few miles upriver we decided to go to the monastery at Weltenburg. After all, four beers were clamoring for our attention. The Urbock, which I had last. was the absolutely greatest, of course. Of the more traditional beers, it was a close toss-up between the ever-so-lovely unfiltered Weizen and the astonishingly hoppy Märzen. The Dunkel was definitely for the tourists... Ach, as we say in German, it was a great afternoon.
And now I'm back in the US, after several updates to this entry. In 15 minutes I'll board my last flight to Lubbock, where my great buddy Carl will pick me up on this Memorial Day, anno domini 2011.
Thanks for reading. Always feel free to touch base.
Jürgen
The weekend actually started on Friday afternoon, with steady rain but a promising trip to the oldest brewery in the world, Weihenstephan. To think that it was only a 7-minute bike ride to get there! Ever being the traditionalists, we went for Radi (a type of mild horse radish eaten with salt and chased with copious amounts of beer) and the ubiquitous Brez'n (accompanied by traditional and sweet, i.e. Bavarian, mustard). You got to agree, that thin-shaved radish looks just great!
 |
| Heaven, Bavarian style |
 |
| Market square in Freising |
 |
| Traditional Weisswurst, Brez'n, and Weissbier |
 |
| The Freising Cycle Chick |
 |
| One of the dozen Zither players |
 |
| A hop-head in the Hallertau |
 |
| Sabine's choice of tires was definitely more suited to the terrain |
 |
| The Weltenburg monastery at the mouth of the Donau Druchbruch |
 |
| Our driver across the river |
And now I'm back in the US, after several updates to this entry. In 15 minutes I'll board my last flight to Lubbock, where my great buddy Carl will pick me up on this Memorial Day, anno domini 2011.
Thanks for reading. Always feel free to touch base.
Jürgen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)