May 10...
    Well Esteban and Gonzalo are in the States now, and the swelling is gone from my ankles, so it must be time to close the book on the 61st Vuelta del Uruguay. What an amazing trip. Of course, how could it be anything but amazing, jumping into the middle of something like that. Traveling to a place where the parrots flock like starlings, and the echeloned riders go faster than the charter busses, is bound to make a lasting impression on a kid from Idaho.

     Every day it was something new, a painful lesson or an introduction to one of the many nuances of a foreign culture. On stage 2 I discovered that taking hand-ups from an auto is a mixed blessing. The comfort of always having food and drink handy is actually a never ending temptation to hang out at the back. In a place like Uruguay, where the wind blows non-stop, you are only one corner away from hard-core gutterball. One moment you're filling your pockets, and the next moment you're dropped, and trying to get back in the fold. The truly tragic part is that all that precious nourishment has now become an anchor drowning your hopes of a chase back. The three bottles in your pockets, and the one stuffed down the front of your jersey only multiply the difficulty in chasing down the peloton. When you finally make it up to your  teammates, after a half-hour odyssey, the bottles are traded for a simple thanks. No one ever having any idea that those stupid bottles almost got you dropped out of the bike race.

     Not all the lessons were new and unique though. The Vuelta only re-affirmed the old adage that "it's all about the motor". There's nothing like having a guy on an 8-speed Ultegra kit laying the wood to you, to remind a fellow of the essence of cycling. We would be stuck in echelon for hours, looking at the same wheels over and over. And let me tell you, you know that when you can count the number of cogs on a moving wheel, there aren't very many.

     But it wasn't always hard times, either. There was tons of good fun to be had. You just had to have it in the 1 or 2 hours per day that you weren't resting or racing. On one of those occassions I went to a cyber-cafe. By the time I had finally got my e-mail accessed on my hired computer, I was 25 minutes in debt, and late for my ride to dinner. Uruguay is the kind of place where folks take it easy, and have very loose schedules. So to be plopped down in the middle of this place with a very rigid time table made adapting even more difficult. Most days I would race, eat, then go to bed and stay in until massage. Then it's off to mess hall for dinner. Afterwords I would prepare bottles, pin numbers, charge batteries, find breakfast food, and ready myself for the next day's race.

     Every day we were up before the sun, and that really seemed to be the most difficult aspect of the whole trip. Some days there would be transfers of 2 hours before the race started. The Uruguayan Cycling Federation arranged for our accomodations, but at times they weren't very accomodating. One day in particular we finished a stage in La Rocha, and then shuttled 35km to the south to find our rooms. The next morning we had to be at the start line 160km north of La Rocha by 7:30 am. When you are being served dinner at 9:00 pm, the 4:00 am transfer comes very early.

     Fortunately the coffee is very dark, and very strong. Served with nice warmed milk, some cocoa and sugar, it made the mornings much more bearable. Unfortunately, the local's idea of breakfast is bread. Maybe some shaved butter, or a funky loaf of jelly, but mostly just bread. After a couple of mornings of strong coffee and plain rolls and crescent rolls, we caught on to buying our own breakfast food. The best items we found weren't breakfast items at all. One was a pizza type food made with a bean crust. Another was a ham and cheese pie, served nice and cold at 4:30 am, mmmm good!

     There were other differences between our diet and theirs. Bottled water is served at all meals,  but most of it is carbonated. I actually liked the agua con gas, as the bubbles helped with my digestion, and my stomach was never twisted up from eating so much. One day in particular I ate 7 plates of pasta. Now that may not be so much to some folks, but for me that's an all time record.

     We didn't see a whole lot of wildlife in Uruguay, but we did see some cool birds. Ostriches grazing the open pastures with cows or sheep. And swarms of beautiful, lime green birds all over the inland southeast. One morning, during the dreaded a.m. transfer, we ran across several flocks of these. Aldo, our van driver, informed me that those birds were loros. I looked up the word in my Spanish-English dictionary, and discovered that loros are parrots. "Oh yes," I said "they are pets for many people". To which Aldo replied, "We must kill the loros". I was blown away. "What are you talking about, Aldo". In measured English Aldo explained, "The loros eat the rice, so we must kill the loros". Wow! The parrots are no more than farming nuisances. Furthermore, when you factor in that parrots can live for 50 years or more, you understand what a pest they are to rice farmers.

     Now I'm not saying that life has less value in Uruguay, I'm just saying it is different. It wasn't uncommon to see a whole family riding one scooter. Dad driving, mom and teen behind dad, and little baby in the front basket. Of course no one would be wearing a helmet. The classic move was the 11 year old kid driving with the 3 year old brother riding in the handlebar basket, and no helmet to be found. It looked like a cracked cranium for certain.

     Personally, I never wore a seatbelt from the time I touched down in Montevideo until I boarded the plane to leave the country. I never really was concerned about it, and neither was anyone else. To tell the truth, it felt kind of daring and dangerous. After so many years of "buckle up" and "wear your helmet", it was refreshing just to throw caution to the wind. Of course Uruguayan and American skulls split just the same, but I figured since it was the custom, what the heck. 

    The bike race was similar. None of the riders would don a helmet until the kommisar called us to the line. Then there would be a mad dash of directors and managers bringing helmets to their riders. After the leaders and classification jerseys were handed out, everyone would strap on their helmet and get to racing. Soon followed by the race start, and then straight to the gutter for 50km for the first hour of racing. If the course relented and turned the peloton up  or down wind, instead of across, it would be constant attacks, non-stop until a group was clear. If it stayed cross wind, the strongest riders would sit at the front and pull through echelon until they ground your legs off. 

     The first few days we rode aggressively, and tried to get in the moves or work in the primary echelon, but nothing came of it. At the end of those stages we paid dearly, and finished with very tired legs. So in the 4th stage we decided to sit in. That's where my luck turned. When I was attacking, or working in the first echelon, I could see the road and my line clearly. But when I was following wheels in the peloton, I couldn't see clearly enough to pick a clean line. As a consequence, I hit a big hole that day and pinch flatted. I rode the last 155km in a 6 man groupetto.

     Of course that only started the vicious cycle. The next morning I was feeling the long, hard effort, so I could only follow wheels again. And again I pinch flatted a tire (actually it was two tires). This time however, it came at the very beginning of the stage, so I was forced to ride the entire 160km by myself. As a result I was disqualified on time, and my Vuelta was over after only half the tour. 

     On the trip home I wrote several pages to publish on our website, but it was all jaded by my premature exit. I decided to wait a couple of weeks and digest the entire experience before putting pen to paper. I am very glad that I waited. Looking back now, I realize what a unique, and wonderful experience the trip had been. The challenges were as great off the bike as they were during the races. From the language barrier to the missing breakfasts to racing with a caravan, I learned valuable lessons that can only be garnered through first hand experience. Hopefully we will be invited back next year, and I'll get to use some of my hard earned knowledge. But if not, I will still have knowledge that can be applied at any race, any where.

     I would like to thank Gary Casella for making the whole trip happen. He worked tirelessly for the entire winter and early spring to make the Vuelta a reality for us Americanos. I'm honored to have been a part of it, and I feel like I am a much better racer for having attended the 61st La Vuelta del Uruguay.
 
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