Posted by Dan on 6. October 2010 05:53
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
With the time trial out of the way, I had a few days to kick around Cuba while getting in a few training rides. On Tuesday, the bus left for the track at 7:30. I slept in, ate breakfast and rode to track to watch some of the early events. I watched a few events and rode the warm-up/cool-down track for what seemed like hours, counting the number of times a Venezuelan rider came within 6" of me. I lost count after 20. He was drawn to me like a moth to fire. I left soon after with another roadie to go looking for coffee beans. Finding only a tuKola Light (the State's version of Diet Coke), we made our way back to hotel in time to catch a bus to town. A small but rowdy group of us sought out the local arts and crafts market. The bus dropped us about two kilometers from the market, presenting the perfect opportunity to take one of those antique convertible Chevy taxis. Evidently they're not allowed into that area of town. We then searched for any taxi, eventually hailing a tiny foreign car that miraculously held 5 passengers plus one driver. We browsed the market for a while, finding several souvenirs that were sure to be legal to bring into the US. The bus required a push-start before it'd take us back tot he hotel. Once I was aware of the procedure, I began seeing it all over - people push-starting everything from motorcycles to large trucks and buses. Dinner that night was in the downstairs restaurant. Coffee in the hotel bar followed while we waited for TT results (all I knew was that I got 2nd and that 1st place went to someone from Bolivia) and road course description. TT results were 0:27:25 for 20k, 16 seconds slower than 1st place. The 40+ group had the fast guys, putting in times of just over 0:25:00. Fortunately, I wouldn't be racing against them on Friday or Saturday. Road course was still a mystery but we had someone that had done it before and was willing to take a group in the morning.
Pictures from today are here and here.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Riley by a Cuban Masonic Lodge.
Riders wishing to preview the road course were to meet up in the lobby at 10:00. When our group of 9 got there, we found our guide had left at 9:30. With a faint notion of where it was supposed to be, the plan was to ride in that general direction, quickly, in hopes of catching the other group. While fixing a flat before heading out, our guy went streaking by. Confirming no one knew exactly where we were going, I gave my best chase but never caught them. I made it all the way to the time trial course some 15 miles away. The rest of the group encountered three flat tires while I waited. Once we regrouped, we blindly rode around the outskirts of Havana, finding a small Cuban village and our way back to the time trial course before stopping for lunch at a nice roadside restaurant. Pork looked like beef steak and beef steak looked oddly like a chipped chicken patty. After a long lunch, we meandered back to the hotel, had a few drinks and I got a leg massage. Then more drinks and a swim in the ocean across the street. Back to the hotel for a shower then dinner downstairs again. Coffee on the patio and then bed.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The wind didn't care which course we rode.
Breakfast was followed by a ride of the road course ride and a tune-up ride on what we believed would be the crit course. The crit course was an oval-ish go-kart/motorcycle track with mild banking in the two corners and a minor chicane. The road surface promised to strip you of lots of flesh if you got close enough and the broken glass would pose a problem. I got a chance to discuss course-specific tactics (e.g. where to be for the sprint, the best line around various potholes, when to conserve and when to work in the wind) with a former pro and former Pan American champion before learning the crit would be on the roads surrounding the hotel. Bullet dodged. Back to the hotel for a shower and to do a little laundry before heading across the street for Diet Coke. This was clearly my lucky day because the girl that ran the tourists' communications kiosk was in and she sold me a phone card for 10 pesos. International rates were 2 pesos per minute and if it worked, I could use the phone in the hotel lobby to make my call. It took a while to get on the phone and even longer for it to give me a dial tone. Once I got one, I got my wife's voicemail. Twice. Unbeknownst to me, she'd been calling the hotel and the emergency number I left, looking for someone to tell her I had not been imprisoned or taken hostage by guerrillas. I did finally get through to her later that night before calling it a day and getting rest for the upcoming crit.
Read Part 6.