Let Youth Be Your Drug.

The day after the Track Worlds finished I drove the three hours up to my parent's house in the country. It wasn't a great drive. I was tired, the phone kept ringing, and it was alternately raining and windy or bright and glary. When I eventually arrived home I slept for the next 13 hours. And my folks were foolish enough to think I'd come to visit them.

With nothing else to do up here I've had the whole day to think about the Worlds, and am now perfectly posited to give out my awards. For your viewing pleasure, and because I'm a big Eastwood fan, I'll divide them into The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

The Good.

The Freeman award for proving Brendan wrong (see what I did there, friends?) goes to Anna Meares, who, after surprising herself with a new world record in the flying 200, lined up for the 500m time trial, an event she'd barely ridden over the past twelve months. The temperature was lower than it'd been all week, and I mentioned in passing that it was too cool for a world record. A little over half a minute later and I was proven incorrect. A close second goes to Cam Meyer, but I dunno, I don't feel as bad as that one. I'm pretty sure no one thought he could take a lap in the points race with only ten laps remaining.

The Sesame Snaps award for conversations about things other than cycling was a close fought affair. Germany's Kristina Vogel was always good for chats about music, dancing, the German countryside and the dubious sexual advances of Melbourne men ("They just kept trying to grab me, you know!"). But I'm going to give this one to Victoria Pendleton. I kicked off by asking her about her tattoo - an obvious opener, given my own permanent scarring, but the conversation quickly turned to the Sesame Snaps I was taking to Nath. "Oh, they look tasty!" She said, "And healthy, too!" I laughed and said she was being generous, but she went on, "It's dark chocolate, so there's antioxidants, and they're sesame seeds, and they're full of good stuff." I also caught her later on showing pictures of her dogs to Shuang Guo.

The Bull In A China Shop award goes to Chris Hoy for that ride in the Keirin. Later on Twitter he admitted to have never tried to go up the inside in a serious race before. In the days after he seemed to be buzzing. As were we!

The Red Pen award goes to Monique Hanley, for constantly correcting my 'facts'.

The Lucas From Neighbours award for most friendly mechanic award is also a close fought affair. Working for the Dutch was local boy Casey Munro, who was the only one to tell me what gears riders were generally racing on, and who also didn't hesitate to point out other interesting stuff he thought blog readers would be interested in. But I'm going to give this one to the mechanic from the USA who I think - or hope - was named Woody. He laughed when I said he looked like every other bike mechanic I've ever seen, he told me when he was going to get drunk, he answered my questions about Sarah 'MC' Hammer and - better than anything else - knew about my blog. Hot damn.

The Chumbawamba award for getting knocked down, then getting up again goes to Glenn O'Shea. Two years ago, after continual bouts of Glandular Fever, the guy was ready to give up cycling altogether. This week he won the Omnium. I'm sure some thanks for this should go to Tim Decker, who took O'Shea under his wing over in Adelaide, but the strength of mind that O'Shea must have makes me overlook his occasionally brisk answers to annoying questions.

The Jane's Addiction Were Wrong award for best expression goes to Anna Meares for her face when she broke the flying 200 record, because apparently there are some things that are still shocking. And surprising! Actually, I've gotta say, I was already a Meares fan before this weekend, but now I'm even a bigger fan. The way she races, the way she plays tough for hours before the race but wears her heart on her sleeve immediately afterwards, the way she said, when I asked for a photo, "Well, you're not supposed to, but nobody's looking."

And, finally, the Crabcore award for continually attacking (Attack! Attack!) goes to Canada's Zach Bell, who rides like he only knows how to go off the front. He's also quite easy on the eye. Monique mentioned, however, that he can be a little absent-minded - apparently he won silver in the omnium a while back, and was consequently given a medal. He put this medal in a bag he thought was his and flew home. When he arrived home he couldn't find the medal, he started ringing around. His bag apparently looked a lot like a bag belonging to the Cubans. Six months and a minor diplomatic incident later he finally had his medal. 

The Bad.

The Mulder and Scully award for paranoia goes to Team Australia, who were the only team who wouldn't let me take photos of their bikes. Or their riders. Or their food. While I know there are trade secrets and all that, but the other team mechanics are all here, and a short walk over to the Australian pit would reveal all. It was a little bit pointless.

The O Brother Where Art Thou award goes to the folks who worked out how much of the infield should be dedicated to the riders, who were constantly in a tight spot, and how much should be dedicated to the media. While I didn't mind that I was always guaranteed a seat, an entire table to myself and an ethernet cable, no matter what time of day I arrived, I felt a little guilty that the riders had to work under such cramped conditions. Hell, I even took some time to steal chairs from the media centre to give to the Canadian team. Apparently venue management were asked to move the barriers between the two back a little bit, but simply stated that this was impossible.

The Inflatable Student Who Took A Drawing Pin To The Inflatable School award goes to Twitter, who totally let me down when I hit their "too many Tweets per hour" limit. I did, however, resolve to mellow out a little on Twitter thereafter, despite it being my number one source of Madonna and MC Hammer references.

The Destination Anywhere award goes to Melbourne's public transport system. I quite like Myki, especially when it doesn't work, but waiting thirty minutes for a train at Jolimont, when I'm desperate to get to the Fyxo hub and watch the end of the Paris-Roubaix made me wish like hell that I was still able to ride my bike.

The Ugly.

The Nelly award goes to whoever was in charge of the thermostat over the weekend. Look, I know that a hot track equals hot times, but cranking up the heat meant that most of the folks inside were cranky, sweaty and dehydrated. It was simply too hot.

And, finally, because not much was ugly, really, is the McDonalds award for terrible, terrible food. Of course, the difference is that McDonalds is cheap. Five dollars for a tiny box of half-cooked chips? Sure. A vegeburger that contains both beef and bacon? Why not (if that had been presented to me I would've thrown it in their faces, but Monique apparently just gave it to her husband, who labelled it 'the best vegeburger I've ever eaten.').

And that's about it. Stay tuned for another edition of "Brendan and FJ talk pro-cycling" on Thursday. And thanks to everyone who replied to tweets or emails or messageboard questions, who offered support, encouragement and/or food, who read the blog, who got the jokes, who played along. You guys are the best. Thanks too to Chris Boardman, who, as I was leaving, asked if he'd see me at the Olympics. What a guy!

Run To Paradise!

The Nexus

Day Five – Evening Session.

Apparently I’m the young hipster here – folks keep approaching me, asking me where is good to go out in Melbourne. I have no idea – I’m a schoolteacher in my thirties, for god’s sake. This is the price I pay for having bodgy tattoos and turning up in a Tribe Called Quest t-shirt. I mostly tell them to go to 161, because I remember having some good times there in the early 2000s. I hope it’s still the same.

There’s a patch of grass just outside the loading bay doors that Nath has started referring to as The Nexus. I don’t think it’s an allusion to the magazine – nothing conspiratorial is going on here. It just tends to be where we end up between sessions, sipping on free coffee and talking shit about the session previous. When I finish filing my article for the day I head out there, and true to form, there’s everyone else. Again, we sit around and talk shit until the sun goes down and it’s time to go back inside.

 

These guys think I'm a doofus, and they may have a point.

The guys at the entrance to the media centre have been giving me shit all week, mostly due to my inability to scan my pass without assistance. They, like everyone else, are a bit more relaxed by this session, and just wave me through without scanning. Once in, I check my computer, post on Twitter, admire some photos that the photographers insist on showing me, then leave again. Wandering around the infield the volunteers are lounging around on the steps, talking amongst themselves. Even though this coming session is probably the biggest of the whole weekend, folks have started to turn off. The German team are seen signing autographs in their pit. I want to ask for one, but am scared that one of the officials will materialize out of nowhere and frog march me out of the venue. 

 

Volunteers lounging.

 

This is generally how the photographers roll. The one on the left used to be a pretty good bike rider too. 

Gene and I stop to admire a bike belonging to one of Team USA’s mechanics. He points out the couplings and I ask if I can take a photo “for my mate Blakey, who loves that kind of shit.” For once I do the right thing and introduce myself, but he stops me, and says, “Yeah, I know who you are. You can have a photo if you put it up on the blog.” “Done and done,” I tell him. We talk a bit about the lies we’ve told customs, but I’m so freaking stoked that someone has recognized me from the blog that I can barely speak. 

 

Ok Blakey, this one is for you. Steel with couplings - cable couplings too.

With no omnium tonight I have no idea when I’m going to be able to go to the toilet. The venue is filling quickly, and there’s about a million people I know here. Even the teams with no participants left are lingering around to watch. Everyone loves a madison, and those who don’t definitely love keirins. Sure, there’s a few timed events thrown in – Women’s 500m Time Trial is absolutely code for ‘toilet break’ – but for the most part tonight is going to be pretty intense. Last night it took me a good two hours to calm down after racing had finished, and when I finally lay down to bed, my heart was still thumping away in E3. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

The women’s pursuit finals are up first, which is kind of nice. Nath has given me explicit instructions to talk to Amy Cure if I get the chance – apparently you can take the girl out of Tasmania, but you can’t take the Tasmania out of the girl. I don’t know if I’ll get the chance – I’ll have to ask the Australian staff, and asking permission isn’t really my style. Ash Ankudinoff leads for the whole race, and Cure starts coming back at her in the last 3 laps, but she just doesn’t have enough track. Ankudinoff takes the bronze. In the final is New Zealand’s Alison Shanks V Team GB’s Wendy Houvenaghel. The crowd has definitely sided with Shanks, as when there’s no Australian in the race, Australians will always barrack for our siblings across the Tasman. And Shanks has it in the bag from lap one – Houvenaghel starts from behind and stays there, the lead blowing out so much it almost looks like Shanks is going for the catch. It’s NZ’s first medal for the meet, and the crowd gives her a standing ovation. 

Next up are the Keirin semis, and with no Perko this parochial Melbourne crowd is confused about who they should barrack for. In the first heat I recommend Malaysia’s Azizul Awang. Hell, he lives in Parkville, trains in Thornbury, is coached by John Beazley – he’s as good as local. It’s a tough heat, though, with Japan’s Watanabe firing, and Germany’s Levy always difficult to get around. In the first twenty metres NZ’s Van Velthoven is forced onto the apron, however, and slips off, so there’s a restart. When they get rolling SVV doesn’t fool around again – he goes straight on to the bike. Azi moves up by his side and starts a rush. It’s an interesting plan by the little guy – usually he waits, then finds his way through the bunch – and it doesn’t come off, Levy hitting it with a lap to go, then pulling away with ease. Australia’s Sunderland is in the next heat, but he has his work cut out – only the top three go through, and he has Sir Chris and Jason Kenny in his heat, as well as Matt Crampton – that’s three Brits in one heat. Sunderland settles into the front position – he’s also a kilo rider, so won’t be afraid to launch from afar. He lets the Spaniard Mazquiaran in front of him, however, and he’s forced out the back as Sir Chris comes flying through, dragging France’s Bourgain and Kenny with him. With no Australians in the final, I get the impression that Sir Chris will be the sentimental favourite. 

 

Big Max Levy on the rollers.

Next up are the women’s 500m time trials. Both Meares and McCulloch are in this despite the fact that it’s not an Olympic event. There seems to be a sense of “it’s the last day, so what the hell,” but this doesn’t mean that they won’t be super competitive. With the cooler weather the track isn’t super fast, so no one expects to see any world records tumbling down, but there will definitely be twenty three women going very, very fast.

The sprinters, however, are generally done for the day, and some very bulky individuals are making their way to the exit. The enduros, however, are on their way in. The enduros seem to ride their bikes everywhere, even through the infield, which is so tightly packed that it’s difficult to even walk through. The sprinters, however, don’t even throw a leg over their bikes unless they totally, definitely have to. It’s a very different mentality – specialization to this extent is a strange thing.

I stop to talk to Bethany Keats from the bike radio show out of Geelong. We’re making chit chat, not really paying attention until Meares steps up. Then we, like everyone else, fall silent. As soon as the starting beeps finish the crowd is electric. Sixteen seconds in Meares is up. I say to Bethany that it’s too cold for a world record tonight, but Meares isn’t slowing down. The splits look pretty good, but when she finishes she’s once again lowered the mark. Two world records in five days. It’s time for capslock again. YEAH! I feel pretty good about all of my predictions being wrong. 

 

Meares wording up the venue commentator. 

Rider after rider come through, but none of them can take Meares’ time. I go for a little wander and try to catch up with everyone I know. I’m psyched to see that some of the folks who were in the ACMC events earlier today have come down to watch – I love it when worlds collide like that. They’ve all arrived in time to see Meares set the new mark, and then to see her be named the victor. Two rainbow jerseys over one long weekend. She’s not as surprised by this one, but she’s still stoked, you can tell. She rides along the top of the track, high fiving spectators and generally being rad. I was already a bit of a fan of her before this weekend, but now I’m even more. From the world record in the flying 200, to the disappointment in the sprints, to the exhilaration of her keirin win, to this, the icing on the cake, she’s been nothing but a decent human being. I like her, I like her a lot. 

 

Jelmer, fresh from the Australian Cycle Messenger Champs, reppin' MDMA - that's Melbourne District Messenger Association, not the party drug. 

The keirin finals are up next, but we have to wait for the adbreak, or something. I go talk to Nath. We mostly talk about the heat in here. This afternoon it was relatively cool, but right now it’s pretty warm – I even have some sweatpatches going on. “You watch,” he says, “now that the timed events are done, they’ll turn the aircon back on.” Hot track equals hot times, after all.

The first keirin final is for places 7-12. Scott Sunderland has made it through, and once again leads it out. This time he hits it as Crampton comes around, however. It’s a damn good move – not only does he burn off Crampton, the pace is now too hot for Azi. But next is the battle for the Keirin rainbow jersey. The smart money is on Hoy, but keirin racing is notoriously unpredictable. Indeed, with the motorbike on he’s all the way at the back. He moves up with three to go, but Kenny ups the pace a little bit and holds him off. With two to go Max Levy is off the front, and he’s got the big kiwi Simon Van Velthooven with him. They’re starting to look like they might stay away. With one to go Hoy looks like he’s going to launch an attack around the outside, but coming into turn four he swings back down to the bottom of the track. What the hell is he doing? He’s going to get boxed, for sure. But some how he doesn’t. He splits the New Zealander and the German like a surgeon splitting conjoined twins, precise, smooth, opening that gap up like it’s his daily routine. Then he has it, and is pumping the air and screaming for the angry pressure-release joy of it.

The Madison is up next, and after a race like that, I’m not sure if I can handle it. If the madison is too exciting I may start ranting like a madman. Fortunately, the start is a pretty sedate affair, and I get a chance to calm down a little. Sure, there’s a few attacks here and there, but generally speaking the first forty laps go by without too much trouble. GB are changing a half a lap before Australia, perhaps trying to put themselves in a better position to win sprints from the possibly slower but definitely stronger Australians. By no means is this a two horse race though – the Germans are currently in front, with 130 laps to go. It’s been pretty relaxed. The Kazakhstan team crash while changing and lose a lap down. With 118 to go the Czech Republic have a crack, but the ruddy Dutch and Australia work to bring it back. Whoever is in front is generally riding in the sphinx position, with the exception of team GB, who refuse to pick up trends when everyone else is doing it. With 111 to go the Australians try for their first lap. They have the ruddy Dutch with them, and Italy working hard to bridge. It looks like Ciccone again, who has the benefit of youth, and he eventually latches on. But the field are turning themselves inside out to bring it back, and eventually Geraint Thomas does the job.

They have another crack with 87 to go, but again it’s Geraint Thomas chasing them down. He better get used to bringing back breakaways, as that’s probably the job he’ll have to do for Mark Cavendish all year. I know we said this last night, but time is running out. They start contesting some sprints, putting some points in the bank. Germany have obviously spent too many biscuits in the sprints and drop a lap. With 68 to go Belgium launches and Meyer decides to chase, taking Switzerland with him. It’s Swift chasing for GB this time, and he brings back team Australia just as they change. GB’s Thomas seems to be tiring a little though, and finally goes into the sphinx to save some energy. Team Australia change on the line and open a huge gap on GB and Spain. The crowd roars and they’re on top of Belgium in no time. Belgium is popping though, so they go it alone. Dutch, Czech and GB teams chase as Belgium and Australia bring it together. GB sit up. The break is now Dutch, Belgian, Czech and Australian. The break takes a lap and now it’s down to points, Australia v Belgium. But the boys go again and Belgium isn’t with them. The Dutch, however, bring it back again. I take a break from typing – there’s only 39 to go. There’s a pause and team GB take their lap back. In another few laps the Dutch team goes off the front, and though they’re not in the running, it’s enough to take the necessary points away from the Australians and condemn them to third.

It’s been a hell of a night. Paris-Roubaix is underway and there promises to be rain. Already there has been a crash that split the group. I’m keen to go see Royal Headache, however, with the likelihood of ending up where I’d promised – Andy’s Roubaix party – getting thinner as the night goes on. This being said, I have just had my “afternoon” cold and flu tablet, and the banned substances will no doubt keep me buzzing for some time yet. 

It is, however, the last one. I'm going to regret handing in my pass, walking out that final time. In the next couple of days I'll write a best and worst, but for now, well, this is it. Thanks.

 

Perhaps these guys need some cold n flu tablets too.

You're The Same Kind Of Bad As Me.

Day Five – Afternoon Session.

My heart still hurts from last night. Tonight looks like more of the same.

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m a little emotional today. It’s coming to an end, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. It’s been as fun as all hell, sure, but it’s also been tiring. Most of the officials, the volunteers, the riders and coaches all look a little shattered. But tonight is the night I’ve picked as the best night of the meet. There’s men’s keirins, women’s pursuits, women’s TTs, then a madison to cap it all off. That covers pretty much everyone, sprinters and enduros of both genders.

Leanne Cole drops some more photos from last night on me, which means that I don’t have to take any sneaky smartphone photos myself. That’s a bit of a relief – for the past few days I’ve had the sneaking suspicion that if I get busted doing so I’m going to have my media pass ripped off my neck.

The riders are milling around, looking pretty relaxed. On twitter the banter has a lighter tone than in days past – Geraint Thomas tells the world that he’s riding a madison for the first time in four years, and as such will be getting his partner, Ben Swift, to do all the work. Anna Meares is, surprisingly, going to ride her pet event, the 500m Time Trial, despite it no longer being an Olympic event. Riders not involved tonight are milling around in jeans, sipping from cans of coke and recovering from what seems to have been a big night before. They support their teammates, yell out, fetch them drinks.

I’m pretty excited about tonight though. As well as the racing Royal Headache are playing with Straightjacket Nation for free at the Gasometer, and I get the impression that the racing will be done and the story filed well before they go on. And then there’s Andy’s Roubaix partying, which I’ve been telling riders and officials about all week. I’m starting to feel like I’m not going to be home until dawn. That makes me nervous. It’s been some time.

I settle in and watch one of the German men trying to get into his skinsuit. The whole ‘marginal gains’ thing has really taken off, and skinsuits are now very serious business. I don’t have the language to ask them about the tech, but even I can see it’s tight – it takes three people, the rider included, to get it on.

Hurley has asked me to see if the British team are selling any of their stuff, but I figure they’re probably jack of me after the whole “what gear is Victoria running?” debacle, so I handball it to Paulie. He doesn’t say he’ll do it, but mentions that another friend of his is selling a bunch of gear. It turns out the friend is a bloke called Max, who I also used to train with. “He was a cop, right?” I ask Paul. “More than that!” Paul answers, his emphasis indicating respect. “He was in the bomb disposal squad! He used to dismantle bombs all over the world. He’d always say, if in doubt, cut the red wire.” It’s good advice, both for bombs and for life.

There’s probably a fair bit of cutting the red wire in the keirins, which are up next. The first heat involves Perkins and ‘local’ boy Josiah Ng. Josiah has been speaking at length in the media about how important this race is for him, and I can’t help but really, really want him to do well. He gets second and goes straight through, but Perko can only muster a fourth, and will have to go through the repechage. Sir Chris is in the next one, does it easy, and I consider putting some money on him. Dave Hogan mentioned there was a tote for the sprinters, but I haven’t checked the odds or anything. In the next heat Germany’s Max Levy gets boxed and the humungous New Zealander Simon Van Velthooven goes through, each slam of the pedals rocking the bike back and forth. In the next the Christian Glaetzer hits the deck courtesy of a fair bump from GB’s Matt Crampton and Azi Awang monos over the line for the win. It’s great to see Awang back after the splinter incident – despite not being a big guy, he’s a classic keirin rider, always pushing the rules and splitting the tiniest of gaps. Blakey highlights the irony of a serious Christian hitting the deck on a day when their main man rose again. The Japanese Watanabe rolls Jason Kenny on the line. The last heat of the day is an old fashioned argy-bargy affair. Australia’s Sunderland gives France’s Pervis a huge bump, but it sends him up the track, from where he’s able to gain a huge roll off the banks. He comes back at Sunderland and they cross the line leaning on each other. Pervis throws a headbutt after the line and Sunderland finally lets him go. It’s all good though, and they shake hands on the cooldown lap.

 

After the keirin is finished, everyone watches it on the inhouse video.

There’s a pause before the Women’s pursuit qualifying. Folks from the keirins are huddled in their respective pit areas, crowded around computers, watching the replays. They miss Australia’s Ashlee Ankudinoff set a new all-comers record for the fastest time on Australian soil. I nearly do too – Gene is telling me the gossip from last night’s ACMC parties, and I’m distracted by the stories. But next to us her coaches are yelling, and their voices grow more and more insistent until finally I’m watching Ankudinoff set the new hot time. 

 

Yellin in my ear!

Not heaps excited by the Pursuits, I go talk to Munners for a bit. He tells me all about the Pascoe Vale Cycling Club, which apparently has six members, all of whom were forced to undergo an individual initiation. Some of them were allowed in by virtue of failing to finish an important stage race in France. Some of them he won’t tell me about. He tells me to google it, and I do, but it doesn’t help.

The bike in front of where we are sitting is kind of odd, so I ask him about it. It has forward facing front drop outs, which I’m told is for changing the handling of the bike. Apparently the Koga TT bikes are road time trial bikes with the rear drops swapped out, so they still have a bunch of features usually reserved for the road. They’re also running Dugast tyres that are stamped as Vredesteins, but I don’t ask him about that. I’ve already offended enough mechanics this weekend.

 

The weird Koga

In the meantime, Amy Cure sets a new fastest time in the Pursuit. I don’t want to speak to soon, especially when Sarah Hammer - who is so tough that people are always asking her not to hurt them -is still to come, but there’s a pretty strong chance that there will be another all-Australian final again tonight.

I mention this on twitter, and am disappointed to be informed that not only is Hammer not riding – which means that all of my MC Hammer jokes will go unreleased - but that Wendy Houvenagel and New Zealand’s Alison Shanks have proven me wrong. The Australians will be riding off for third.

Wandering around as the keirin repechage rounds take place, I have another chat to the US mechanic. As I’ve said earlier, he seems like a kindred spirit, and is the only other bloke around here with really obvious tattoos. I ask him about bikes for the Madison. He tells me that some teams run different bikes (I’ve already noted the British Team’s Pinarellos), but generally they just put different bars and a higher stem on, to help with the handling, then wrap the bars all the way to the top. They’re packing up – Team USA has no one in contention tonight – and he’s looking forward to sitting in the stands this evening and getting drunk. Like I said before, exactly the same as every other bike mechanic I’ve ever met. I hand him a flyer to the Fyxo party and he seems keen.

Turning my attention back to the Keirin repechage rounds, I’m saddened to see Josiah not make it through. I’ve just spent a couple of minutes talking about how rad he is, and even showed one of my peers in the media centre the YouTube vid of him racing Emily Hughes on the rollers. He was in contention, but was outgunned in the final straight. He’s a pretty upbeat guy in general, but I figure I’ll give him a little time today before going over for a chat.

There’s a few more rounds to go. It’s interesting to hear the British coaches yell not, “Go!” or “Up!”, but rather, “Pull!”. And they yell so damn loud you can hear them throughout the arena. It seems to work – their man Matt Crampton goes through. In the next heat Glaetzer and Perkins are there, Glaetzer seeming to have been resurrected after his fall. Jason Kenny is also there – this is the toughest repechage round by far. Perko goes early, Glaetzer chases him, but eventually Jason Kenny takes the high line on the track and dispatches both of them, chopping Perko on the line for good measure. Then Max Levy leads from the front and no one is able to come around him, despite Eddie Dawkin’s best efforts. And that’s it for the afternoon session. It’s finishing pretty early – we have nearly two and a half hours for dinner. I wonder what Gene wants to do.

 

Anna Meares climbing into the stands after winning the Keirin last night. Pic C/o Leanne Cole.

 

You try this in cleats. Apparently that's her husband giving her a hand. Rumour has it he has been racing Cyclocross in Adelaide - can anyone confirm? C/o Leanne again

 

You never close your eyes, any more, when I kiss your lips... C/o Leanne

 

Apparently these two are roommates, both here and in Europe when they're both riding for GreenEdge. It's nice of them to share. I bet they also have a roster saying whose turn it is to do the dishes. C/o Leanne Cole.

 

A good shot of the weird helmet Cam Meyer rode to victory in the points race last night. It looked like he'd stolen it off some little kid. Apparently Meyer was also fined for the rainbow stickers on his bike. C/o Leanne Cole.

 

Baby face, you've got the cutest little baby face. C/o Leanne Cole.

 

Where the New Zealanders warm up.

 

This Ukrainian rider agreed that his Kalavinka was wicked hot.

 

But had no idea what the words on the top tube meant. Or didn't want to tell me.

If You're Running To Hide, Trust Me I Don't Mind, It's Ok.

Day Four – Evening Session

There’s a Collingwood game on at the MCG tonight, and the crowds are gathering. I’d kill for a game of kick-to-kick right now – too much sitting and typing has meant that I finish every night mentally wrecked but physically firing. Plus, doing something non-cycling related has significant appeal right now. Gene and I wander around and eventually bump into Nath and Paulie. Paulie has been working the gates, and has featured at length on the SBS coverage of the Worlds. He’s been noticing everything about the riders – their socks, whether they did a good job of shaving their legs, if they’re a total babe – and is a wealth of mostly hilarious information. We sit and we talk shit about the racing we’ve just seen. These are the World Championships, and for the most part they’re pretty serious business, but sitting around with these blokes is a pleasant antidote. 

 

Kick to kick.

There’s a big break between the two sessions – the individual pursuit qualifiers have taken half as long as anticipated, due to the commissaire’s decision to run them two at a time. We’ve got about two hours to kill, but I figure I’ll get a headstart on the report and head back in early. It’s a good thing that I do, because on the way in I run into Sir Chris Hoy and Jason Kenny – probably the two best sprinters in the world. Athletes feared by their opposition. Dudes who could snap me in half, and then in half again. I ask for a photo, knowing full well I’m pressing my luck again, but they’re very obliging. 

 

Chris Hoy and Jason Kenny.

Further inside there are a bunch of madison teams out on the track, practicing slings. They won’t want to do to much before the race tomorrow night, so they’re here to get a feel for the track. Like I’ve said before, the track is a bit wider than DISC, but also a bit shallower, so there’s less run off the banks to be had. The madison is probably the most tactical of races, so it’s interesting to see the thinking actually take place.

Kristina Vogel is warming up on the rollers with a huge pair of headphones on. I wander over and ask her what she’s listening to. “LMFAO!” she answers. One of the benefits of working with fourteen year old boys is that I actually know who this band is. I do, however, resist the temptation to quote the lyrics and ask her if she’s sexy and she knows it. We have a pretty good chat – she tells me that she wasn’t selected to race the women’s TT tomorrow night, so tonight’s keirin is her last event. “What are you going to do after,” I ask her. “Well, I want to do two things,” she tells me, “I want to have a drink, and I want to go dancing. But my teammates tell me that Melbourne is not good for dancing, just for drinking!” I do my best to convince her otherwise, but I’m no expert on either subject, and she remains skeptical. I do, however, give her a flyer for the Fyxomatosis Roubaix party. She’s probably sick of cycling by this point, but she’s polite, and later I see her showing it to a teammate (who was sadly not Miriam Welte).

Party girl, LMFAO fan and world record holder Kristina Vogel.

My second job of the evening I delegate to Gene. Blakey has been in a lot of contact with Joe Cosgrove of Frezoni frames fame, and got the impression that Joe was a little disappointed to not be in Melbourne this weekend. So he asked me to get something signed for him. I hand Gene the USB man that came in the media gift back and ask him to get someone famous’ name on it. “You know,” I tell him, “like Sir Chris, or Pendleton, or Meyer and Howard.” He doesn’t seem too psyched about the mission – I don’t think he’s too keen on playing fanboy either. But he takes USB man and a black texta regardless.

It’s a huge night ahead, with men’s sprint finals, women’s keirin finals, men’s individual pursuit finals and the men’s points race. The only rest I look like getting is during the few omnium events. I may also have to get Gene to take some photos. I can’t see myself tweeting much, either – the events will be too exciting to type about. 

I also realize I’m running out of random things to photograph. I mean, I’m not really here to provide mainstream media coverage – if you want to see sweet pictures of folks actually racing, go see Cycling News. But there’s only so many behind the scenes photos to be taken. Only one day to go though.

The men’s sprint semis are up next, and first up it’s Perkins V Bauge. Bauge is looking so strong this meet, but Perko too has been looking the goods. It’s an unfortunate draw eitherway – I had these two picked as the finalists. Bauge is too fast for Perko, however, and Shane sits up before hitting the finishing straight. He’ll have to try something different next time. Sir Chris is up against Jason Kenny next. There’s a real undercurrent of necessity on this one – whoever wins will likely go on to represent GB in the Olympics, thanks to the IOC’s one event – one competitor policy. Kenny takes the first, but I’d be surprised if there wasn’t some talk between the two of them. Call me skeptical, if you will.

The women’s omnium scratch race is next, and really, the GC is all between GB’s Laura Trott and Australia’s Nettie Edmondson. There’s only one point between the two, with Tara Whitten a further seven points back. And Trott and Edmondson have proven themselves superior in the mass start races. No one in the lineup will be treating it like a two-horse race, however. There are some problems at the start, however – the Cuban girl Mejias is having trouble with her handlebars, which have come loose. They dick around for what seem like ages, which gives the rest of us a chance to take a breath. When eventually the race gets going a break goes away, but it doesn’t have any of the hitters in it – again, the omnium is like a stage race, and by this stage only the GC competition gets chased down. The final sprint is still exciting, however, because both Trott and Edmondson know that the placings are important. They jostle for position, shoulder to shoulder all the way down the final straight, but Trott has the greater turn of speed, and eventually beats Edmondson, drawing two points ahead of her in the omnium. Given that Trott does seem to have a strong sprint, it will be difficult for Edmondson to take the rainbows away from her – Nettie will have to finish at least two places higher than the diminutive Brit. 

 

Nettie Edmondson takes some advice from Monique Hanley.

There’s a women’s keirin up next, and both Anna Meares and Kaarle McCulloch are in it. Folks have been writing off Sandy Clair, however, and they do so at their peril, because I reckon she’ll cause some trouble in this heat. She takes Meares’ wheel, but can’t hold it when Meares goes. It’s like Anna has realized that she’s the flying 200 world record holder, and can beat the pants off anyone in the sprint. Her win is a giant “screw you guys” to the rest of the field, who don’t even worry her.

The next heat is a bit harder, however, with Pendleton, Krupeckaite, Guo, Sanchez and Vogel, with Mustapa a roughie. Craig Neiwand is on the derny, and he keeps the pace nice and low in the first four laps. Pendleton leads it out, but Sanchez and Vogel come flying over the top of her. It’s a strangely lackluster performance from Pendleton, who perhaps spent too many biscuits – both physical and emotional – in the sprints last night. The crowd lets rip a cheer, but Monique suggests that isn’t for Sanchez, who took it out, but rather for Pendleton not making the cut.

Sprint heats again. Bauge v Perkins round two. They stuff around for ages, waiting each other out, not willing to start the sprint. Eventually Bauge turns it up, throwing a few feints at Perko until he goes. Perko holds him off for a second, but when the big French bloke goes past Perko is as good as gone. It’s a serious display of force, and whichever Brit makes it through should be concerned. And in the end it’s Kenny over Hoy, the elder statesman seeming to let Kenny have it coming into turn three.

The omnium TT is up next. I know I said earlier that this would be an exciting event, with the final outcome decided by the last two riders, but there’s a lot of middling riders before that, so I go for a wander. Hot Brad is here and he has some Sesame Snaps for me. It’s a long way up to the top of the venue, and it’s stinking hot up there. I get a good photo of him and Jess, and will totally put it on Facebook in return for their generosity. On the way back, however, I finally bump into Pendleton. I know I’m not supposed to ask her questions until after the keirin final, but given she’s not in the keirin final, I decide to risk it. “Hey Victoria!” I ask, “What does your tattoo say?” She starts to say, “Today is the greatest / day I’ve ever known,” and I recognize the Smashing Pumpkins song it’s from. She goes on to say that music is one of the first thing she and her fiancé bonded over, and I suggest that it’s nice to not talk about cycling once in a while. We talk a while longer before I tell her it’s time for me to deliver some sesame snaps. She oohs and ahhs and tells me they’re healthy, what with the anti-oxidants and sesame seeds and stuff. What a charmer.

 

The bringers of snaps. Those rays of light always follow them around. It's not my shitty camera phone, definitely not.

The women’s omnium TT is happening, but I’m too busy trying to catch up on typing. Laura Trott wins it and Nettie Edmondson comes second, which will be how they also finish up in the Omnium. Make no mistake, the next wave of athletes is already here. Those two are so young!

The women’s keirin is next – Christ almighty, the radness just doesn’t stop tonight! I barely have a chance to think. The minor placings race is up first, and, perhaps distracted from our chat about tattoos and delicious vegan treats, Pendleton falls out the back and doesn’t seem too concerned. McCulloch tries to race it the Meares way and does ok for the most part, but gets rolled by Sandy Clair and Simona Krupeckaite on the final straight.

The race for the Rainbows is, of course, thick with hitters. Meares is surely the favourite in this, and has been racing well all night. In a repeat of their heat, she ends up at fourth wheel, with Vogel taking the motorbike. Guo hits it early, and Meares lets her go. The entire population of Hisense Arena is as nervous as hell right now. Meares seems to be falling off the back. Sanchez hits it. Vogel hits it. Meares waits. And waits. With a lap and fifty to go she moves up the track. It’s a damn smart move – Vogel and Guo are dying in front of her, and the race is bunching up. She rolls into the bell lap and starts moving around the outside, pushing down and squeezing out Guo. She and Vogel are neck and neck all the way down the back straight, and through turn three and four they look like one amorphous bunch, writhing and pulsating together. Meares is two wide and gets enough roll off the bank. She’s edging forward, then pushing forward, then she has a wheel on Vogel. This is in the bag! She takes a hand off the bars as she crosses the line and throws her fist in the air. Hell Yeah! Her first rainbow for the weekend, and the crowd is on its feet yelling and screaming and losing their brains altogether.

But that’s not enough – next up is the Individual Pursuit finals. In the bronze medal ride off it’s NZ’s Westley Gough v Australia’s Rohan Dennis, but in the final it’s all Australia – Bobridge v Hepburn. There’s another Rainbow jersey on the way, it’s just a matter of whose shoulders it ends up on. In the first battle it’s neck and neck until half way, when Dennis starts to gain ascendency. The boy is getting a huge cheer, as if he were racing for gold. With one kilometer to go he has a second and a half on Gough, and is only getting further ahead. It looks like the Individual Pursuit is going to be 1-2-3 Australia. I ain’t patriotic, but that’s pretty cool. But Gough has other plans – in the last kilometer he starts pegging Dennis back. You’re just not supposed to ride a pursuit like this, but Gough is doing it. Dennis is dying and Gough has it! The trans-Tasman rivalry is alive and well.

In the final it’s all Australia, and the crowd seems a little torn. The cheers definitely aren’t as loud now that nothing can be stolen from our collective consciousness. Both coaches are walking the line on a pretty hot schedule – Hepburn’s bloke keeps stepping back as he falls one and a half second behind Bobridge. As the race goes on the splits get smaller, however, and the crowd gets behind the underdog. Is there enough distance left? Hell yes! Hepburn has it! It’s a victory for the Underdog! Does he know how it feels to expect to get a fair shake? When you ride like that, you shake it out of people.

Sprint finals up next. Oh man, this night is off the hook! There’s still a points race to go!

First up is the 3 v 4 final, and it’s Perko V Sir Chris. Hoy uses a lot of the track, and eventually a bit too much – he throws a huge hook at Perkins in the final term, and has a slightly guilty look about him as he rolls around. Perko sits up and does what he’s supposed to do, eventually watching the replay on the big screen with the rest of us. There’s no question about the relegation, and … . Next up is Bauge v Kenny, France v GB, and the two are not known to be best of friends. Bauge has had his last rainbow jersey stripped from him for missing doping controls, and Kenny was the one who inherited it. Bauge wants it back, Kenny wants one without a footnote. It’s a drag race, and Bauge looks a little troubled in the back straight, but by turn four he has it in the bag.

There’s another presentation occurring, so we all have a bit of time to think about the points race. I haven’t seen Cam Meyer around, but I’m assuming he’s here somewhere. Last year he was marked out of the race and Avila Alcibiades from Colombia was able to take a sneaky lap and the race. With so many folks needing to be marked in this race, it’ll be interesting to see whether or not Meyer can get away. If he does, the noise will be nothing short of deafening.

Ben Swift wins the first couple of sprints, and this seems to be his strategy. Meyer seems to be lacking a little zip in the sprints, and gets rolled for the third. He’ll definitely be looking to take laps in the latter part of the race. With 123 of 160 to go New Zealand and France shoot of the front, and they quickly gain half a lap. Ben Swift finds himself in a decent position to grab some minor points, and takes a convincing lead. There’s a long way to go, however. Meyer keeps chipping away, picking up minor points here and there. I like the way he’s racing – he’s not spending too many bikkies, but he’s moving up in the standings, if gradually. Eventually he’s sitting pretty on second, but Swift is seven points clear of him and looking strong. Half way there.

Meyer needs the rest of the field to tire so he can take the lap, so he throws a few fake attacks in there. A while back I asked his madison partner, Leigh Howard, the difference between a fake attack and a real attack. “A real attack,” he answered, “is one that works.” This one is pulled back right away, so it was obviously fake. The next one, however, is launched with 66 to go, and as predicted, folks go nuts. Meyer keeps looking behind him, but folks aren’t organized. They’re moving all around the track, trying to shake the wheelsuckers and get across solo. Eventually, though, they pull him back, mostly thanks to the work of the Dutch bloke, who did some ruddy hard work. As soon as he’s back Ben Swift wins the sprint. It’s going to be hard to take Swift out of this race with a mere fifty laps to go.

Although Meyer ain’t going to stop trying. He launches again, this time with an Austrian. Swift and Italy’s Ciccone try to chase, then the Dutch guy tries to bridge. If they pull together it’ll be hard to bring them back, but eventually that’s how it goes down. They’re all bunched up with 40 to go. Surely there’s not enough time for a lap now?

Meyer keeps hitting and hitting. It’s like watching George Foreman battle Mohammad Ali. He keeps punching and punching, in the desperate need for one of his punches to be the knockout blow. He’s running out of time though, and like Ali, all the bunch need to do is survive. They mark him and he doesn’t go anywhere. He sits at the back of the bunch, knowing that a lap would still win it, but knowing there’s no way anyone will let him get away. It’s mostly Ciccone chasing, perhaps thanks to his Youth.

With 20 to go the bunch sits up and lets the New Zealander Gate get away. Meyer goes after him, and it looks pretty good, but Swift chases once again. Meyer shakes him off, Gate jumps on and they’re hitting it again, This looks like the move! Ben Swift chases, then swings up. He can’t do it alone. The crowd are yelling, screaming, begging for more laps, more time, more something. The bell goes for ten laps left and Meyer takes the five points. It’s not enough. They need the lap, they get the lap! But Ben Swift is within striking distance – if he wins this sprint, he’ll win the race. There’s a guy off the front. Can Swift catch him? No! Meyer has it! Unbelievable! Foreman wins! Meyer wins! The crowd is louder than it’s been all night! I don’t want to use multiple exclamation points, but I will!!!

The dude looks stoked. I’m sure he’s roaring as loud as he can right now, but no one can hear him over the crowd. He doesn’t look like he can believe it. He too is climbing into the crowd – it looks like his grandparents are there. He slides down back down the track to the infield, dragging his bike in one hand, crashing into his coach and hugging him like crazy with the other.

The sprints come up quickly, which seems unfair, because the rest of us need a damn rest. There has been no relegation from the first 3 v 4 heat, so Hoy is up one over Perkins, and he takes the next pretty easily, guaranteeing his spot on the podium. Bauge has also been looking pretty good over Kenny, but Kenny seems confident, going on the whistle. It’s a ballsy move, and it looks like it won’t come off, but he flicks out a little bit through turn three and it throws Bauge off his game. Surely there’ll be a relegation this time. The commissaires are talking, but the scoreboard says one all. Everyone waits for the announcement, watches the big screen. No one wants to see a win by default, like last night. The crowd falls quiet.

And stays quiet.

 

Bauge.

And stays quiet.

Eventually the decision comes through. Bauge has it. There are some boos, but generally there is quiet applause. He looks wrecked, relieved.

Cam Meyer steps up the podium and Advance Australia Fair plays again. There’s a quick interview, then La Marseillaise plays for Gregory Bauge. I’m buzzing, psyched, doubting that I’ll be able to sleep tonight. I’ve sent Kristina Vogel out to some nightclub in the city, on the recommendation of Facebook, and I’m tempted to go join her, but I'm way too old for nightclubbing. Home is probably where I should be right now. So I upload some photos, tap out some more words, then pack up.

 

Gene. Today he was wearing pants that apparently showed his buttcrack when he leaned over. I hope they got to see that on the TV coverage.

 

All the riders had their road bikes to warm up and cool down on, and most of them had time trial bars. Interesting...

 

I told you guys that if you can't afford a five spoke, a Shamal is the next best thing.

 

Dutch rider ignoring a sign. You can't tell me what to do, sign! I'm ruddy Dutch!

Hit Me With The Major.

Day Four – Afternoon Session.

The cat and I are hanging out, waiting for the brown rice to cook. It’s taking forever, but at least while we’re waiting we get some quality time. I haven’t been home much over the past four days, and when I have I’ve generally been asleep, so it’s nice to hang out. It flops on its side, shows me its belly, offers headbutts and affection.

Eventually the rice is done and I wolf it down. I’m riding my bike to the track again today, and it’s a little less fun this time around. There’s a stiff southerly blowing, my bag is as heavy as hell, and the twelve hour days at Hisense are beginning to take their toll. Still, scooting around the MCG is fun, and it’s considerably better than taking the train.

When I swan in the pursuits are already underway. Thanks for making me late, cat! Geraint Thomas is first up, and he catches his opposition within the first two kilometres. It’s satisfying to catch someone in a pursuit, and you probably push a little harder in order to do so, but I wonder how much time is lost in deviating that far from the black line.

I go talk to Team GB’s press officer. The folks at fixed.org.au are, like everyone else, a bit obsessed with Victoria Pendleton, and have given me a list of questions. She’s pretty nice to deal with, and asks me who I’m writing for. I tell her I write for The New Timer, and describe it as a hipster blog, trying to explain why all of my questions are about tattoos and music. She tells me that Pendleton will be taking questions after the keirin final later tonight. It’s not really the answer I’m after, because I know that after the keirin she’ll be mobbed by the legitimate media, especially if she wins, and I need a quiet, questions over coffee vibe. But she’s a bit of a superstar and all, so I have to play by the rules.

The male pursuiters are here, and they’re all skinny enduro types, but the women’s keirin heats are on immediately afterwards, which means that the female sprinter types are also hanging around. It’s unusual to see all of these strong, powerful women around all of these scrawny and emaciated men. I walk past the Australian camp and notice that Bobridge and Dennis both have their noses stuffed with tissues. I chat to one of the team doctors, and he – in a display of transparency as yet unseen in team Australia – tells me that the tissues are soaked in Eucalyptus, in an attempt to open up the airways. “And for a touch of patriotism,” I offer, but he doesn’t laugh.

 

Jacky Bobby showing excellent form on the rollers, as well as his eucalyptus flavoured snot blockers.

It’s a little cooler today, and no one is expecting any records to fall. Jack Bobridge is up against Michael Hepburn in their individual pursuit heats, and the two Australian teammates have been trashtalking each other all week, using twitter to try to psych each other out. It’s hard to look past Bobridge in this discipline – he is the world record holder – but he’s been riding a lot of road lately, and there’s a slim chance he may fail to make the transition. A very slim chance. Alright, next to no chance. But hey, I’m trying to make things interesting here.

Actually, perhaps there is a chance. I’m standing in front of Scott McGrory in the line for coffee. This is where most of the business and analysis takes place in the media centre, and today is no exception. McGrory is saying that Hepburn is a real chance today – apparently the boy is flying. At this point I tell him that I’m eavesdropping, and he doesn’t seem to mind. I want to also tell him that I really enjoy his commentary work, but I think it’s probably better to save the gushing fanboy stuff for tomorrow. 

 

This woman hears more inside gossip about cycling than anyone else here.

When the race begins in earnest Bobridge is up, and – the race seeming like a mere formality – I start to look up Ricky Bobby quotes, in order to make better Jacky Bobby jokes. When you write a blog, that’s called research. But the crowd is getting noisier, and when I look up Hepburn is in front. He ends up soundly beating Bobridge, and setting the second fastest time in regular position ever. Not bad, not bad at all.

The women’s keirin heats are up next. I love the keirins. They’re fast and rough and rad. In the first Germany’s Katrina Vogel – totes one of my favourites – leads it out, It’s a smart move, but she has Anna Meares behind her, and Meares has the horses to get around. Vogel holds on for second though, and goes straight through to the final. NZ’s Natasha Hansen, spotted earlier doing her homework, came home fourth. My other new favourite, Miriam Welte, is in the next, and also grabs the first position behind Craig Neiwand on the derny. She has Kaarle McCulloch behind her though, and Pendleton two back, so this is going to be a damn tough heat. McCulloch, France’s Clara Sanchez and Welte form a wall, and Pendleton is having a tough time getting around it. She’s got a much smaller gear on than the others, which probably gives her the jump, but not the top end speed. Welte dies hard and Sanchez takes it from McCulloch. The next heat is a little easier, but still includes Shuang Guo from China and Lithuania’s Simona Krupeckaite. Guo leads it out, but Krupeckaite has to go around France’s Sandy Clair, and the distance is just a little too much. The next heat has ‘local’ girl Fatehah Mustapa, as well as Cuba’s Lisandra Guerra, with Guerra not keen to go to the front, leaving a lot of space behind the Russian rider behind the bike. Mustapa, though, seems to have taken a leaf out of her teammate Awang’s book, finding an impossible gap to clutch second place out of nowhere.

  

What I look like when I'm watching the racing. I've nearly chewed a hole in my media pass. Photo c/o Leanne Cole.

Keen to follow up this “Pendleton runs small gears” theory, I wander over to team GB’s mechanic. “Don’t suppose you can tell me what gear she was running in that last one, could you?” I ask, knowing full well that a cheesy grin is the only thing that’s going to get me an answer here. He laughs at me. “As if mate! You know I’m not going to tell! That’s a stupid question.” I laugh back, telling him that I had to try. “Can I take a photo and try to count the teeth myself?” I offer, but he continues laughing and shaking his head.

The women’s omnium individual pursuit is up next, and I disturb Sarah Hammer’s warm-up in order to get a photo. She’s so tough she makes orphanages look like holiday camps. The photographers in particular are a bit bored by the event, as it’s not exactly a glamour sport, and instead get chatting about the Stawell Easter Gift, which is also on this weekend. “Hey, you blokes be careful,” I tell them, “I’m Stawell born and bred!” One of them gives me a quizzical look. “What’s your name?” He asks. It turns out he is Mark Dadswell, who used to live two houses down from me when I was growing up. Freaking small world after all, eh? I totally text my dad about it. 

 

The Japanese Omnium rider. I only wanted a photo of her bike, but she was so rad I decided I needed one of her too. 

Eventually the women get through their omnium IPs. They always run the leaders last, which builds the tension nicely. Sarah Hammer, who is so tough she takes her protein powder straight, is up against Tara Whitten, who is also pretty tough. Both women get off to an average start, but as the laps tick over their placings rise and rise. Whitten has the early lead, but Hammer to too legit to quit, and with five to go is clearly in the lead. There’s not much in it though, and Whitten claws it back, then finishes the three kilometres a nose in front. She has done the fastest ever 3k pursuit by a woman on Australian soil, and will take some beating in this event.

 

Sarah Hammer had to pray just to make it today.

Trott v Edmondson up next. Both of them are only 19 years old. Being young is no real advantage for a pursuiter – generally age helps with endurance, rather than hinders. The two of them sit in third and forth for the whole race, deferring to their North American elders. Trott takes it from Edmondson, which puts her in the omnium lead.

The keirin repechage rounds are up next, offering the vanquished a chance to make it through to the final. Gnidenko from Russia gets through just as I finally figure out how to use the Tissot timing website. Live results! Correct spelling! Pendleton is in the next one, and the fewer riders in this round – three, that’s the magic number – should work in her favour. She’s got Canada’s Monique Sullivan in front of her though, and the Canadians are not to be discounted at this meet. Tell her there’s a Tim Horton’s somewhere nearby and she’ll be sure to attack. Pendleton takes it out pretty easily though – she’s in a different class to the others in this heat. Welte is in the next one, up against Krupeckaite, with Willy Kanis from the Netherlands thrown in for good measure. The Dutchwoman is going to need a whole lot of courage to get through here though – perhaps three or four pints. She holds off on the sprint, letting the Belarussian take a flyer. An Australian crowd is always going to back an underdog, and the crowd is momentarily on its feet, but Krupeckaite is too strong, and rolls her at the end. There’s one more heat, and Natasha “Gangsta Gangsta” Hansen from NZ is in it, but she’s boxed in by Cuba’s Guerra, and no amount of hip and shoulders will get her out of there. Tsos from the Ukraine goes through.

The session ends and folks start spilling out. Collingwood are playing at the MCG tonight, so the whole neighbourhood is going to be packed out. Folks have been texting me all day, asking if there are still tickets for tonight. I have no idea, of course, but understand their eagerness. With the Individual Pursuit finals, the Men’s Sprint finals and the Women’s Keirin finals all on the program, tonight is going to be off the hook. 

 

FOA asked me for a closeup of this bike, referring to it as a hipster's dream.

 

The biggest disappointment of the day - I thought these were the Dark Chocolate variety.

 

Hey Nonie Carr, there are female coaches! Like this one from South Korea!

 

Leanne Cole took some photos for me yesterday, and here they are. This is the view from the bleachers.

 

These two suckers have work to do. C/o Leanne Cole.

 

Perko's race face before his sprint heat. He lost, but the other guy - Bourgain? - got relegated, so Perko is still in the running. C/o Leanne Cole

 

It was another late night. C/o Leanne Cole.