Happy Holidays 2025

 HAPPY HOLIDAYS 2025

Best wishes for a great 2026!!

Two Wheeled Life Part 7

 Two Wheeled Life Part 7

Now with a secure job and summers free, we saw no reason to return to the USA once we departed for the summer tour season. The boss flew back and forth to deal with office tasks and to prepare for each new tour, leaving us with no work to do...and no salary. But we did get the use of the one of the leased vans and eventually talked the boss into giving us the funds we were saving him on airfares so we could have some fun in Italy.

We'd stay there until the last minute when we had to report for duty in Paris for LeTour, visiting friends and Heather's Italian "family". They were the family of a journalist Heather had met back in her college days in Virginia. There was a race put on by the Tour de France organizers on the east coast of the US and she volunteered (she was studying Italian) as a translator for foreign journalists and was assigned to this sports writer, one who actually was the ghost-writer for Italian star Felice Gimondi.

She'd visited the family in Italy after this but her new husband was really keen to finally meet these folks, especially the journalist's brother Giacomo, who worked with various Italian pro teams as a part-time helper. We rode with Giacomo a few times, once with sprint star Giovanni Fidanza. We'd also visit places in Italy other than those we'd experience with following the Giro. A few years later we arrived for a visit armed with a world champion, rainbow-striped jersey I'd been collecting autographs from every world champion we met. My idea was to get our friend to ask Felice Gimondi to autograph it for me since they were friends and he'd told us in advance he'd be going to a dinner in honor of the local hero.

But somehow I'd forgotten to bring it! A frantic search while our friend waited yielded nothing but regrets, as he was already late for the festivities. Imagine my shock and delight the next day when we returned to their house and have our friend toss down to us a jersey from his first-floor balcony. What was this? A world champion, rainbow-striped jersey autographed and personalized for us by Felice Gimondi! And another one, this the famous Maglia Rosa of Giro d'Italia fame as Gimondi had won that too. These are framed in our home today.

Our friend was a boyhood of Pietro Santini, maker of cycling clothing, including jerseys for world champions and Giro winners. When I couldn't find my jersey our friend stopped by Santini's factory and grabbed a pair of jerseys, taking them to the dinner and having Gimondi sign them for us! How lucky am I to have friends like this?

Those Giro d'Italia groups remained small in comparison to LeTour, which was fine by us! The boss plus the two of us and maybe another mechanic or translator made things much easier, especially when combined with the "hospitality gene" that most Italian hotel and restaurant owners had vs their French counterparts. Running a more normal cycling tour in Tuscany and later one in the Dolomite mountains let us really enjoy our work, our cycling and of course eating and drinking the best food and wine on earth.

On the other hand, LeTour was still a huge project, at one point the boss scored a couple of TV "up close and personal" type promo features on the ESPN sports channel. This jacked-up demand even more, though the limit was still three groups of five vans (120 guests) for each of the Tour segments over the three week race. Jacking up demand even more, American Lance Armstrong had come on the scene as LeMond's career wound down, including winning his own world champion rainbow-striped jersey in 1993. I had mine ready when we finally caught up with him! More staff was needed and I drafted in some cycling friends, some of whom worked out better than others. The Swiss guy was still with us, bringing his brother into the program while the boss found a couple of Canadian guys to help as well. The second mechanic recruited a mechanic friend of his too.

The operation was large but the boss did a good job organizing everything, at least most of the time. He'd make reservations with more than one hotel in an area and sometimes forget to cancel the one he decided not to use. Once we arrived at a race stage start and some of the clients decided to pop into a hotel/bar to use the toilet. Ooops! This hotel turned out to be one of those the boss failed to cancel and when clients walked in with the company logo on t-shirts, they thought the group had arrived!

When the clients simply started walking out, the hotel manager followed them, making a rather ugly scene that Heather had to translate/referee. Eventually she started using what I call "translator's prerogative" to deal with a lot of situations. It was mostly making the boss think she was asking for whatever stupid thing it was he wanted, but making the Italians understand the situation and coming up with the best solution. The boss had no clue and most of the time was content with the results though more than once she'd organized something that would delight the guests but leave the boss fuming. We'd become indispensable...or so we thought.

A few years later the boss brought a new galpal to the Giro d'Italia. She was keen to befriend everyone, especially the couple who did most of the work....us. We tried our best to be nice to her and succeeded enough for me to be part of their wedding party a few years later. Heather had completed her PhD studies and had only her dissertation to complete so we moved back to Southern California.

The idea was to work at the bike tour company office in addition to the summer tours. This way the newly wedded boss could spend more time his when she wasn't away on her flight attendant job. The hours were great, the work (at least at first) was fun, but the pay wasn't all that great, leaving me to find more work at a local bike shop, one started by a former employee of the one I started at years before. We needed to build-up another financial war-chest to survive a job search period once Heather was a real PhD looking for a teaching job.

This period started with the boss' wedding, leaving me to run the office during their honeymoon. It soon became clear that with two of us there, one was redundant and with the office in their house, it was more awkward than either of us had thought. The boss had a condo in a resort community a few hours away so most of the time he'd be there while I'd be at the home office, picking up the mail and checking in each day on what was going on.

It turned out the boss was doing a lot more golfing than working. That was fine with me, I was enjoying riding my bicycle for a few hours, taking the long way to his office, showering and sitting down to work, then doing the same thing at day's end. Friday and Saturday I'd work at the bicycle shop with Sunday totally free. Heather promised if she could concentrate solely on her PhD dissertation she'd have it done and be a real PhD in two years. I was determined to help make this happen. 

A few things combined to really make this a challenge - first was the all too typical "boss' wife" syndrome. That friendly girlfriend, eager to be liked, turned into a person with a lot of opinions on how things should be done, despite having no real skills or experience with cycling or the cycling business. She was a flight attendant so they scored first-class airfares when it was time to head to Europe...as long as they could fit the schedule, which had them showing up late or leaving early more than once.

The second issue was seeing "how the sausage was made" by being in the office full-time. The way this guy ran his business was tough for me to take. Way too much "It's just business" when he'd do things I didn't approve of, but it reflected on me as an employee. Combine this with the golfing, which created a mad scramble each spring before our departure for Europe with me asking why this all work wasn't done long before rather than put off until the last-minute?  Add the stressful summer work (especially at LeTour) and the wife's inserting herself into things she had no business being involved in and the once-friendly relationship began to crack.

Perhaps the final straw was my effort to screen-out potential problem clients. We'd still had a few, but one post tour discussion came to how few there were in recent seasons, despite the increased size of the entourage. These were the seasons that I was in the office so I took credit for this, saying since I was in the office full-time answering the phones and taking reservations, I'd begun to subtly discourage people who sounded like potential problems. At the same time I'd been keeping close track of how soon in each reservation period things were sold-out. The sold-out period had come sooner each season despite my efforts. I was proud that I'd reduced those problem client numbers, but the boss was not. Once again I'd exceeded my authority.

We were more and more treated as just "the help" in too many ways now but we toughed it out until Heather was a full professor, then moved to Iowa for her first teaching job at a small, private, liberal arts college. The boss still wanted us for the summer tour work and we figured with much less contact over the year things could still work out well. They didn't.

Tour de France interest waned wth Greg Lemond's retirement and after American star Armstrong's career was derailed due to testicular cancer. Interest in the Giro d'Italia was steady and the challenging tours that didn't follow events did well too, but there also was increasing competition combined with that overall shrinking market. And now there was nobody in the office to screen-out potential problem clients, as the boss went back to his "exclusive vacations" idea...excluding anyone not capable of writing a check that would clear! 

Complaints went up and employee morale (not just ours) went down. Heather's academic career began to blossom and she wanted to attend conferences that sometimes conflicted with the tour schedule. She announced that she'd be unavailable for the final one in the French Alps in 1998 but I would stay on as one of two mechanics, sharing a room with the other guy. The boss had his wife there along with a female translator.

Meanwhile, the 1998 races were exciting! Smaller groups were less stressful and Italian Marco Pantani's wins in both Giro and Tour made for exciting race-watching and happy clients. The tours in Tuscany and the Italian Dolomites had gone well too. All that was left was a tour of the French Alps, so Heather flew away to Greece from Paris post-Tour while we packed up vans to head to Geneva, Switzerland. The boss had arranged storage there for most of his equipment now that he picked-up leased vans there for a quick drive to Italy to begin the season each year, so at the season end we'd just pack it all up and fly back to the USA from Geneva.

The problem client issue reared its head again on this tour. We always had a few, from the lady who insisted her seat on a high-speed train in France face forward. Something about not facing the direction of travel was a big deal. A group of friends wrote a letter to a well-known cycling magazine, making a lot of rather silly complaints. Luckily they gave us a heads-up notice so we (as in me) could draft a response letter. One the magazine editors read that, the whole thing was dropped.

A lot of self-styled experts showed up to challenge themselves on the famous climbs of the Tour de France or Giro d'Italia, more than one without the equipment (as in low enough gears to get up them) needed for their less than stellar legs to get 'em up the mountain. Over the years I'd assembled an extensive spare parts box, eventually leaving in-storage each year along with the company's equipment. Having spare parts reduced the challenge of finding a bicycle shop when something broke.

In addition to those spare parts I soon added drive-train parts - chainrings and cogsets in sizes useful for big mountain climbs as too many clients failed to arrive with bicycles optimized for this kind of cycling. Labor to install these parts was included as part of the tour, but the parts were sold at a normal retail price so I could replenish the stock. Some clients began to take advantage of the "free" labor, showing up with a bike that had obviously not been attended to recently. 

Few things annoyed me (and the other mechanics) as much as hearing "Well, it's been doing that for awhile." when they asked us to work on their bike. As if the tour included a free bicycle tuneup rather than having skilled mechanics on-hand just-in-case! There were a few of these folks on this alpine tour, making extra work for me and the other mechanic, my roommate. 

Worse, it was a very hot summer in 1998, making sleeping in a hotel without air-conditioning tough, even in the mountains. My roommate was a mechanic un-interested in riding a bicycle, especially on climbs like these but I eagerly rode them every chance I got in addition to the rest of my workload. The combination of Heather's absence, the heat and some bad feelings I was getting from the boss made this a tough tour. He was getting complaints from the clients about poor-quality hotels and meals too, making things worse.

One of those problem clients sparked the first fireworks. This guy had already been exactly the kind of client I would have screened-out, but here he was. A constant pain with a different mechanical issue seemingly every day. The problem was not his bike, it was him. With one riding day left he asked that his handlebar stem be changed. There was nothing wrong, he just wanted to try a longer one, with one day left in the tour. Back then this was a tedious job and when informed by the boss after a big day riding in the mountains while the other mechanic did the support work that I'd been chosen for this task, I simply refused. I had ridden all day vs driving the support van, but I just wasn't going to do the work to change this guy's stem for the last of 10 days of cycling!

The boss had my roommate do it instead. My roommate grumbled about how silly it was and understood why I'd refused, leaving it to him. One more day to go before we returned to Geneva to say au revoir to Mr. Stem. Sparks really started to fly the next afternoon when the boss quickly ran up to his room, showered and came back very nicely dressed and announced, as we scrambled and sweated helping clients repack their bikes in-between taking apart bicycle racks and stripping the vans of advertising logos, that he and his wife had to leave right away!

No emergency, other than their first-class, free flight schedule had been changed and they had to leave right now! I couldn't help but wonder how long they'd known this but decided to spring it on us at the last minute? So it was up to the two mechanics and the translator to pack everything up for the storage people, take clients to the airport and return the leased vans tomorrow before we departed? The final insult was he insisted my roommate drive them to the airport, leaving even more work for me! For some reason the translator couldn't do this.

I was ready to quit but thought that if we continue working for this operation, some things are going to change. We enjoyed a last meal in Geneva paid for with the company's credit card which the boss later complained was too expensive. It seemed the boss had decided some things needed changing too.

Changes arrived that fall with a new program proposed by our boss. He claimed he was giving us a raise in our per-day compensation but when the schedule was reviewed we noticed that we'd actually be working fewer days. Not fewer tours, just fewer days as the arrival/departures had been set up for the same day - each tour ended with airport transfers as the next one started, with airport transfers. So in reality it was more work for about the same pay.

We'll never know if this was a ploy to force us to quit, but it worked just the same. We decided to create CycleItalia and do it our way in Italy exclusively, within days.

Two Wheeled Life Part 6

 Two Wheeled Life Part 6

American Greg LeMond in 1990 would again wear the rainbow striped jersey of World Champion as he had after his first win in 1983. But there was no Giro d'Italia tour planned by the boss as LeMond would focus on the Tour de France, meaning we had to follow the Corsa Rosa via a 900 phone number for results. Yes, like a phone-sex scheme, $1 a minute would let you listen to a recap of the day's stage complete with overall standings.

Excitement for LeTour was huge in the USA, spawning some competition for the tour company who had a monopoly on the market until LeMond blew it wide open.  The boss wanted to take anyone and everyone who wanted to go, adding yet another group to make three for the final week of the big race. Once Heather proved her French was as good (actually better) than most of the so-called translators he had, our mechanic/translator/tour guide duo was given our own group to run. The Swiss triathlete would run one of two for the first part of the race and we were assigned to his group.

He didn't need any translation help of course, unless you count the almost fist-fight he got into with a hotel owner. One of those "I'm better than you!" arguments over who spoke the language better. I learned from him that Swiss people are superior and the Swiss people from the French-speaking part of Switzerland are even more superior. It took me, "Mr. Pepe Le Pew" French speaker to calm the hotel owner down and get him to simply show us where to store our bicycles for the night.

We were happy to run our own small tour group for a segment of the Tour. While we'd had clients suggest we break away and start our own tour company over the years, this experience made us think more about it. More than a few of the guests expressed dismay when it was time to return to a group run by the boss or by his Swiss tour guide.

One incident stands out on this tour. The boss didn't want to turn away any potential client, fearing if he/she didn't come with his operation they'd go elsewhere and help these competitors get a foothold in what he considered "his" business since he was the pioneer of the idea in the USA. These increased numbers meant increased numbers of what I will call "problem customers".

Some people don't treat those in the service industry very well and their antics are often legendary. This fellow was no exception, so obnoxious that yours truly threatened to punch him out if he didn't stop his verbal abuse of Heather. He stopped, but seemed still determined to make both of our lives miserable during the time we had to look after him. I wondered if we really needed to take people like him? Couldn't they be screened out somehow? Why not let someone else deal with them? But it wasn't my company, I just worked there.

This fellow got his comeuppance once we were back with the main group. The boss called and told us someone had to go to a hospital. This happened now and then, though rarely from a bike crash, contrary to what you'd expect. Appendicitis and even an ectopic pregnancy happened during our tour guide careers. In this case the fellow had a sort of bike accident, somehow slicing the back of his calf open on his bicycle's front chainring while trying to get his foot into the pedal.

The boss drove up with this fellow, obviously in great pain. Heather soon realized he was "Mr. Nice Guy" the guy who made our lives miserable. I'll never forget the look on his face when he realized who would be translating for him at the hospital! Heather joked that she would tell the emergency room docs the guy was allergic to painkillers, so they'd have to clean-out and sew-up his calf without them!

There were no interviews with Greg LeMond for 1990. Just like Hampsten at the Giro in 1989, the defending champion's in too much demand. The boss went back to his old ways, lining up some former 7/11 riders now backed by Motorola. They were fine but we really missed LeMond who won again, this time for a new team and a real salary, plus we missed the Tour of Italy. France was great but LeTour was becoming a lot of work, while Italy really had a hold on us.

Post-Tour we returned to the USA, loaded up a car and drove to Charlottesville, VA where I had a bike shop manager job lined up...or so I thought. Heather found work with her other passion, horses. She'd been a competitive horse rider as well as cyclist, so working on a horse farm was second nature and she got on well with the owner. I couldn't say as much as the bike shop owner wasn't going to install me as manager for his 2nd store right away, insisting I learn more about his business by working under a New York City "hipster" couple he had managing it at the time.

I could see why he wanted to replace them as soon as we met but decided to go with the program - I needed this job! A few weeks went by but the boss seemed reluctant to put his plan into action. While I loved the area's great cycling (one of my regular rides passed by Jefferson's Monticello estate) great weather and friendly people, I finally insisted something be done, I wasn't there to work for someone else, especially people as incompetent as this couple.

An employee meeting was soon held, one I assumed would include the announcement of the management change, but the store owner chickened-out it seemed. I waited and waited but the meeting ended with me wondering why the meeting was held? The next day I met with the store owner and explained I'd spent a lot of money to move to Charlottesville, took this job over other possibilities and unless he was willing to honor his promise, he'd need to cover those expenses so I could at least break-even and find other employment. In some ways I didn't want to work for him anyway after this, so I was happy when we reached a settlement and I was free. Free to watch the NYC duo run his 2nd store into the ground.

But free as I now had no job. The settlement money would keep us going for awhile but we needed INCOME! Heather saw an ad for salesmen at a local car dealer and insisted I apply. I was hired along with a half-dozen others and put into a group run by one of the sales managers. They would teach us how to sell cars their way. I'd already had sales training so soon ended up their top student. The sales managers had their pick of the students to reward their efforts and I was #1 pick and put on the sales floor soon after.

Selling cars was basically a commission deal. I was used to that from my outside salesman experience with motorcycles and bicycles, plus I liked and knew a bit about cars as well. Within a few months I was featured in the dealership's monthly ad - "Salesman of the Month" the person who sold the most cars in the previous month. Our financial "war-chest" was growing quickly when combined with Heather's increased earnings as she became more involved with the horse farm.

One day the bike shop owner contacted me for a meeting. He'd finished paying off the settlement so I wondered why? The NYC couple was running his 2nd store into the ground and he wanted me to come back and save it. I felt sorry for him as he was a nice fellow but I was making too much money at the car dealer and with that and what Heather was making we knew we'd soon have the money to return to Massachusetts and get Heather back into grad school. Plus the summer bike tour season wasn't that far away. US interest in European cycling was huge so we'd be at both the 1991 Giro d'Italia and Tour de France soon.

I secured a two week leave-of-absence from the car dealership to work the Giro d'Italia. I don't remember what excuse I used but they weren't going to lose their top salesman over him being gone for a couple of weeks. We'd really missed Italy and had a great time, though one client stood out from the rest.

"Trust-fund Boy" signed up for the vacation package along with his "Man Friday" who turned out to be the owner of a swanky bicycle store in toney Brentwood, CA. It seemed the two were combining business with pleasure as the bike shop owner wanted his pal to bankroll his efforts to secure US importation rights to a famous cycling brand from Torino. At the welcome dinner after introductions, Mr. Trust-fund quietly asked us why we didn't run our own tour company since we had the skills vs our boss, who he said had none?

We replied that we had a friendly relationship with the boss and saw no need to break-up a good thing. We found out just how obnoxious this fellow was the next night when we watched as he ordered and sent back three different bottles of wine in the hotel ristorante. This guy was clueless, as unless the waiter suggests the wine and assures you that you'll like it, the only reason to send it back is if it's defective or spoiled in some way. Again I wondered if there wasn't some way to screen people like this out?

By this time our van caravan routine had become well rehearsed. We had CB radios in them after my insistence, even paying for a pair myself to prove their worth. Eventually the boss let me order them for all of the vehicles. He really liked the greater control and it helped a lot with the convoy, especially on the superhighways on long drives across France.

But they also came in handy during exits from race venues as in this Giro d'Italia. I was always the last van in line, sort of the gate-keeper. On the highways we'd draft each other like a NASCAR race, allowing the entire group to go closer to the speed limit than a single van with 9 bicycles on the roof and 9 passengers could go. But you really had to pay attention and the CB radios became essential when it came time to move left and pass slower traffic.

It worked like this: I would get a message "OK Larry" from the boss as he closed-up on slower traffic in the right lane. I would wait for an opening in the traffic to our left, then change lanes, blocking any vehicles behind so the rest of ours could move left in one (we hoped) smooth move behind the boss' lead van. When we'd cleared the slower traffic I'd get the message to move back to the right. It all worked very well once the other tour guides got a little practice, I think only once did anyone crash and thankfully that was a few years later during a transfer where most of the clients had been put on a train.

Often we'd be at the top of a mountain pass, waiting for clients to ride along the route and then stop to await the race finish. Then the task was getting down and off to the night's hotel. We used a similar tactic on the two lane mountain roads: Police would escort the real team vehicles with bikes and riders off the mountain, clearing the opposing lane of traffic with police on each end.

I would watch for one of these convoys, usually the police and less than a half-dozen race team vehicles. With our vans covered with bicycles on top and advertising stickers on the sides the police usually had no issues when a similar move was made by our caravan. But the difference here was the roads and the speeds! Teams used station-wagons with 4-5 people inside and 6-8 bicycles on the roof. These were much faster and more maneuverable on the twisty mountain descents, making staying in the police escort a challenge in a boxy van with 9 people inside and the same number of bikes on the roof!

This kind of driving didn't bother me or the boss but Mr. Trust-fund freaked out, demanding we quit our race down the mountain. I can still remember him getting right in the boss' face when we finally arrived at the night's hotel. If nobody much liked him at the start of the tour, he really had no fans now. He got a comeuppance of sorts later when the boss, who he'd pestered to ride with him multiple times, finally agreed one afternoon after we'd arrived at our hotel.

"Trust-fund" and "Man Friday" were dressed and ready-to-go. The boss demanded that I suit-up and join them. Uh-oh, this wasn't going to be pretty but what choice did I have? The area around the hotel was mercifully flat, mostly access roads around rice-paddies. Yes, that risotto rice is grown in Italy. The race was on! The boss went to the front and demonstrated his hatred of Mr. Trust-fund by repeatedly trying to drop him. I was hanging on for dear life, doing just short stints at the front with tongue almost in my front wheel spokes.

"Man-Friday" would drag his boss back up to us, closing any gap. Highway overpasses were another place to attack, leaving me gasping for breath as the "race" continued. Finally Mr. Trust-fund was dropped for good while "Man-Friday" who we guessed must have become as sick of this fellow as we were, closed the gap but left his boss far behind, but just close enough to see where we were going so he wouldn't get lost. We waited for Trust-fund at the hotel entranc, where all he could say between gasps for breath was "good ride". I guess my boss had made his point?

We'd use this same hotel again where another incident occurred: a late arrival and check-in had us scrambling to put bikes away, unload luggage and get the room keys for our guests. The hotel had a sort of annex with ground-floor rooms with sliding glass doors opening into a grassy courtyard. I got the last bike put away and rushed off for a quick shower and change before the group dinner. As soon as I had every stitch of clothing off, a female client barged into the room via the sliding glass door, evidently thinking it was her room! "Live Nude Tour Leaders" became the joke though I think she was more red-faced than yours truly.

Next up was LeTour, but first we had to return to the USA where I went back to work at the car dealership to find some changes were being made. The sales force was being separated into two competing groups, each with their own sales manager. I hadn't been assigned to one so I was able to choose and went with the team mostly made up of Black folks, mostly because I liked the Black sales manager who'd helped me close a lot more deals than his White counterpart. A prize was announced for the team that sold more cars in a certain period, a period I'd missed half of. But our team won and they voted me a full-share of the prize money as I'd sold a lot of cars in just two weeks.

Then I had to tell them I was quitting, giving two-weeks notice before we climbed on a plane to Paris for Tour de France 1991. Since LeMond had won again in 1990 the boss had a massive group for this one, I think it was three groups of 5 vans, so 120 clients in total! Some serious money for a guy who got his start offering one-day cycling tours in the Santa Barbara wine country!! We'd been negotiating better salaries as our work load went up with these ever-larger groups. More competitors were coming too, making the "problem client" issue more and more prevalent.

In a couple seasons, I don't remember the exact years, the boss also followed the Tour de Suisse. I don't even remember why but American Andy Hampsten raced it a few times so maybe that was the reason. This meant staying over between the Giro and Tour for us vs flying back to the USA, eventually negotiating a deal where we shared in the savings from fewer trans-atlantic flights. When interest in the Swiss tour dwindled we suggested a challenging tour riding around in our beloved Italy instead. Not following races, but just ride, eat, drink, sleep, repeat. The boss chose Tuscany for this and got no complaints from us!

LeMond couldn't win again in 1991, the famous year his former team PDM withdrew from the race with stomach issues. Rumors were some sort of doping product they used had somehow spoiled but Miguel Indurain began the string of mostly boring victories that would last until 1995. Post-tour we returned to Virginia, loaded up our stuff and returned to Massachusetts with a well stocked bank account.

I tried a job with a car dealership, secured with the great reference from my former employer but this dealership was poorly run, surviving only because the Honda cars they sold were in high-demand. I'd burned my bike shop bridges in this area so things were looking grim until Heather (just like in VA) saw a newspaper help-wanted ad for a service manager for an independent car repair shop in a tiny town within cycling distance to the north of us.

Resume was soon sent off and surprisingly the phone rang! This place was looking for someone to work only during the school term. With five colleges in the area their business dried-up in the summers so they really didn't want or need a service manager then, making our situation perfect so I got the job. Heather was able to attend school full time again and excelled in her studies while we again enjoyed riding road and mountain bikes along with XC skiing in the winter.

Service manager was a decent job, something I was familiar with from the bike shop experiences and the summers off made the bike tour obligations easy. The owners liked and trusted me enough to actually take their first non-summer vacation in years!

Two Wheeled Life Part 5

 Two Wheeled Life Part 5

1989 was an eventful year to say the least. The tour company boss thought his Tour de France chasing vacation packages would be more popular than ever as he'd done well with the first one in 1987, probably double or tripled his sales in 1988 and with American Greg LeMond's likely return, he doubled down again. LeMond had won LeTour in 1986, which inspired his cycling vacation scheme, though a British operation was already running a low-end program using a huge bus and cheap lodging. His were far from luxury but aimed at Americans with decent disposable incomes rather than Brits on the dole.

For 1989 he'd expand to two separate groups as running more than a 5 van convoy (40 clients) wasn't logistically possible, so yours truly would lead a separate (smaller) group for the crucial final week of the race, often using the same hotels and meeting up in the same places for race-viewing, private interviews, etc. 

He'd also hire an interpreter/tour guide to help me since my French is at the cartoon Pepe Le Pew level at best. The new guy was a triathlete from the French part of Switzerland. Later I'd find out from this fellow just how little French the other so-called interpreters the boss used actually spoke!

First order of business was an R & D or "scouting" trip as the boss liked to call them. He went earlier to scout some routes for a smaller group following only a few early stages of the big races so I flew over alone, found my way to the train station and met him in the southeastern part of France. He had his mother with him for company but she departed soon after I arrived. I felt sorry for the woman bouncing around in the back seat of the rental car as the boss roared around the mountain roads.

The idea was for me to be familiar enough with the roads and area to lead this smaller tour group for the final week of the big race. With the interpreter he'd promised I figured we'd make it work since a European could bail me out if needed. But first there were other bike races, including the first Tour de Trump, the less said about, the better. But Greg LeMond was there and the boss keen to set up private interviews, but nothing came of it. The race was really a joke and the real estate tycoon soon tired of it, despite his early claims it would soon rival the Tour de France.

The next race, the Giro d'Italia, something I was really looking forward to. As a lover of Italian motorcycles, bicycles, food, etc. I thought this would be even more fantastic than the Tour de France, though the race was rather low-key in comparison unless you're Italian. American Andy Hampsten had become the first winner from the USA the previous year, sparking enough interest for the boss to put together a vacation package. He knew the first time would be a small group so I didn't need to go with him on the R & D junket. I'm not sure if his poor mother was drafted in, but I was excited!

Until the sales of this tour didn't reach his expectations. Greg LeMond's comeback wasn't going as expected while low-key Andy Hampsten's win didn't generate the interest the boss forecast. But he'd taken reservations/deposits so tour was still on and I was still excited about seeing what they call the "Corsa Rosa" (pink race).

Until he announced reservations were so few, I wouldn't be needed! He'd hired an interpreter to deal with the Italian language and he figured this newly-retired from racing American woman could do the driving, guiding and even help with the bicycles, so why spend money to bring me along too?

As you might guess, this news hit me hard. One of the big reasons I'd committed to working for this guy was the idea that I'd do ALL of his vacations, big or small. But he claimed the Giro tour was at best going to break-even and this woman's husband might come along as a paying client, so my scheme to find an interpreter already in Italy was for nothing. After some back and forth my desire to go overcame my annoyance and financial requirements so we made a deal and I was going!

Despite the claims of just breaking-even, the boss brought along a new galpal, this one not even pretending to speak any helpful language like his former girlfriend. I met her and the interpreter (sans hubby who backed-out or maybe never was going to come?) at the Los Angeles airport for a flight to Milan. I thought this interpreter was attractive in a kind of international way - turns out she'd studied in the UK, had family and friends in Italy and had even raced her bike internationally. I had a credit card sponsored by the US cycling federation's bank sponsor with a bike racing photo on it...she pointed out that she was cut out of the photo, all you could see was her shoe! She later showed me the same exact shoe - she was for real!

I liked her right away, trying to help her understand the boss a little bit though she caught on quickly, many times smoothing over issues with hotels and restaurants with her charm and language skills. She quickly figured out what the boss wanted (or should have wanted) before he did and was soon indispensable to our small group. The boss drove one van and yours truly the other with the interpreter often with me since the boss had his galpal for company. We enjoyed plenty of conversations about cycling, Italy and our hopes and dreams for the future.

I fell in love with Italy pretty quickly, starting with exiting the (then small) Milan airport. We were backed up a bit in traffic getting onto the highway to the hotel. When we finally got around the back-up I saw what was causing it - a guy on his bicycle motorpacing a car! High-speed training, on a controlled-access highway? Only in Italy! Did anyone scream and shout at this fellow to "get back on the sidewalk where you belong!"? No, they just drove around as if this was just another day. What a country - and I hadn't even had lunch yet!

The whole experience was like a dream and I was falling in love both with Italy and this interpreter. But there was a race to follow and the boss was still in pursuit of Greg LeMond for private interviews. Since Andy Hampsten was the defending champion he was out of reach for what the boss wanted to pay for interviews, which was around $500. Easy money for a journeyman pro not on a huge salary but getting the defending Giro champ for $500 wasn't going to happen.

So the pursuit of LeMond continued even though as a second-thought. His helper, a Mexican guy named Otto was asked if "The Champ" as he called LeMond would be interested in speaking with us? Otto said he'd ask and after a few days a date was made. Amazingly, some of the tour clients weren't interested. They wanted Hampsten or nothing! LeMond was washed-up they claimed and his performance at the Giro so far had done nothing to change their minds. Off we went to Lemond's team hotel as planned, though we needed only one van as others didn't bother to show up for the ride there.

LeMond showed-up in the hotel lobby as agreed and seemed very happy to hear from US cycling fans rather than endure (mostly Italian) claims that he was washed-up after his near-death hunting accident. He charmed everyone - there's no filter between his brain (or heart) and his mouth. Finally the team director came down and almost dragged him away, but not before the boss asked if he'd be willing to do interviews at LeTour? "Sure, if I'm in it." was his response.

Seeing how much everyone enjoyed the meeting the boss was keen to arrange two more at the Tour de France, especially as LeMond had said his recovery was hindered by anemia and they'd now started therapy to fix it, so maybe he wasn't as washed-up as many thought? The boss proposed to pay $500 to the Tour de France 1986 winner for each interview. LeMond was having none of it. He smiled and countered with $1500. The boss countered with $1000. LeMond laughed, saying 1500 again, but 1500 lire - "You can buy me a coffee. I'll do 'em for free."

This seemed a really great deal, especially when LeMond came second in the Giro's final time trial. Was he back? And would he actually do the interviews? I was falling in love more and more with Italy and the Giro, probably helped by falling in love with the interpreter as well? Too soon the whole thing was over and a lovesick yours truly went back to his lonely apartment and bike shop job, full of stories about one of his new loves - ITALIA.

The other? She was someone's wife so what was I supposed to do? When she'd explained she was going to graduate school in the fall on the other side of the country from her home in Santa Barbara and it didn't look like her husband was going to join her I blurted out "I'll go with you!" like a lovesick fool. But I never in a million years thought it would happen. Until she called me at the bike shop one day, a few weeks before I was ready to fly to France for LeTour.

We talked a few times later, mostly about her going to school. I explained if she wasn't married I'd be doing whatever I could for someone following their passion (Philosophy) without regard for how much money could be made from it. Sound familiar? We left it there, or so I thought. Until one morning at the bike shop, just a day before my flight to France she drove down from Santa Barbara that same morning. The bike shop boss took one look at us and said "Take the day off! You'll be useless here!"

We went back to my place and I called the tour company boss, begging him to bring her along as a French interpreter. A year later the Swiss guy who worked with us remarked that her French was better than ANY of the other so-called interpreters the boss had hired, but this boss said something similar to the bike shop boss, as in "You'll get no work done. You'll be useless. Come alone, I'm not going to let her join you!" He was probably right but it didn't make things any easier the morning she drove me to the airport to meet them for the flight to France.

I'd given her a credit card, the keys to my apartment and the OK to stay there while I was gone, saying I hoped she'd move-in while I was in France and come back to pick me up at the airport in two weeks. As excited as I was to run my own section of the bike tour and see if Greg LeMond really was back, I was heart-broken to have to leave now of all times!

Keeping busy was easy, though I'd collect handfuls of coins for pay phones and call her every chance I got. Clients would laugh at me when they offered me a tip for doing something to their bike and all I wanted was the coins. The LeMond/Fignon battle at this race was thrilling, LeMond was well and truly back and all the Americans in the group couldn't believe how lucky they were to be there seeing it live.

After the early week with the smaller group it was time to split up, just me and the Swiss interpreter with a two van group of clients. It didn't take long for me to realize I wasn't really ready to lead even a group this small, as the slap-dash map and my scribbled route notes didn't do me much good and even if there's only one van behind you, missing a turn doesn't look good to the clients. Something needed to be done for the good of the tour program. I decided to put the Swiss guy in front and let him do the navigating after going over my maps and notes. He proved better at it than I was and eventually sort of took over the program, letting me go back to the second in command role I was better at and had been doing for the boss.

The boss wasn't happy about this development but soon realized I'd done him a favor, putting my ego aside for the good of his program. The clients were happier too, though to one older client none of it mattered. I remember him being almost impossible to pull away from a hotel swimming pool one hot July afternoon. Sure it was hot, but what kept him immobile was not the heat but the topless young women around the pool, since that's the custom in France. Bike race? What bike race?

There was a bike race of course and one of our bike rides was unforgettable. The race stage finish was in Briancon so we parked the vans just below the mountain-top city, turning the clients loose to ride on the route and watch the race. The boss' plan was for us to ride around the route including the imposing Col d'Izoard and descend back to the vans before the clients returned. Great idea, until it wasn't. Part of the problem was a delay caused by me, two flat tires along the early part of the ride. I was still using old-time "tubular" tires glued onto the wheel rims.

Changing one of these wasn't hard, you just ripped it off the rim and sticking a replacement on wasn't either. The issue was how sticky the glue remaining on the wheel rim was along with the glue (if you were smart) you'd put on the spare tire. I'd always used red glue as it remained a bit soft and sticky, making roadside changes easier (and safer) than with the clear glue, which kept the tire on but tended to crack once dried, so your replacement might not stick-on so well. We'd also had a minor delay when the Swiss triathlete managed to hook my leg with his triathlete handlebars, resulting in a minor crash.

All this meant we were now in danger of being caught up in the Tour's publicity caravan as we slogged up the Col d'Izoard. Our plan was to get back to the vans before the race, but now we were in danger of being caught up in the race! The entire publicity caravan passed us, including massive off-road trucks with huge wheels and we were soon kicked off the course near the top of the climb as the race itself now closed-in. The boss began to fret, thinking about irate clients coming back to locked-up, unattended vans after their rides.

We needed to get back on the road and race down the hill to the parked vans. But how? The police were not letting anyone on the road as the race leaders approached. We were excited to see who would reach the top of this fabled mountain first, but really needed to get down, sooner rather than later, but the police had things locked-down tight, so all we could do was wait. 

The leaders soon passed over the summit, followed minutes later by their exhausted helpers. Then there was a gap between the race contenders, their helpers and the rest of the race, the sprinters and guys who'd done their work earlier and now just wanted to beat the time limit to the finish to race another day.

The boss decided thi gap was our chanc, so we jumped over the fence with our bikes, hopped on and began a race to the vans! We had proper bike clothing of course so this was a time to look like you belonged out there, getting past the police before each one realized you did NOT belong out there. It was easy enough at first, once my worries about my tires coming-off were forgotten as it seemed the glue holding 'em on softened and spread out due to heat from braking.

At one point we were gaining on someone who WAS supposed to be out there, a real competitor just trying to get to the finish. We didn't want to expose the fact we weren't supposed to be out there or impact the race in any way, so we slowed and let the guy get a few switchbacks further down the mountain before resuming our own little race. My moto skills helped on the descents but were of no use going up or even on the flats.

Our Swiss friend with his triathlon handlebars got yanked off since he obviously didn't look like he belonged out there while the rest of us tried to look the part on the flat sections where it was obvious we didn't belong out there either We killed ourselves on those, knowing there was another downhill part before we'd reach the vans, we just had to get there without being stopped by the police. We eventually made it, our triathlete friend showing up later, claiming he'd gotten back on the course before some of the real racers had closed-in on him on that same flat section that killed us. One of them, an American on the 7/11 team, pulled up into his slipsteam, saying "OK tri-boy, start pulling!"

Though this was maybe the most exciting Tour de France in decades, all I wanted to do was be back to Southern California. Meanwhile, Greg LeMond did show up for an interview, one we'd set up at the team "hotel" which really was a dormitory of sorts with most, if not all the racers eating and sleeping there with no A/C. It was amazing that sportsmen at this level were treated like this, but the organizers fined you heavily if you left the designated lodgings. 

LeMond eventually started carting around a portable A/C unit which scandalized the French organizers, but there was nothing in the rules prohibiting it. Coca-Cola would soon become a sponsor of this race (replacing the French Perrier water) using a slogan "Drink it ice cold!" which also caused a scandal when the race doctor blamed too cold drinks on some illness and retirement of a few competitors. That was quickly walked-back when Coke complained but in the French tradition a Coke you bought from a roadside vendor along the race route was "tres froid" despite being pulled out of a cooler filled only with water - no ice.

LeMond arrived, delayed by post race TV interviews, but seeing our waiting group got out of the car and walked over to a patch of grass and sat down, our group following him. A few others joined us but once they realized the interview was in English they soon wandered off. Just like the last time, LeMond's sporting director had to eventually drag him away, this time for shower, massage and dinner. No clients skipped this interview!

The race seemed to get more exciting each day as the leader's yellow jersey changed from LeMond to rival Fignon (who'd won that Giro d'Italia earlier) and back again. But again all I wanted to do was go home but I was thankful the race was exciting, it really would have been tough to sit through a boring procession to Paris. Our second interview with LeMond was set up but due to some late-arriving clients we were late getting to his hotel.

So late LeMond was already on the massage table when we arrived. He came down after to apologize (though WE were late, not him) and said he had to go to dinner, could we wait around until afterwards? We still had kilometers to drive to our next hotel so we couldn't. LeMond suggested another chance, the morning of the final time trial in Paris. Could we do that? The idea quickly died as getting our clients from the center of Paris out to the start of the time trial in Versailles would be a logistical nightmare, though a few of us thought of sneaking out there ourselves but the idea was nixed right away as unfair. He was right, though a few of us did ride the subway out there before the start, to say good luck to LeMond and congratulate the guy who'd likely won both Giro and Tour, Laurent Fignon.

We made our way back to Paris and found a place along the famous Champs de Elysees to watch, thinking there was zero chance for LeMond to make up enough time on Fignon to win the Tour, but happy that the American hero was certainly back to his best form. I was torn, on one hand it was amazingly exciting but just the same if I could have clicked Dorothy's ruby slippers together and been back in Southern California I'd have done just that.

Festivities in Paris over, the next day was a frenzy of packing bikes and equipment for departure. I couldn't wait to get home and was especially peeved when we arrived at the Paris airport the next day to find our flight reservations cancelled! Someone forgot to confirm our return flights but I was able to get a seat on a flight to New York...in business class! This was in the day when there was a smoking section! You guessed it, I sat next to a guy who lit one right after another all the way to New York but I didn't care, I just wanted to get home where Heather was waiting at LAX, no matter what shade of green I was turning along the way.

She was ready for grad school and had moved out of her husband's house, staying with her parents most of the time I was in France but she'd moved some stuff into my apartment, which now had to be emptied since I was now moving out too. We sold or gave away the contents of the apartment and I sold the Honda CB400 I'd bought back from my brother along with most of my non-bike tools. I'd put out some feelers in the bike biz and had a solid lead on a job in a bicycle shop in the college town area, so off we went in my Honda Civic wagon in early fall. We paid someone to drive her car to Massachusetts later.

A road and mountain bike for each of us on the roof and pretty much everything we owned inside that Honda Civic station wagon made the trip simple. We'd arranged a roommate situation which quickly went sour so we rented our own little house near the university and the branch of the bike shop I was soon to be managing. Cycling on and off road in Western Massachusetts was nice in the fall but the snow soon began to fall. We tried some XC skiing and sliding around on the snow on our mountain bikes to keep in shape. Living in genuine winter was a big change for this Southern California cyclist!

The bike shop job didn't go well. The owner was pretty clueless about the business and we clashed very soon after I was hired...and then quickly fired. By this time UPS needed holiday help so I spent 3 weeks running packages in the snow, but money still was getting tight. I borrowed some money from my parents plus we had a stipend from Heather's parents to help with school cost, but things were still going the wrong way financially.

The good news was by this time a divorce from Heather's hubby was finalized and on Valentine's Day 1990 I asked if she'd try it again...with me? Amazingly, she said yes and one week later we were at the tiny courthouse in Hadley, MA getting married, with two old guys filling out tax forms as our witnesses. A splurge for a short honeymoon XC skiing in Vermont was followed by some soul-searching.

We were going broke, slowly but surely. The "Mass Miracle" had cratered and there were more job seekers than jobs. I called the old bike shop boss in CA...would he like some temporary help? Of course he would, the place made more profits when I was running it than when he was! I packed up my car and headed back across the country after less than six months, eventually staying at my parents house while I worked at the bike shop, rode my bike, mailed a letter to MA every day and sent every dollar I could along with it. The goal was to survive until the end of the spring school term and the start of the 1990 bike tour season. Heather would ask for a leave-of-absence so she could return and pick things up again once we had built-up some financial reserves. 

By this time the boss realized I wasn't going anywhere without Heather and now (once the Swiss guy quizzed her in French) he had a mechanic/interpreter team for both France and Italy who shared a hotel room and worked pretty cheaply. A win-win for everyone, at least that's the way we saw it.

Heather was still finishing-up her first year in grad school when I flew back for the second edition of the Tour de Trump, notable for me only because there was a stage start in a town near the university, so I could spend a little time with my new wife. The boss said there was no interest in the 1990 Giro d'Italia so no tour was planned. But how to get out of the financial hole we were in and survive until Tour time in July? Heather had gone to college in Charlottesville, Virginia and knew a bike shop owner there. Perhaps I could manage one of his stores while she found some work during a one year leave of absence?

The plan was to build up our financial reserves and return to MA the following year after the bike tour season. We packed our meager possessions in her tiny car and drove to Virginia. I got the bike shop job promise we hoped for so we went back to California to meet up with the bike tour boss and fly to France. In the meantime we both found temporary jobs, me in the bike business again while she worked at a local college book shop. 

These jobs paid the rent in an apartment for a few months and kept us fed before Tour time came round again. The idea was to then return to Virginia to work building up finances for another try in Massachusetts the following year. 

Meanwhile, Greg LeMond won the world championship roadracer a few weeks after his Tour win, making the bike tour boss very happy with the prospects for increased demand.

Two Wheeled Life Part 4

 Life on Two Wheels Part 4

After a brief and disastrous romance I decided I needed some new friends outside of the motorcycle world. I'd left the motorcycle dealership for an outside sales position with a motorcycle part and accessories company but my heart was more and more into cycling with pedals vs throttle. I'd put my road bike on the car roof on overnight sales trips and sometimes spent more time riding than selling!

In 1986 American Greg LeMond won the famous Tour de France. I'd been following his career off and on since he won the World Championship in 1983. The World Championship roadrace for 1986 would be held in Colorado so the US stage race "Coors Classic" would be used as a tune-up by LeMond and his team, including the big French star Bernard Hinault on the same team as LeMond.

The race would start for the first time not in Colorado, but in California. San Francisco. I used to drive there in the motorcycle days, why not put my bike on the car and go see this? A cycling magazine had an advertisement for a cycling tour following the event - the promise was that guests would be able to enjoy riding on the race route before the race, then get a VIP viewing spot at the finish line. Sign me up!

I parked my car at the San Francisco airport to meet the tour operator. Three hours (and a couple of phone calls) later he showed-up and drove me to their HQ hotel where I met his girlfriend and brother, both acting as tour guides despite having no real qualifications that I could fathom. Everyone was nice enough and my new friend idea started to pay off. I'd started working on my own bicycles after a so-called "Olympic Mechanic" (turned out he'd helped out with the 1984 Olympic bicycle race, one I saw first-hand) gave it back to me in worse shape than I left it! I had plenty of mechanical skill and experience working on motorcycles so instead of paying to have my bike screwed-up I'd buy the special tools and screw it up myself.

I soon learned how not to screw-up and these skills came in handy on this cycling tour/vacation. I'd brought a small box of tools with me and soon became the mechanic on the tour since the guides struggled to do much more than take a wheel off and put it back on. One afternoon while watching the race I spoke with the owner, noting I'd been doing all this mechanical work and asking why he didn't have someone on-staff for this? I'd talked myself into a job, including driving some of my fellow guests back to the SF airport in a van the tour company had rented as the tour continued on to Colorado. 

I turned the van in, said goodbye to the clients, hopped in my car and drove back to SoCal, wondering when would be the next time I'd work with this tour company? The owner used to race motocross and we knew some of the same racers back in the day and soon we'd enjoy bicycle rides together a few days a week since he lived just a few miles away from me.

I went (with another friend) at my own expense to Colorado to see the 1986 World Championship Roadrace. I didn't know it at the time but my future wife was there too, same as the Olympic road race in 1984

It wasn't long before the boss needed me for a weekend wine-country tour near Santa Barbara. I worked just for expenses and the experience. It was fun and led to talk of working in 1987 on his Tour de France tour, but I'd taken a job as sales representative with a motorcycle and bicycle clothing company and despite my sales pitch on how they would benefit, they wouldn't let me go, That changed in 1988 as did a lot of things.

Meanwhile, I'd sold the trials motorcycle and had some money left to buy a mountain bike. I could now play/race in the dirt, but still enjoy exercise and cycling with this new toy! The fire roads of the Malibu hills were a great playground. I wore the cycling clothing company's gear and had a great time despite not being much better at racing it than I was at motocross.

I was working part-time at a local bicycle shop in addition to the sales rep job and gradually spent more time there than on the road. But the clothing company's growing cycling business was interesting so I took an inside sales job there, planning to take over the cycling division from the founder's brother, a guy who knew or cared little about cycling. The founder turned out to be not interested in cycling either, so it was time to work full-time at the bicycle shop.

I came along at the perfect time - the shop owner closed the store for few days to take all of his employees to a technical seminar put on by the then premium cycling component brand - CAMPAGNOLO. I'd already switched to this brand from my first "pro-quality" bicycle with a then-new Shimano component groupset. I'd crashed my next Swiss-made pro bike with the Italian brand of parts when an old guy in a car "left turned" me, leaving me with a destroyed bicycle and separated shoulder. I replaced it right away with a low-priced Bianchi bicycle and later added an American made custom bicycle frame from this local shop, using the still-good CAMPAGNOLO parts from the wrecked one to complete it.

Campagnolo provided three days of intensive training, from preparing new frames, making wheels, service and maintenance and the history of the company. I was really a fan of this company now and my knowledge and skills increased quickly thanks to them and the experience in the shop and with my new certification I was REALLY ready for the bike tour guide/mechanic position. The bike shop owner saw the value in having an employee with this kind of experience, so getting 10 days off in July for LeTour was no problem, though I was still working just for expenses + airfare rather than a real salary.

This was my first time out of the USA. I even had to get a visa from the French Consulate along with a passport. I packed up my bicycle and tool box along with some cycling clothes and met the boss and his girlfriend (qualified for this by sort-of speaking French) at the airport for a flight to Paris. Van rentals were so much cheaper in Luxembourg our first task was to take a train there, hop in the vans and drive 'em back to the Paris airport hotel/HQ. All while fighting jet-lag! The next day bicycle roof racks need to be assembled and mounted, advertising stickers slapped on the vehicles and our own bicycles assembled and fine tuned before clients began arriving.

I get tired even typing this, but the adrenalin rush of being at the Tour de France combined with way-too-many cans of Coca-Cola and chocolate croissants kept me going for more than a week. An incident with another guide's driving created what I saw as an opportunity to stay on for the third and final week of LeTour rather than return home. It was too much fun! The boss' girlfriend had to take over the driving after the incident so my idea was to stay on so she could go back to girlfriending (and some slapdash interpreting as nobody running the tour really could speak French!) and let me do the driving. It took some persuading...all the way up to the morning I was to depart to make it happen!

You read that right. The arrival day was chaotic, this group larger than the earlier one for the final, decisive week of the race. My bike was back in a box and luggage packed as I came out to board the airport transfer bus. I made one last pitch to the boss - "Look man, you need my help! Things are out-of-control here and if you keep me on your galpal can ride in the van with you rather than drive a van!" 

This idea was reinforced by an earlier incident - A cycling magazine editor was a guest on the tour. He was riding in the boss' girlfriend's van on a long transfer across France. The caravan was designed so that none of the guides really knew where we were going...you just stayed glued to the van in front of you, all lined-up behind the boss. We stopped every 90 minutes or so for "natural breaks" as they say. But the magazine editor had to pee. Now. He explained this to girlfriend but she had no way to communicate with boyfriend/boss. She kept begging editor to "hold it" since they had to be stopping soon. My van was the last in line but I knew nothing about it...until we finally did stop and editor quietly left a cycling water bottle behind!

He'd filled this bottle while sitting next to another client and his wife. Ironically, after complimenting all of us post-tour, shaking his head while saying "I don't know how you guys manage to pull this off" a few years later he started a rival tour company. I guess galpal had floated my idea to stay on and at some point reminded the boss of how she'd had to endure the peepee caper, so at the last minute he relented with - "Get your stuff!" so I jumped into the chaos to help. 

I phoned the bike shop with a flimsy excuse as to why I'd be staying on and enjoyed another frantic week though at least by this time I was over jet-lag. We were able to rebook my return flight without much trouble or expense. I was hooked! I couldn't wait to do it again.

I came back (with photos) and to the bike shop. The boss was a little miffed at my delayed return but soon forgot about it once the stories began and the photos came back from the developer.

Those photos sparked this story: The bike above was used by American Andy Hampsten to win the Giro d'Italia and he road the same bike at 1988's Tour de France. As most cycling fans know, the brand name on the bike is not always the name of the actual maker. In this case, department-store brand HUFFY was the team's bicycle sponsor, but the bikes also sported a small sticker that read "Serotta" the name of the man who actually built them. He was an American custom, made-to-measure bicycle frame builder and certainly was happy to be allowed to have his name on the team bikes. In most cases the brand sponsor takes great pains to keep this secret though it goes on even today.

The average cycling fan likely doesn't know and probably doesn't care about this custom, one that probably goes back to the start of bicycle brand sponsorship, but in this case there was a THIRD person involved. I came back with lots of photos of this bike as my bike shop employer was a Serotta dealer and I was riding one myself. Showing off the photos in the shop, a sharp-eyed sales rep noticed something odd - "That's NOT a Serotta! It's a Landshark!" Turns out John Slawta, whose brand was LANDSHARK was the "builder of trust" for Andy Hampsten. 

Why? The story was that Hampsten's team-issue bike, made from team sponsor True Temper tubing, broke. Hampsten lost all confidence in the team bikes and got permission to go elsewhere, though nobody told Serotta. Even the tubes used to make this bike were not from the sponsor. Once we knew, we wondered if Serotta knew? Who was going to call and tell him? I drew the short straw, but since I'd taken the photos, who better to make the call? 

Sure enough, Serotta was clueless but photos were soon sent to prove this bike was not one of his. Oddly enough the tour group included a sales manager for the True Temper company. If he knew, he wasn't telling!! It turned out to be the end of Serotta's involvement as the team switched bike sponsors from HUFFY to Merckx the next season.