Mill Creek Road, Franklin, NC

What a difference a few days of R&R make! Just a week ago (plus/minus a few hours), I was driving in the middle of the night to the venue of USA Cycling's Mountain Bike Gravity National Championships, not knowing what to expect (or anticipating 47.5 hrs of recorded work in four days). Now I am in the south-western corner of this interesting state, in Franklin, where my old friends Miles and Judy live on Mill Creek Road.

Despite Miles' assurance that the local Wal-Mart features not only the usual, well-documented Walmartians but also a healthy dose of FLKs (oh, it is so politically incorrect, but I must annotate for my foreign buddies: Funny Looking Kids—remember the movie "Deliverance"? Heard of, ahem, inbreading, aka incest? Get the drift?), I wasn't scared to enter the "squeal pig—SQUEAL!" country. Franklin is bordering the middle of nowhere, and listening to M&J one gets the feeling that Deliverance could have been filmed here. As Miles likes to say, it's where the pavement ends and the dirt begins. Hallelujah!

The roads always seem to go up, hardly ever down...

The two picked me up at the Charlotte airport on Monday, and we spent the rest of the day driving to and then inspecting (some) of the brewpubs in Asheville, self-proclaimed Beer Capital USA. Well, sorry to say, but what I tasted at the Wedge, Lexington Avenue Brewery, or the Barley Taproom did not put them on the top of America's beer cities, at least not according to Mister Jürgen himself. Was the beer good? Oh hell, yes! Was it great? Well, only one approached that status, but I didn't encounter the equivalent to Russian River Brewing's Pliny the Elder, that's for sure. But it's a cool place, nevertheless.

Miles relaxing on his porch

After our night in Asheville we drove the remaining 85 or so miles to Franklin. Miles used to live in Lubbock, where he was a staunch supporter of the TTU cycling team (including the lovely coeds, as he wants to have chronicled). Even after he moved to Franklin, he maintained his ties to the Hub City through his annual pilgrimage to the Buffalo Springs Triathlon. He found the love of his live, "his" Judy (as he always called her to distinguish her from "my" Judy), at one of the many tris that he did in the south-eastern region, and we (=my Judy and I ) were privileged to host them whenever they came to Lubbock.

Another fine meal on Mill Creek Road ....

After arriving here on Tuesday, we've mainly been relaxing and not doing much. And then, in the middle of the day, we suddenly decided to commence riding our bikes in murderously hot and humid temperatures, approaching about 158 F "real feel." Holy cow! It is positively uncomfortable here whenever you step outside of the cocoon that air conditioning provides. Yesterday's 28-mile up-and-downathon damn near destroyed Miles, and even a passing nubile who was doing track workouts (not kidding—she was the only reason for me to turn back around to check on my buddy) was not able to "connect to his brain," as he later told us. In other words: It's stinking HOT!

A beautiful home on one of our rides

Apart from near-death experiences (Judy and I clocked another 30 miles today while Miles safely resting at home) we've been cooking unbelievable meals and trying to decimate the stash of Sierra Nevada Torpedo IPA that I brought along from Nats. I am relaxing and I am dreaming sweet dreams in the quiet Blue Ridge Mountains that surround us. Most importantly, I am reconnecting with two dear friends whom I hadn't seen in about six years.

Judy taking a break on Wide Horizon Road

And if you still don't know what FLK is about, well, here you can see how they look when they are adults.

Miles' brother Everett (left), and the other one is a cousin

Jürgen

Working, working, working—in North Carolina

Just a quick no-photo update, in case the internet should once again blow up on us:

I arrived here at Beech Mountain Resort near Banner Elk, NC, on Wednesday evening, after it took Hertz more than one hour to find me a rental car (with me holding a reservation). So, another late-night drive through unfamiliar mountains.

Yesterday morning I was at the race site at 7:45 a.m., for a first course inspection and meetings with all the key players for this 2012 USA Cycling Gravity Mountain Bike National Championship. When registration opened it became clear that we were in for a long day as the internet initially just coughed, then gave up its life for good. And young staffers nowadays don't know any longer how to switch to Plan B (full manual mode) when the 'puters go on the fritz. My Secretary, Vicki M., and I finally left the venue at 8:15 p.m.

This morning we were back on duty at 7:30 a.m., but yesterday's problems were things of the past. Today's races and qualifiers came off very well, no racers were seriously injured, and the rain stayed away, too. I haven't seen the mountains yet with all the fog and clouds and humidity, but maybe I get a glimpse in the next few days.

Right now I have a very brief break between the Dual Slalom Cat. 2/3 and Pro qualifiers, and so I thought I'd post a quick update, even if I haven't even had a chance to take one picture yet. We have two more full days of competition, and they will be long ones, I am sure. But nothing beats being Chief Referee at Nationals, especially with as fine of a crew of officials as I have surrounding me.

Back to work...

Jürgen

PS: Here are three pics from the Dual Slalom practice that I took after writing this post..

 

From sea to shining sea

Almost two weeks have gone by since the last post, and this one is being written while I am looking upon the tarmac of the San Francisco airport. The past five days I have been out here, on the West Coast, while it was New York just a fortnight ago. And believe it or not: On Wednesday I will be back on the east side of the country when I arrive in North Carolina for Gravity Nationals.

Heading across the Golden Gate bridge toward the wine country

My second trip to California this year took me for the sixth (and most likely last time) to the Vineman 70.3 in Napa Valley. Even after WTC unceremoniously and in mysterious ways severed its relationship with me, Race Director Russ Pugh went to bat for me so that I would be his Head Referee for 2012. Some people understand professionalism and display loyalty, even in light of corporate politics. So I went back to the race that Judy and I always considered our favorite, simply because of the high quality of the staff, the volunteers, and the capable USAT officials with whom I had the privilege to work over the years. Who knows, maybe Russ is able to get me back next year, but I doubt it. Regardless, I did my usual very thorough job, and we had a clean race with essentially no problems from the officiating side. Some of the USAT officials were obviously distraught when I told them that this most likely would be by last Vineman. Sad indeed.

The Penalty Tent right after the bike dismount line—my office on Sunday

I have good friends in that part of the world, and I had a nice quaff with Mr. Pepperhead himself, old Kai. He used to be my moto driver until he gave up scooters, making it possible to cozy up to Pete, who used to be Judy's driver. Pete and I rode together last year, and for this year we also planned some extra curricular activities that included Pliny the Elder at Russian River Brewing on two occasions. Pete is an extraordinary man (as is Kai), with a wide range of interests and a natural curiosity that both come in handy at his second-life job as a caddy. 

Kai holding court at Whole Foods' amazing taproom ...

... and Pete holding my Piaget Beer Gauge next to a perfectly poured Pliny the Elder

No trip to the Santa Rosa area would be complete without a  visit to Armstrong Redwood Preserve (just a few miles from the triathlon's swim start in Guerneville). As close followers of Judy's and my blog have learned over the years, this place held a certain magic for Judy. The little woman loved those giant trees, and who would not be awed in the presence of 1,400-year-old living beings? And so I took a little time off to go for a quiet and thoughtful early morning hike through the land of the giants. I am sure Judy was smiling, somewhere.

Trees that appear almost transparent in the morning light

In the Land of Magic

I spent time inspecting the course, made sure the quality of some of the local breweries hadn't suffered since my last visit, and even went for a very enjoyable wine tasting at Kendall Jackson. The bautiful countryside out here and the perfect weather whenver I have visited simply amaze me.

Johnson's Beach, on the Russian River, where the race starts with the swim

Dry Creek in the wine country

After a very long race day yesterday I drove down to Hayward on the east side of the bay and spent the night in a Hampton. This morning I braved what turned out to be not-so-horrible traffic and drove the remaining 25 miles to the airport. And now I have about 48 hours to return home, wash my clothes, tune up Luke's bike, see the chiropractor, do some putty work filling nail holes to help out in my house remodel project, get packed for a 10-day trip, have dinner with Liz, and fly out on Wednesday at noon for the USA Cycling National Gravity Championships in Banner Elk, NC. Shouldn't be too tough, eh? just another day in the traveling man's life.

Jürgen

A week in the Catskill mountains

You must have heard of them: the Catskills. No, they're not as high as the Rockies, and they're not as rough as the Cascades. But they are mountains, with ski resorts and lore. Heard of Rip van Winkle? Well, he is pervasive in the land of the "kills," which is a Dutch word that means something like "narrow stream." So, it's not as if a long time ago a bunch of innocent pussies were slaughtered in the Catskills!

Rip van Winkle appears in many disguises!

It was my second visit to the little town of Windham, the first having come two years ago when I was Vice Chief for the first UCI Mountain Bike World Cup to be held in the USA in several years. This year, Windham not only celebrated the third edition of the World Cup but much more so its resurrection after last year's devastating floods after hurricane Irene dumped ungodly amounts of rain in hours on the area. Watch this YouTube video, and you won't believe how pristine the little town is, once again. It helps when many of the homeowners are absentee landlords from NYC who have a lot of money (and connections) to help spur on the rebuilding effort. Just a few miles down the valley, in Prattsville, things are different—no outside money here, no tourists like in the ski-town Windham, and the destruction is still apparent.

A devastated building in Prattsville, 10 miles downstream from Windham

Uprooted trees and other debris are still piled up on the river banks

Idyllic—the river giveth, and the river taketh

I got to see a bit of the countryside during my stay in Windham thanks to two beautiful bike rides that I was able to sneak in between duties. Both loops (one 41, the other 37 miles long) took me through some gorgeous valleys and over some challenging hills. The vistas were amazing: You've seen pictures of the ever-more distant ridgelines that go from green to grey to bluish nothingness. The Catskills have them. Townships consist of signs and an occasional house, but "settlement" may be a better term than "village" or "town." The inhabitants of this region are definitely descendants of old Rip van Winkle....

Sleepy, hidden, inviting

Looking from a high vantage point toward the Hudson River valley

As mentioned earlier, I was in Windham for the UCI Mountain Bike World Cup, which featured the 6th round of the XCO (cross-country) and the 5th round of the DHI (downhill) of this season-long series. It is quite a sight to see all those European and American pro teams and riders descend upon such a sleepy town. The race is spearheaded by Nick Bove and Lori Torgersen, with much help from Rick Rasmussen and his wife, Amy. Nick owns the local bike-shop, and Rick and Amy make their money with their inn, the Hotel Vienna. I knew all four from my first visit, and I knew how hard-working they are. With their army of local volunteers they have managed to put an event on the map of international cycling that has an estimated economic impact of about 6 million dollars for the region! No wonder a direct representative of the governor was on hand for the press conference, especially in light of the rebuilding efforts and eventual success.

My work this time around was that of DCO, not commissaire. The race was inscribed for Elite, Sub-23, and Junior riders, which meant that I had to drug-test a certain number of each group, according to the rules that the UCI has established. I worked with interesting chaperones, who escort the riders who have been selected for anti-doping, and knowledgeable medical staff, who witness the sample taking procedure—my job is to complete all the documentation and make sure that proper protocol is followed. I had relatively little contact with the commissaires since our duties are completely different, but during some spare moment I took the lift to the start of the downhill and posed with these three fine commissaires:

Dorothy Nichols, Vicki Mackzum, Cyndi Smith, and the DCO on top of the mountain

Of the racing action I saw very, very little—the DCO is hidden away in his little fiefdom, waiting for the racers to finish the race and be escorted to the Doping Control Station. When the commissaires go home, our work begins. High temperatures and humidity (both abundant in Windham, together with beautiful sunshine) dehydrate people, and racers are no exception. Sometimes the urge to pee after a race is just not there, and thus patience is a virtue (and necessity) for a DCO. Chaperones who think it is a pretty cool thing to escort a World Cup leader to the controls learn the hard way that they cannot be dismissed until their assigned rider has finally completed the procedure. So, my glimpses of action had to happen during training.

A downhill racer catches some air close to the finish line

The DHI hot-seat, 48 hours before the finals

Late last night I returned to Lubbock, after another day of flight delays and rebookings thanks to US Airways' aging fleet. Now I'm home, for a full week and some change, and can continue to worry about my house-remodel project that has been coming along during my absence. But that's a topic for another blog update. For now, Happy 4th of July to everyone!

Jürgen

SFB (S**t For Brains)

OK, maybe I'm getting old, maybe running over to Europe is taking its toll, maybe I was just worn out: I missed my 6:00 a.m flight this morning out of Lubbock because I had set my damn alarm for 4:10 p.m. instead of 4:10 a.m. If you're European, you may not understand—one is in the morning (desired), one in the damn afternoon (not so good when the flight is in the wee hours).

So I wake up at 5:33, a.m., that is. Within nanoseconds the mind starts reeling, like in an 007 movie. What are the options? It takes another nanosecond to realize that there is NO way to make a 6:00 a.m. flight when you're at the house at now, well, 5:33.0005. Holy shittola!

Make a long story and many, many phone calls short: I am in Washington Reagan, thanks to American Airlines and their amazing ability to deal with a customer's F/U. They let me stand by for a later flight, without any charges. US Airways, the carrier that will take me from here to Albany, was not that customer service oriented: A reissue of my entire LBB-DFW-DCA-ALB and back ticket would have been right at $3,000—no kidding. So, I am forfeiting my 3:30 p.m. flight and had to buy a new, one-way flight to Albany, tonight at 10:05 p.m., getting me to Albany at 11:30 p.m. so that I can drive my rental car for another hour and a half to Windham. Hey, I'm not complaining. After all, I'm the one who set the damn alarm.

I spent about 3 hours on the phone with American, US Airways, and Switzerland (who bought my ticket for me), as well as at the LBB airport check-in counter with AA's Richard, who knows me well and whom I know, too. He tried everything, and I can only say "hats off" to AA and its employees. AA may be in bankruptcy, but it sure isn't because of their stellar employees.

Will US Airways buy AA? If so, I sure hope AA's customer service will prevail

Miracle of miracles: I get to DFW, have to hustle to make it from my stand-by flight from LBB to my (unconfirmed—another $75 fee for confirmation) flight to Washington, arrive at the gate, am number one on the stand-by list, get my ticket, finally take a pee (no worries, in the restroom), and am being paged. Sit down, because I couldn't believe it either: They hand me a seat in First Class. So why would I not want to fly American?

I have another 4 hours of layover until my flight. Once I get to Albany, it will be a dark drive into the Catskills, but I'll be fine. One fuck-up a day is enough! And at the Hotel Vienna (whose owner, Rick R., I know from three years past) will leave the lights on.

As I said, SFB—and if you use your phone as an alarm clock, change it to military time!

Jürgen

Team "We Are Back" (almost) rules in 19th Stadttriathlon Erding

Sabine finally had to agree that the pockets on my jersey DO come in handy, especially post-race!

It had been a few years since I competed the last time on my bike, but Sunday was the day for a come-back. Together with two new friends, Jan Pape and Henrick Neugebauer, I entered the 19th Erding Stadttriathlon as a member of team "We Are Back." Several months back, Sabine had told me that she would compete with some of her Landscape Architecture colleagues from the City of Munich in this Olympic distance event, and since at the time no more cyclists were needed to fill up one of the 10 City teams we went with Plan B, which had sprung from a chance encounter that Sabine had with Jan a few weeks later. All three of us used to compete but then ... well, you know how it goes.

Sabine and I pre-race ...

With my screwed-up back I was worried about being able to walk after the race, but I wasn't going to let my buddies down—after all, in our first get-together at the beginning of my European sojourn, we had set the bar high for ourselves, thanks at least partly to copious amounts of beer. Well, it didn't really matter how fast we were since we all agreed that this was really—no, REALLY!—just about participating. Altogether, 55 teams (and about 1,500 solitary athletes) entered this event, and of those 55 teams we came in 30th. Jan ran a 45-minute 10 K, Henrick didn't drown (which we all saw as a definite positive), and I turned something like a 1:27 for the somewhat longish (for an Olympic distance) 29 miles. The course was gorgeous. Sabine and I had pre-ridden it on Saturday, and it was just perfect. The first 11 miles or so were almost totally flat, and then the hills started. It was a fairly warm day with just a bit of air movement—maybe 78 degrees and 5 mph. The roads were the smoothest you can imagine (if you ignore the first kilometer, which was in rather poor shape), and all intersections were secured by police or firefighters. Best of all: No WTC to be found anywhere close, so the entry fee was a refreshing 25 Euro!

... and post-race

I don't know why we didn't take a photo of the three of us together before the start, but here are my two compatriots after the event when Sabine and I had already taken off so that we could make it to the social get-together with her colleagues from work. The "beer," by the way, was Erdinger Alkoholfrei, one of those non-alcoholic beers that make you burp a lot and that look good in those fine glasses but that otherwise are just not the real thing.

Henrick (center) and Jan (right) with an unidentified bystander—note the cool BMW shirts for our team (Henrick works for BMW and had them custom-made for us)

This triathlon presented a great way to finish my wonderful vacation in Europe. Yesterday morning I left Munich airport at 7:20 a.m., and I landed in Lubbock on schedule, at 5:40 p.m. Just a few hours, yet worlds removed. Twenty-four hours later I have unpacked my bags, done my laundry, tuned up two bikes, bought groceries, ridden 45 miles with my buddies, met with Rick who is rejuvenating my house, and gone through all of my mail. A week from today I will be in Windham, NY, as the DCO for the one-and-only Mountain Bike World Cup in the US. It's a veritable whirlwind of a life, and I hope you get to do cool stuff this summer and onward and enjoy it as much as I do.

And now, a fine parting shot that I took on Saturday when we previewed the swim course at the "Weiher" near Erding. After writing about all those Speedos I thought you really needed to get the full impact. Sorry, I didn't get any pics from transition where athletes simply stripped down to change. Oh, those Europeans!

A happy family at the lake—I didn't catch the belly scratch

Jürgen

Still in Europe, where Speedos and beer rule

It is hard to believe that 10 days have gone by since my last blog update, but here I am sitting in Berlin on a Monday morning and nothing but wonderful memories remain of the early part of June. My time with Sabine was nothing but perfect—we saw so much while enjoying each other's company. After our originally planned week in Keszthely had come to an end we decided to tack on an extra few days at the other end of Lake Balaton since the weather was so nice and the region so inviting. Last Saturday (June 3) we drove the few miles to Balatonfüred where we found an apartment for three nights. We had planned to ride on that Saturday, but we didn't get far with that plan: Our landlord, Lajos, insisted on intoxicating (and damn near blinding) us with home-brewed fire water and wine. So we sat with Lajos on his porch, making sure to stay away from open flames, and talking in passable German to a local about everything Hungarian. Quite the experience!

Flower-covered pastures and hilly terrain made for perfect cycling

The next day, we went on our longest ride of the trip, a metric century for Sabine who hadn't ridden that far in more than 30 years. It was a picture-perfect Sunday, and we rode through some of the loveliest countryside one can imagine. As a landscape architect who recently has been working on various rehab-projects for open spaces, Sabine was simply gushing over all the wildflowers and other vegetation features of the area. The roads were almost empty and in perfect shape—if only Texas had smooth pavement like that!

Scenic, scenic, scenic ...

The next day we took another ferry boat to the south side of the lake and rode in a rather prosperous area with old mansions and swank new villas. Again, hardly anybody in cars was around to disturb the peace and quiet. In one spot we found easy access to the water and stripped down to go for a nice skinny dip. Lake Balaton has an average depth of only 3 meters or so, and we couldn't really walk into the deeper water since our naked bums would have worked like lighthouses for at least half a mile. Foregoing the Speedo (which definitely rules in Hungary where old men can be seen mowing their lawns or riding their bikes in nothing but their leathery skin and their Speedo) felt quite nice, even though we were surprised by a local who walked up on us and thoroughly enjoyed the view of us (well, probably more of Sabine) drying ourselves off on a wooden deck in the afternoon sun. Oh well, no harm done—Europeans are a bit more relaxed about these kinds of things than most Americans.

Bikes, bras, and bare B&Bs on Balaton

A few days before our skinny dipping adventure Sabine and I had gone to the thermal lake at Heviz, a therapeutic spa where old and (a few) young take to the healing waters. The slightly sulfuric lake had a temperature of about 85 degrees, and we swam (I in my Speedo—no worries!) among those searching for a cure for their rheumatism or simply looking for a relaxing float among the lotus flowers. It was quite the cultural experience, once again.

The thermal lake/spa in Heviz

Eventually, we had to close the Hungarian chapter of our trip, and we did so with a beautiful drive from Balatonfüred to Millstatt in Austria, where we spent two nights before heading on for a few miles to the Gailtal, where we found another apartment for two nights. It was quite a change going from the gently rolling hills of Lake Balaton to the Alps with their wide valleys and high mountains. In Millstatt we had the most beautiful view of any of our accommodations on this trip, when we found a room right on the lake for about 75 euro for the night (also the most expensive of the entire trip). We had access to the lake, which we used to cool down a bottle of Hungarian Muscatel, only to see the bottle get stepped on my an inquisitive swan. We enjoyed some red in the late afternoon sun, and later we tested the waters, which were colder than Balaton—but that didn't keep us from going for a late-evening skinny dip nevertheless. Bare bums and breasts know no borders!

Enjoying the last of the afternoon on Millstätter See

The swan, three little ones, and a bottle of wine

Night falls on the mountains surrounding Millstätter See

Our 60 euro a night apartment in Kötschach-Mauthen in the Gailtal was the most comfortable of all. We had reign over a modern apartment with all amenities, including one of those beautiful Austrian balconies with the big overhanging roof line. On the way to this valley that stretches for more than 50 kilometers on the north-side of the Dolomites (and the border with Italy, where we went for dessert one evening) we stopped by the fixer-upper of one of Sabine's old friends, Rudi. Country living at its best—or worst. After that visit we enjoyed the sleepy roads and villages of the Gailtal for our final few rides.

No traffic, just nature and smooth roads

One of countless small water fountains that dot small villages

Had it not been for my lifting my bike the wrong way on the very last day and screwing up my back, everything would have been perfect. Bummer! Still, our last meal at the Ödenhütte overlooking the valley was the perfect way to finish our trip.

Deer goulash, home-made noodles, and cabbage salad

On Saturday the weather turned really nasty even in the Gailtal. (It had been rainy and cold north of us for several days, and by staying south of the Tauern we had managed to eke out two more days of sunshine. The drive back to Freising was punctuated by occasionally heavy rain and low clouds, which was a real bummer since we didn't see some of the great mountains of that part of the Alps. One other reason to come back one of these days.

On Sunday, after a befitting breakfast of Weisswurst and a few good beers, Sabine took me to the Munich airport and I boarded the short one-hour flight to Berlin to see my dad for a few days. My back is smarting enough that I walk like an old man and may not be able to get on my bike here the way I had hoped. A few minutes ago I scheduled a massage for tomorrow (upon the recommendation of my banker here who is an avid water polo player and who tells me that this Thai massage is the perfect way to get re-adjusted), so maybe help is on the way. I sure hope so, because before my flight back to the US exactly one week from today I am supposed to complete the bike portion of a relay triathlon back in Bavaria. We'll see.

As always, thanks for reading.

Jürgen