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. 

When The Light's Out.

Day Two – Evening Session

It’s as hot as hell in Hisense – rumour has it that the heaters are on, in order to make the track faster – so Gene and I go for a stroll outside. Outside dusk is settling in, the sun going down over the city. It’s a beautiful night. Outside we bump into Angela Wiegard, her new crutches strewn next to her on the steps. We sit down and chat with her a while, watching the cars and bikes go past along Swan Street. The crowd are milling around, folks bumping into old friends and people they raced against back in 1987. It’s an after work scene again, and there’s that sense of release as the long weekend begins.

Bored, I go take some more tech photos for Hurley. Ed Clancy catches me stalking his bike so I go have a chat. The British Team are so approachable – their PR officer sees me chatting to Ed, and I apologise, but she assures me that it’s fine, and that I can talk to whoever I want. Take that, snooty Australians (“Hey Glenn O’Shea, what are you listening to?” “Nothing.”).

The Special Service Course hubs that Clancy caught me ogling.

As I said earlier, Hurley wanted me to ask about the contrast between his road and track setups, so I do. But for Ed, there aren’t any. Same crank length, same bar height, same everything. He admits that’s a bit unusual, and goes into detail explaining why he rolls that way. I’m more interested in the way the riders think, however, so I ask him how he’s feeling about the Omnium, which he’s currently leading. “To be honest with you, mate,” he tells me, “A bit shite. After last night (when he was part of the pursuit team that set the new world record) I’m having trouble getting my head around it. You know, all the other blokes are off riding down beach road…” “Getting pissed?” I interject. “Yeah, probably!” He answers. He tells me that the mass start omnium events aren’t his favourites. I remember reading something similar in the Cavendish book – about how Team GB want to fund definite gold medals, so they pour their money into the events in which there are the least amounts of variables – the timed events, only to neglect the mass start events. It’s interesting that this still seems to be the case, what, six years later? Eight?

I realize I don’t have any photos for the evening, so I try to take some photos of folks warming up. Miriam Welte’s coach is pinning her number on her, so I grab a quick pic and make the same tired joke I made about Pendleton last night (Welte Pin-Up!). I’m actually looking for my facebook friend Cari Higgins, who is here to race the points race. A couple of years back she was here early for the World Cup, and raced a few Tuesday nights with Brunswick. But she’s not in the Team USA pit, so I take some more sneaky photos of the Australians, which I am now doing solely out of spite. 

 

Miriam Welte Pin-Up! This joke never gets old!

The women’s sprint quarter finals are up. These are the best of three, so they’re going to take ages. In the first heat of the first race of the night Anna Meares gets hooked on the elbow of Shuang Guo and slips around the duckboards. The crowd goes “oooohhhh” but Meares holds it up. They progress through the heats, generally riding pretty slow for a couple of laps, then riding pretty fast for the last lap. Like men’s sprinting, the women’s sprints are turning into drag race after drag race, and it ain’t great for the sport. Their races are still tight, and still fast, but the feints and fake attacks and shadowboxing are largely gone. Meares goes through, Pendleton goes through, Krupeckaite goes through and the roughie, Ukraine’s Lyubov Shulika goes through. The semis and finals aren’t til tomorrow night though, so it’s kinda anti-climactic. 

 

Pendleton non-pin-up. 

I take some time to have a look around at the rest of the media centre. It’s a bit of a strange place. A bunch of the photographers – including the guy next to me – have these weird blinkers around their screens, as if they’re scared someone will cheat off of them. It could be a viewing thing, but it seems strangely paranoid.

 

The screen protectors. Or viewers. Or laser guns.

Women’s team pursuit finals are coming next, and the bronze medal ride-off is first. I shouldn’t have called these races the loser races last night. That was mean. And besides, this is between the New Zealanders, who I love, and the Canadians, who I feel almost related to. They’re both new track forces, and it seems the Canadians have the ascendency, taking home the Bronze.

The crowd is about to go nuts, however, because the Australian Women are about to step up, and they’re battling team GB. Two world records in qualifying. 0.2 seconds between them. Apparently Nettie Edmondson has had a cold all week, and it will be interesting to see how she pulls up. The Australians go out hard, and at one stage are 1.5 seconds up. But team GB start clawing them back, and with one kilometer are up. The Australians are tiring, and the lead is blowing out. By the time the gun goes off Australia are second again, and Team GB has another world record. I’m starting to lose count. It’s a hell of a race regardless. I have a newfound enjoyment of team pursuits. Usually I like races with strategy, where the strongest folks don’t always win, but these races have been so tight that I can’t help but get excited.

 

Nettie Edmondson overcoming her cold prior to the women's team pursuit

Next up is the men’s omnium points race, and while I’m not too excited about it as a rule, I am a big fan of the flying mullet man, New Zealand’s Shane Archbold. His flowing bogan mane is flapping free behind his helmet, and it’s a nice contrast, a show of personality, as opposed to every single other rider. Glenn O’Shea is also out there, and will be difficult to discount – as will Canada’s Zach Bell, who was the only non-Australian game to go toe-to-toe with Cam Meyer at the Commonwealth Games a few years back. O’Shea and Bell get in the early break, but it comes back pretty easy. There’s a stack right in front of Archbold, but he scoots around it on the apron without batting an eye. Eventually a break forms with Italy’s Elia Viviani and Bell, and they manage to take a lap. With two laps to go, however, there’s a touch of wheels and Viviani goes down. I believe the commissaires give him a couple of laps out, and he’s able to finish the race in first. But it’s the omnium, not the actual points, so no one really cares. Folks are just cheering for Viviani’s bravery. Like Chumbawamba, the crowd likes it when someone gets knocked down, then gets up again. I just hope his sweet Cipollini Speed is alright. 

 

Viviani's cranks. Most of the riders seem to be running crank lengths traditionally reserved for the road. Viviani is also a roadie, riding for Liquidgas, so it's interesting to see he keeps it the same.

 

Viviani's bike, which seems to have lost its labels in the crash. I'm sure it had labels on Tuesday.

In hunting for the above pic of Viviani’s bike, which I totally want, I bump into Clancy again. The medal presentations are on, and God Save The Queen is playing, but he’s on the rollers, so standing is a little tricky. He’s happy with his result in the omnium, in the belief that he’s probably tied for first. “Usually,” he tells me, “I finish the first day somewhere between 3^rd and 8^th, so this is pretty good!” I tell him the race seemed scrappy, but he disagrees. “Didn’t worry me mate,” he goes on, “when it happened I was way out the back feeling sorry for myself. No problem!” He’s not looking forward to the elimination though, describing it as “another shitter.”

The Men’s Time Trial – aka “The Kilo” is up next. This is the event that I hate riding most of all, but it’s good watching, attracting the biggest dudes in cycling. These guys are essentially weightlifters on bikes – the start is so important that they need the same explosive power. Essentially, though, it’s dudes doing four laps by themselves, as fast as they can. If I were a smoker, I’d duck out for a ciggie right now. 

 

The photographers totally knew that the kilo start was the money shot. 

Finally The Kilo finishes and we’re on to the women’s points race. I have to say, aside from Cari Higgins and Australia’s Amy Cure, I have absolutely no idea who is strong in the race and who isn’t so great. So it’s a bit of an adventure for me. It’s getting pretty late though – ten o’clock, with two major races still to go. And the points race is 100 laps! 

 

My mate Cari Higgins.

And they don’t seem to be in much of a hurry to complete it – the gun goes but no one moves a muscle. One of my peers suggested that they may get arrested for loitering if this keeps up. Eventually Amy Cure has a crack, and it convinces the others that they’re not there to catch a bus. Only for a little while though – this is easily the slowest race of the evening. And I’m including the sprints. Eventually, though, Italy’s Giorgia Bronzini lights it up, and well she should – she’s the current world road race champion, and has held that status for the last two years. The break doesn’t stick though, and again they roll around, then sprint.

When the move does go it contains none of the usual suspects. There’s a girl from Ireland, a girl from Hong Kong, a Russian girl and my new favourites, the Canadians. First Zach Bell and now Jasmin Glaesser, these hosers sure know how to light up a race. They struggle for a while, but when the bunch sits up after a sprint they latch back on like a limpet, and don’t let anything else go until 18 to go, when Leire Olaberria Dorronsoro form Spain has a crack. The field chases, but in doing so dislodges the initial breakaway – at least for a minute. Eventually they all come back, but Glaesser is too tuckered out from the chase (and the two pursuits she has already done today), and Russia’s Anastasia Chulkova takes three points in the final sprint to win the rainbows. Glaesser is second, and Caroline Ryan wins Irelands first medal for third.

The elimination race is up next, but people are already leaving. It’s freaking 10.45, for crying out loud. And, to add further insult to injury, they play the German national anthem again. Then, to rub more salt in the already-gaping wound, they drag the Women’s points race winners up for their medals. The poor girls are still all red and sweaty from their race, and look like they haven’t even been given a chance to freshen up.

When the elimination finally begins it doesn’t disappoint. It’s tight and squirrelly as all hell. Glenn O’Shea reveals himself as the king of going underneath, spending a lot of time on the duckboards. Clancy gets the boot early and looks relieved. Archbold throws a sweet headbutt and hangs on til fifth or sixth. Eventually, though, it’s O’Shea and Coquard from France in a two-up sprint. There are no feints or shenanigans here either – they’re both way too tired. Coquard makes the move and O’Shea pretty much lets him have it. With good reason – his 2^nd place here has guaranteed him a six point buffer heading into tomorrow’s timed events (plus a scratch race).

I’m tired and my stomach hurts. The bastards still have the heat up, even though the riders have all left. The crowds are filtering out and the media have assumed their positions in front of their computers. I’m pretty sure I’m going to miss the last train, which will mean a ride back to Blakey’s, where I’ve left my car. Folks from the Australian Cycle Messenger Champs have just finished their Alleycat, and are congregating at the Park Hotel. I’m tempted to roll on by, but we’re starting here at 1 again tomorrow, so it’s another early morning ahead. 

 

That's right. In Venezuela they use power tools to undo their chainring bolts.