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.

Character Assassination.

Day Three – Evening Session

Gene and I go walking again. Outside a cold wind has come through, blowing a lot of the humidity out of the air. The doors of the arena are all open, so we hope that the temperature inside has come down a little bit. Chatting about this with Paulie Parker, he opines that if this does occur, they’ll simply close the doors and turn on the heating again. A hot arena is a fast arena, comfort be damned. 

 

Cari cools down.

When we walk back in the temperature is not noticeably different. My friend Cari Higgins is warming up on the rollers wearing an ice-vest. I ask her mechanic if I can have one, and he offers to sell it to me at the going rate – two thousand dollars. I politely decline. Walking further though the pit areas I stop to take a photo of the Japanese Mech gluing on tubulars. Apparently every day of the meet he has worn a different colour apron – one for each of the rainbow stripes. That’s pretty cute. Then one of the Japanese coaches grabs my tattooed arm, and before I know it the mech has pulled out some tools for a real-life comparison. 

 

This guy thought my tattoos were hilarious.

Word travels round the twitterverse – did I just write that, really? – that the first race of the evening will be Meares v Pendleton. Sure, it’s best of three, and they’ll string it out a little bit, but holy hell, where do you go from there? All week the media has been about these two! It’s like being MC Hammer and opening your set with U Can’t Touch This.

It’s the first sold out night of the weekend, and Hisense is quickly filling up. The program tonight is sprints, sprints and more sprints, with a couple of omnium events and the women’s scratch race thrown in. And in the first damn heat, Meares v Pendleton, with the heat simmering away all week, Pendleton comes off her line in the final sprint, gets hooked on Meares and hits the deck. It’s getting hot in here. I may take off all my clothes. The second heat is a much more sedate affair, with Lithuania’s Krupeckaite accounting for the Ukraine’s Shulika without much trouble.

 

Sellouts.

The men have more sprints now, and first up will be Bauge v Boetticher. Bauge looks so relaxed out there. He gives Boetticher the lane, doesn’t fret, lets the German lead it out, then rolls him at the end. Chris Hoy and Mr Calves Forstemann roll around and sprint, but Hoy has it all the way. Kenny and Sireau argue over who makes the best pommes frites, with Kenny winning the argument. Perko tells Bourgain that it’s a French stick, not a baguette and the crowd adores him for it. 

 

Kevin Sireau takes his chips seriously.

The women’s scratch race is up next, and not content to make it a boring race, Germany’s Charlotte Becker attacks very early and quickly gains half a lap. The chase is on though, and Becker pops with 29 to go. I actually know in real life two of the people in this race – Higgins, again, but also Ireland’s Shannon McCurley, who lives in Australia and I believe used to race for the LaTrobe Valley. She sits in the back and waits for the sprint, while the Netherlands attacks again and again and again. If there was a prize for most aggressive, it would be going Dutch tonight. With two to go there’s a bit of rubbing and the Ukrainian rider pulls a pedal. It causes some gaps to open up and Mel Hoskins of Australia is forced to do a lot of work. She goes high on the bank, and it looks like the downhill roll might get her the win, until Poland’s Katarzyna Pawlowska goes a little higher and gets a little more help from gravity. Another bloody silver for Australia.

 

Shannon McCurley.

A break from writing as the second heats of the women’s sprints take place. Meares looks to have rolled Pendleton nice and easy, but closer inspection reveals Meares to have swung out of the lane, and she is relegated. In the other heat, which no one here cares about, Krupeckaite catches Shulika napping and rolls through like she’s nipping down the 7-11 for the key ingredients of a peanut butter and jam sandwich.

The men’s omnium scratch is up next. The sound of so many bikes going past is kinda incredible – it’s a low, forceful rumble. Riders here will have taken note of the omnium standings – it’s like a GC battle, and the leaders won’t chase anyone who isn’t a threat to the overall. A break forms with 44 to go, and it does contain France’s Coquard, so Glenn O’Shea and Zach Bell go to the front an pull. Ed Clancy even chips in for half a lap, and then they’re back. But then a break goes with all the contenders in it – bar Clancy. Bell, Archbold and O’Shea all rip it and eventually gain a lap. Bell doesn’t stuff around though – the boy only knows how to attack. He seems to be in everything this weekend – I bet he also pops up in the points race. Marty Irvine from Ireland started this day in tenth and doesn’t want to slip out of contention, so he’s throwing everything he can at them. In the end it comes down to a sprint. Hansen from Denmark takes the early run, and everyone else gets stuck in traffic, despite some aggressive lines from O’Shea.

 

Zach Bell is also extremely handsome. 

In the deciding sprint heat between Meares and Pendleton Meares does what she can to intimidate Pendleton, and in the beginning it seems to be working. Meares leads it out, looks the goods, but Pendleton has a deceptive turn of speed. They finish right next to each other, and no one is sure who has won. There’s a pause. There’s a wait. There’s a little bit of time go by. But then the scoreboard shows a little star next to Pendleton’s name. She has won it. 

 

Slightly pervy photo of Pendleton after she beat Meares.

Fricking sprint night is proving to be way too exciting. I’m having trouble tweeting – though you may not know that by the way I’m dominating your twitter feed. Seriously, every single one of these sprints are going down to the wire, with rarely more than a tyre’s width in it. And a majority of them are going to three rounds. It’s kinda intense. No, it’s really intense! Man, you’re going to need to get the results from CyclingNews. The men’s finals are tomorrow night. You should totally come down for that.

The women’s finals are up now though, and the first heat is Meares V Shulika. Meares seems to underestimate her opposition here, and lets her lead it out, but she has the horses to win it back. The second heat is Pendleton v Krupeckaite, whose name I can now spell without looking. With no Australian in this heat the crowd seems to be siding with the mother country, even if Krupeckaite does have a sweet jaguar or tiger or something scary on her helmet. I’m starting to like Pendleton. She’s a bit of a scrapper, but she has this incredible turn of speed. It’s her acceleration that makes her difficult to beat.

It’s the women’s omnium next, with Edmondson currently in the lead. She’s got both Sarah Hammer (who is so tough she could win just by showing up) and Canada’s Tara Whitten in the race though, and those two seasoned competitors may be out to teach the new kid a lesson. And it’s Whitten who makes the early move, with the Korean Lee in tow, but the bunch recognizes the danger and pulls them back. But there’s another youngster in the field, team GB’s Laura Trott. She’s been trumpeted as the next big thing, and the field will need to mark her carefully. Eventually, though, a small group takes a lap, and none of the hitters are in it. This will change the women’s omnium standings, for sure. Well, duh. But you know what I mean. Edmondson does enough to take fifth, however, which puts her four points ahead of Trott for the overall, with Sarah Hammer, who is so tough she makes Rocky scared, in third.

 

Sarah Hammer's bike. Said the mechanic to Brendan: "U can't touch this." Nah, he didn't really.

Midway through the scratch race a second person comes up to me and accuses Meares of playing the man, not the ball. “If you’ve just set the world record over 200 metres,” they start, “Why the hell wouldn’t you just go to the front and do the work? Why bother looking around and throwing hooks?” I laugh, of course. But then I get to thinking. All week Pendleton has been in the media complaining about how Meares “stretches the rules” and plays rough. I even remember ranting about how stupid Pendleton was being, revealing her weaknesses to all and sundry. But rough play (keep it clean, Hurley!) wasn’t her weakness, in the end. She did just fine with the rough stuff. Her weakness was that she just wasn’t as fast as Meares. She needed Meares to stuff around, to hold off on unleashing her pure speed. And that’s just what happened. This race started a week ago, and Victoria won it then.

It’s around this point that I exceed my daily twitter limit. I think I did hit the five hundred mark. That’s probably a bit over the top, and I relish the break. It frees me up to watch the racing a little more, which is good, because the sprints are on again, and once again they are damn, damn close. Chris Hoy and Jason Kenny both go through – it’s kinda sad to think that thanks to the IOC’s one person per event rule, only one of them can go to the Olympics. This event – the final of it, anyways – may decide who gets to go. That sucks.

The women’s sprint finals are on next. Meares takes hers out with relative ease, and wins the bronze medal. She’s not as stoked as if she had won, but she’s certainly as gracious. She takes her time and acknowledges the whole crowd. But the Pendleton v Krupeckaite battle goes down to the wire, with Pendleton leaving her run a little late, perhaps depending on the burning acceleration I mentioned earlier a little too much. But there’s a protest and a relegation – Krupeckaite has come out of the lane in the back straight - and a few minutes later Pendleton is announced as the winner. It’s probably not how she would’ve wanted to win it, and some unkind sections of the crowd boo, but she’s already in tears. It seems she didn’t expect this win, especially after only being able to qualify 4^th fastest. She used her smarts to win, and that’s kinda rad. 

 

Krupeckaite after being defeated. I have terrible timing.

There are two omnium events left, and even though one of them will decide the men’s champion (in a sweet Canada v Australia commonwealth battle), there’s a sense of anti-climax in the air. Meares, the day after setting a world record, has been vanquished, and Perkins knocked out before the semis.

Well, there is until O’Shea steps up. He’s up against Zach Bell again. They’re tied on the same points, so whoever wins this will win the overall. As they pull out of the gates O’Shea skips the front wheel a little, but by the end of the first lap he’s up. I know I’ve raved about Bell and his attacking style, but I’m starting to get the impression that it may have cost him a little too much energy. O’Shea pulls away, and by the time a kilometer has passed he has won the kilo, and the overall. The crowd goes a little nuts. O’Shea climbs off his bike and into the stands to join them. It hasn’t been the best world champs for Australia so far, but a win in this – an Olympic event – counts for more.

The elimination race is up next. All the buzz on twitter about these races have mentioned the country carnivals, and it does feel a little bit like Ararat has come to Melbourne. I wonder if they’ll have a handicap later? In the meantime, though, I pretend to stand for the national anthem.

When the elimination is on I wander down to the finish line to get a better look. There aren’t any headbutts, but there’s lots of yelling and occasional screaming. Laura Trott does the Brendan Viti method – sprint, then rest, then sprint – and manages to take it out, putting her into the omnium lead coming into the second day. 

 

Laura Trott displayed an impressive set of abs, and an impressive display of patience for some doofus with a smartphone. 

I’m tired, but I’m getting the hang of it. Hopefully I won’t have missed the last train, and will make it back to Blakey’s in one piece. 

 

The axman.

 

For the fanboys.

Just Like A Bullet Leaves A Gun.

"Sure, you can take a photo, just don't get too close. If you get too close, he might punch you."

Day Three – Afternoon Session.

It’s Good Friday, aka “Fish and Chips Day”, and nothing but fish and chip shops are open. Food was a real issue yesterday, and I don’t know that I can handle anything else fried. We swing by 7-11 and grab the key ingredients to make Peanut Butter and Jam Sandwiches. There were three weeks when I lived on these things back in 2002, convincing myself that I was both covering three of the food groups and also staving off scurvy. Casey also pulls together a care package full of snacks, but I know that if I don’t get something substantial I’m going to be cranky again. Could you tell last night? Reading back, I kinda can. 

 

Dennis Station. Sounds like a guy's name.

But then, as I’m on the train to Jolimont, Gene texts and asks if I want a falafel. It’s like asking if a nymphomaniac would like to come inside for a coffee. I know I’ll eat it the minute it’s in my hot little hand, but I don’t care. I want it all, and I want it now.

It’s another spectacular day. I get off the train and walk through the MCG carpark towards the ground. There’s a bridge just over the other side that leads to Hisense, but it’s a nice day, so I walk around the long way, listening to My Disco and feeling pretty good about things.

Inside I find Gene and my falafel. I am instantly the most popular man in the media centre. Everyone wants to know where I have managed to procure something resembling real food. I tell them that they should go see my friend Gene, who will no doubt appreciate the attention.

Brunswick member and former euro pro Casey Munro is wrenching for The Netherlands, so I stop in his pit and have a chat. We talk crap about local cyclocross for a while before I get down to the nitty gritty – the tech. He’s in the middle of wiping down some wheels with vinegar to take the dust off. I ask him how big the tyres are, because it seems like things are changing in this regard. He tells me that they’re all running 22mm tyres at the back, but the front generally depends on the wheel. If they’re running a front disc, they’ll put on a 20. If they’re running a five spoke, they’ll put on a 22. Apparently the five spokes are harder to control. If anyone wants to send me one in order for me to do some subjective testing, please get in touch. I also comment on the massive chainrings the Dutch – and a lot of others – are riding. He tells me they’re 54s, and they all have 14 tooth sprockets on the back. 50 / 14 is 96 gear inches, so roughly a 54 / 14 would equal a 104. That’s a big gear, even for sprinters. 

 

Munners.

I also get chatting to the organizer from the Canadian team. She’s from Ottawa, and starts telling me where that is. I interrupt her, tell her that I lived in Montreal, and then throw in that the Habs had a win against the Sens the other day – ice hockey talk. She rolls her eyes and tells me she hasn’t heard the end of it since. She’s in need of a chair, for some reason – apparently the division between the riders and the media is skewed in favour of the media. In order to address this imbalance I offer to steal her one from the media centre. She gets a mischievous glint in her eye and we go about being sneaky. Mission accomplished, I give her a flyer for the Fyxomatosis Roubaix party, telling her to bring the team along. “My friend who’s party it is, his wife is Canadian too, so you’ll probably know her,” I tell her. I don’t think she’s going to come.

 

Hey Andy Fyxo, if this girl turns up to your Roubaix party, it's cool, I sent her!

I’m pretty sure they still have the heaters on inside, because it’s freaking boiling. The sprint qualifiers are on first, which means about an hour’s worth of big dudes going really, really fast. Matthew Glaetzer is the first to break the ten second mark, convincing amateur cyclists everywhere to convert to Christianity. Fortunately Gregory Bauge goes one better soon afterwards, convincing amateur cyclists everywhere that even better than converting to Christianity would be dodging doping controls.

The legitimate media don’t really stroll around the pits like I do, talking to folks and hanging out. They tend to just sit in their seats, get the official times from the Tissot website, and update their twitter feeds from there. When they do interview riders they always wait until they’ve just come off the track, then pounce. This means that none of them walk more than fifty metres at a time, and rarely more than three or four times a session. For the most part they chat to each other, catch up, talk shop. They’re pretty distant from the riders, that’s for sure.

 

The media centre.

Sprint heats are up next. The format is skewed towards the best riders, of course – the guy who qualified first is up against the guy who qualified sixteenth, and so on. While this seems unfair, it does make the slower rider (and I use that term sparingly – everyone here is as fast as all hell) try different things, try to win on tactics rather than speed. Team GB’s Matt Crampton, for example, hits out at Germany’s Robert Forstemann with two laps to go, hoping that he’ll have more endurance than Mr Calves. It very nearly comes off, but Forstemann takes it at the line. NZ’s Ethan Mitchell tries the same against Sir Chris Hoy, and quickly gains thirty metres on the oversized Scot. The crowd goes nuts as Hoy chases hard, gasping for air, before catching Mitchell on the final straight.

Maybe I’ve just got more energy today, but these sprint heats are ruling so hard. Jason Kenny, the current world champ, throws feints at NZ’s Sam Webster before launching at him with one to go. Webster doesn’t give in though, and nearly rolls Kenny on the line. Michael Blatchford throws a huge hook at Eddie Dawkins from team NZ, but Dawkins doesn’t throw the hand up in protest – he just keeps on rolling past. Perko’s heat is relatively benign by contrast, but immediately after Germany’s Rene Enders goes on the whistle, and forces Bourgain to chase too. The Venezuelans Canelon shoulders Germany’s Boetticher, and they bump their way along the back straight, Boetticher eventually taking it. I’m out of the seat every other race, hands on head, Leanne Cole laughing at my theatrics.

I’m still not really supposed to be taking photos, but Leanne has somehow scored a bib, and goes for a wander on my behalf. The men’s omnium individual pursuits are on, and – according to my friends in the peanut gallery – this seems like a good time to go get a beer. While they’re exploring the top level, however, they see Forstemann sprawled out on the infield ground, shirt off, not moving. I’m sent to talk to the German guys about him. They shrug their shoulders with the same frosty German nonchalance. “It’s normal. He is ok.” They say, and the conversation is over. The Germans have been pretty pleasant, and tolerant of my poor attempts at their language, but they’re not into histrionics. Or, you know, caring.

The story of last night was Caroline Ryan coming third in the women’s points, apparently Ireland’s second ever medal at a Track World Championships. My mate Dermott is working for them, and he gives me the lowdown: the whole team has a budget of only forty thousand dollars a year, which probably wouldn’t even cover Anna Meares’ ice baths. Apparently their cyclists still have jobs. Caroline wasn’t even supposed to be riding in the points – it was supposed to just be a warm-up for Sunday.

 

Marty Irvine's custom painted Dolan. That custom paint was half the Irish team's budget this year.

The next round of sprint heats starts up, and with the riders more evenly matched, some of the fun has gone out of it. There are a few dramatic moves, but no one is keen to try anything outlandish – with the possibility that one of them might win, the stakes is too high. Yes, that was a deliberate grammatical error. Sir Chris gets knocked out and has to go into the repechage, Perko takes care of Glaetzer. Erle Pavlis resists the temptation to ask Glaetzer where his god is now. The reigning world champ Jason Kenny goes through.

The women’s omnium flying lap is up next. I don’t want to be unenthusiastic, but I am. Timed events aren’t my favourites, as you know, and timed events that are only a small part of a larger event are even less so. But this even marks the first appearance of the reigning world individual pursuit champion, Sarah Hammer. She’s so tough her regular name is a nickname. She’s so tough she puts up with my jokes about MC Hammer being her brother. She’s so tough her parents didn’t tuck her into bed, they used nails. She’s so tough she qualifies 4^th, even though she’s not a sprinter. Nettie Edmondson wins the event and is currently leading the omnium. That’s cool. I like her, and have done so ever since I gave her a push in the Ballarat Women’s Handicap early last year.

That brings the afternoon session to a close. There's a cold front coming in, and with it a storm. Finally, a night without sweat.

 

Matty Keenan was also sad about Andy Fyxo's absence. "Best cycling photographer in Australia," he said. No kidding!

 

Gene was told to wear smart pants, and these were all he could muster.