Tour de France II et al

Now I'm just watching in disbelief as Floyd Landis is devoured by a doping scandal. It's still possible that he'll be cleared by the second test, but the smear has been made, the damage done.

I don't know if he did take a masking agent -- if I knew this, I'd be psychic and rent myself out for parties -- but it doesn't matter now. Think of Lance Armstrong. He's the most tested athlete in history and he's passed all the tests, as far as we know, and he's still hounded by critics.

So where does it leave the people who thought Landis a hero? The same place they've always been -- in need of a life.

OK, that's a little harsh, but we all know that sports people are not heroes. All they do is play a game and usually play it well, or fill some niche in statistics so freaky baseball fans can debate their worth 50 years after their last pitch.

Floyd Landis, Lance Armstrong, Wayne Gretzky, Michael Jordan, Babe Ruth -- they're all people. As people, they have flaws and weaknesses. Those problems are compounded by their ascent to stardom. I like to think of this as I think about politicians. No matter how much I admire a president or lawmaker, now or thousands of years ago, you don't rise to the pinnacle of greatness without stepping on toes, crushing opposition, tucking skeletons in the closet and basically using people like paper towels and tossing them in the trash when you're done.

In other news

-- It's hot. Yes, it's Africa hot. Tarzan couldn't bike ride in this kind of hot. It's already 80 degrees at 9 a.m. as we're going to hit 100 degrees today. Yuck. I was going to go bike riding this morning, but it was just too oppressive for me. You know, Floyd Landis rode in the Tour when it was 111 degrees, so why can't I ride? Oh, because I'm not doping. ...

-- Finishing up the book "Army of Caesars" by Michael Grant. It's a good analysis of the rise of the military in the early Roman Empire. I've been a fan of Grant for more than 25 years. I think his books on Rome were some of the first history books I purchased.

-- I went back to work last week after a week off. I was shocked back to reality fast. The world of work is, well, unreal. It's like you hear about societies that spin out of balance, where things you once took for granted are no longer the norm and a simple misplaced word or phrase could result in nasty consequences (Seems my reading on Rome is being transferred to my reality). It's like the poem says: Things fall apart, the center cannot hold ... but somehow it goes on.

Thought: Oh, what creature slinks toward Holland?

Tour de France

I've been watching the sports commentary shows the last few days on TV. You know these shows: Inarticulate men with the IQs of stumps who have spent their lives watching grass grow on the baseball diamond, who haven't participated in a non-beer related sport since their days on the Polk High School football squad (We love you, Al Bundy!).

Well, I've been watching these high-paid hacks discuss the Tour de France and I've been baffled by it. Suddenly, people who haven't ridden a bicycle since the U.S. hockey team's "Miracle on Ice" are commenting how refreshing it was that new blood rose to the top of the Tour and showed what the race was supposed to be like. Some even cheered the fact that there was no "iron grip" from Lance Armstrong on the tour and that this race reflected the pre-drug era of the Tour where homespun heroes like Floyd Landis could win.

I think these guys took too many shots to the head on homecoming weekend.

Now, I never played football, so my view must be skewed, but I can't believe the Lance bashing going on.

First, Armstrong was never guaranteed a Tour win. No predestination here. The man pushed his body to the limit -- and beyond -- with every race. He was challenged with every pedal he took. He crashed several times. He got flat tires. He rode 2,200 miles in heat topping 111 degrees, in mountain fog, in pouring rain, on wet cobblestones. Later, he had fans spitting on him and had to defend his accomplishments in the light of jealous, petty people.

Second, Armstrong never used illegal drugs, as far as we know. He's the most tested athlete in history. Remember, baseball is in the grips of a drug scandal that calls into question the accomplishments of the last decade. Everyone knows football is full of drug abuse. And basketball and hockey? Well, no one really cares. How many baseball games end with an official giving a random drug test to the hitters? So, no one but Armstrong knows if he used performance enhancing drugs, but, as far as we know, he did not. We have to accept this. We don't have to believe it.

By the way, drug use in the Tour was rampant in the "good old days." I'm not saying that past greats doped, but I'd say they probably had some medical help that would not make the grade today.

Third, Armstrong's "iron grip" was not just the use of his physical strength. This man used his mind -- and the minds of his trainers and teammates -- like a chess master. He knew that the race wasn't won by the strongest alone, but the smartest as well.

I'm not a Tour expert, and I don't play one on TV like most of the ESPN ogres, but I watched the chaos of the peloton almost every day of the race. I watched as the sprinters panicked in the last stretch because no one had organized the dash. I watched Landis let a breakaway run almost 30 minutes ahead of the group. True, it was exciting to a point, but the chaos showed no one was mature enough to ride up, break the anarchy and be a leader.

And I watched as Landis played the PR game with his hip. Why did he announce it on a Tour off day? Well, he needed the impact to boost him. He wanted everyone to talk about him. It worked.

Still, Landis' recovery was a great moment. The overall physical and mental will was amazing. Some of the TV drones said it was a greater accomplishment than Armstrong's physical recovery. Huh?

Well, at last one of the TV talking heads finally spoke up in the last few seconds of a forum. He told the knuckle-draggers around him to take a step back for a moment. Armstrong had a cancer running through his body, had part of his brain removed, and, like Greg Lemond, returned a winner from a devastating trauma.

And, he said, how many of those slack-jawed announcers actually ever watched a Tour over the entire month, and not just the last-day highlights? His fellow panelists were stunned silent and the moderator moved to the next topic -- Tiger Woods' "iron grip" on the golf world.

Thought: A Discovery team with Ullrich as its leader?

Drive My Car

Since the family had made a road trip recently, we thought it fitting to go see the movie "Cars."

We were all pleasantly surprised and enjoyed the film.

The kids liked the animation and humor. My youngest loved the tow truck, and my oldest thought Frank the harvester was a blast. So, they've been playing "Cars" the last several days: Alyssa pretending to be a hick truck and Elspeth chasing her, swirling her arms and yellings, "I'm Frank! I'm Frank! Ahhhhh!"

I found lots of funny moments (the tractors acting like cows was great) and liked the messages of respect and community.

I was also happy I didn't guess the ending. If I can do that, the movie loses points with me. I reckoned that Lightning McQueen would let The King win, but I didn't see the crash and consternation at the winner coming. Nice twists.

We all laughed at the opening short as well. I loved the little girl's expression at the battle of the one-man bands.

Reality check: Of course, I was appalled by the price of the movie. We went on a Saturday afternoon and I expected cheaper prices. We all ordered popcorn and drinks and, for four people, spent about $45. That's a tank of gas!

Thought: Beep, beep. Beep, beep. Yeah.

Cut it out

Nothin' like sleepin' in on a Sunday summer day, just lettin' the mornin' fade into the sun as you. ...

Hold it. What's that sound? That annoying, buzzing, chugging, whipping, whacking sound?

It's a lawnmower.

The sound of a lawnmower is the outdoor equal to the indoor vacuum cleaner, and, in my Dante-esque level of Hell I will be confined to, I will be surrounded by those whirring, sucking noise makers. And when I go for an outdoor walk in that level of Hell to escape that carpet-cleaning monster, its evil twin, a lawnmower, will be raising its snaggle-tooth chip-bladed grin and burping its exhaust-stenched breath in my face.

I can't stand the noise of a lawnmower. Nothing ruins a beautiful morning or a quiet afternoon like those machines. That's why I use mine so seldom. I wish others would be as defiant (or is it lazy?) as me.

Now, the funny part is that I love the smell of freshly cut grass. Nothing perks me up like riding through the country on my bicycle and coming across the scent of a trimmed lawn. Mmmm. Crab grass.

So, you see, I'm not entirely opposed to mowing lawns. I just want a time -- a long time -- where I can escape the noise of those rattling engines and give my frayed nerves a rest.

I ask you to join me in writing your legislators to start a new cutting-edge movement: The Let Me Sleep in Peace Movement. Just ask one of those lawmakers who has too much time on their hands to take a break from ignoring major social and economic issues to do this (I think Bill VanRegenmorter in Ottawa County is a prime candidate for this task) and sponsor a drive to set aside one day -- one 24-hour period -- where lawnmowers, weed-wackers, chainsaws and any other motorized lawn care menace can be silenced.

One more rant

Now for something completely different. ...

I was reading The Sentinel this morning and came across the column by the Life&Style editor that mentioned The Beatles. Unfortunately, she misquoted -- twice! -- the song "Yellow Submarine." Shame!

I can tolerate a lot of non-lawnmower things in life, but misquoting The Beatles is not one of them. You might as well butcher Shakespeare or screw around with the melodic rhythm of the banter in "Caddyshack."

Thought: So I got that going for me.

On the road

We all piled in the family truckster to visit my family earlier this week.

It's always good to see my parents, my sister, her husband and daughter. As I grow older, my appreciation grows as well for the things they have done and continue to do for each other and the family.

Grandma takes the kids to the Disney store -- the kids were like, well, kids in a toy store there. We go out to lunch or dinner (and our orders always get messed up, but that's another blog), I drive around and marvel at what has changed (a lot!) and we visit family and friends.

This time, I didn't do much visiting. I just didn't feel social. I wanted to hang around my parents' house. I did get to talk with the neighbors -- the people I grew up with. They have a pool and their kids and my kids played together. It was strange, really, being an adult talking to the people you used to play with when you were in elementary school.

It was also strange because, while the kids played on one side of my parents' house in a pool, the inground pool on the other side was being torn out at the other neighbor's property. A back hoe came in and was bashing in the concrete of the pool. That pool had been there for more than 30 years and I recall going swimming there and having many good times. There's symbolism here, but I'm not ready to deal with that yet.

The drive

The challenge is the drive. It's not far -- a little under 500 miles one way -- but the mix of people in the minivan is, well, different. We have two young children --7 and 9 -- who are now learning to annoy each other as much as possible, my wife, who likes to sleep in the car, and her mother. And, of course, me.

On the expressways, I want to move. Fast. If the speed limit is 65 mph in Ohio and Pennsylvania, it really means 70 to 75 mph. And no one better be in the left lane who is going 66 mph. You don't slow me down and make me switch off the cruise control and you don't want to stop to sit down to eat. You bring snacks, eat them on the way and only stop for gas once and go to the restrooms as few times as possible.

Everyone else in the car, though, likes to stop to eat and needs to stop to go to the bathroom more than once. I've learned that a filled bladder always defeats cruise control.

Well, this time we did our best time: Just more than 8 hours each way. By myself, I've done it in just more than 7 hours. Usually it takes us 9 to 10 hours with all the stops and meals. Ah, compromise.

We got about 25 miles to the gallon of gas. Again, not bad considering a full van with the air conditioning going.

Gas was $3.09 in New York. We got it for $2.92 in Ohio. Here at home, it's above $3.09.

Thought: As Snoopy said to the development that covered up the Daisy Hill Puppy Farm -- You people are parking on my memories!

A good ride

I got a chance to ride in to work Wednesday. It was my day off for the holiday, but I got called in for a meeting, so I chose to ride my bike in. It's only about 20 miles.

Two challenges for this ride:

First: The 58th Street hill at Old Allegan Road. This is the steepest climb in western Allegan County. What makes it tough is that the road curves, so there's the illusion you've reached the summit until you turn the corner. Also, the road briefly levels off before a final small incline, so you need a bit of extra oomphf to make it.

I made it. I always give the hill a look back and tell it, "Ha! Not this time!" It's never beaten me on a bike. However, in the winter, with snow and ice, it has whipped me several times in my car. Revenge -- a dish best served cold.

I'm always happy to get on to 56th Street where the traffic is lighter and the road in better shape. I love looking at the old dilapidated barns that dot the landscape. There's a beauty in a decaying red barn with its roof collapsing as chickens run in and out of the molding beams.

Second: Holland city riding is annoying. All the parallel parking pushes me pretty far into the right lane to avoid doors swinging open. The railroad crossings are in terrible shape. I had to stop and walk across the rails on 10th Street they were so bad. And the seemingly random construction projects force me all over the map.

The Sentinel used to run a contruction column in the summer, but the Powers That Be decided against printing it this year. A shame. I urged them to print it so I (and our readers) could keep up on the ubiquitous blockades all over the city. Better to yell to the surf.

It takes about an hour to make the ride. I'm slow. I did my best time on the way back, which is about 5 miles longer (I avoid 58th Street after 4 p.m. because the traffic is terrible). I usually take an hour-and-a-half for the return trip, but this time I did it in an hour-and-a-quarter.

Earlier problems

At the beginning of the week, I had a flat tire before I was about to take a ride. The tire itself was tearing, so I had to run it up to the shop for a repair.

On Monday, my derailleurs were acting up. About 8 miles or so into my ride, the rear derailleur started shifting by itself! Nothing like unexpectedly dropping a few sprockets on an uphill climb. The front shifter was noisy and slow.

I took the bike back to the shop. The mechanic asked what the heck I did to them because they were badly bent! A little light bulb went off in my head.

The kids had bashed the bike with the basketball while they were playing in the garage!

Boy, did they get a lecture from me.

Thought: You can knock me down, step on my face, slander my name all over the place, you can do anything, but stay off my blue and yellow aluminum Fuji.

My county government

Note: The family e-mail has not be functioning for the past several days. We can receive fine, but cannot send. We're not snubbing you ... we're just not hooked up yet.

To the big city

I went to Allegan County offices today to get our youngest dog a tag. I had forgotten how rude Allegan County government people are. I've dealt with Erie County, N.Y., and Kent County here, but these places were large enough to have a systen in place to get people through pretty painlessly (I'm not talking about the department of motor vehilces, though).

The city of Fennville is friendly. And the township people have been fine.

Allegan, though, is just rude. I was greated by three deputies -- yes, three -- at the county building who had me empty my pockets so one of them could go over me with a metal detector. I am a suspicious bloke with my Bills cap, Douglas Elementary shirt, jeans shorts and sneakers. Prime terrorist material. They oozed "police mentality." The one who dealt with me was gruff and acted if my presence in a public building was a bother to him.

"Where are you going?" he asked after I reassembled myself from his search.

"The treasurer's office for a dog license," I responded.

"First window on the left."

I thanked him and wanted to tell him I knew that, but why spoil the moment.

Police are funny. They feel the need to be in control even when they don't need to be. I had a friend in New York who was just a hoot as we grew up. We drank together and played cards. Then, I went to college and he went to New York State Trooper School. When I saw him a few years later, he had that Trooper mentality. You know, the stone-cold face, the hands behind the back, the, "Yes, sir. No, sir" stuff. Oh, Ed. I hardly knew ye.

Back at Allegan, the rudeness continued. The desk person who handled dog licenses didn't really break from her personal conversation but did manage to fit me in between the oohs and aahs at a co-worker's baby picture.

Up at the DuMont lake center, as I waited to get my recycling card, I got to listen to the desk person chortle on the phone and shove a receipt at me while not even breaking from her personal phone conversation.

I'm glad these folks are here to help me. If this was a store, I would have fired off a nasty note to the owner or manager. But, since this is county government, I'll just smile and take it.

Thought: Power to the people.

It's been a hard day's night

The long stretch of work days has come to an end -- 11 days at work, 10-plus hours a day. It's not my longest stretch without a break, but I'm getting old and have a desire to spend time with my family. And sleep.

I haven't been working like a dog, as The Beatles say. My dogs don't work. They don't do much but eat, sleep and be annoying by barking at the neighbors or phantom bunnies or whatever they think they see in my unmowed lawn and jungle-like hedges.

I tried to go for a bike ride yesterday. It's been more than week since I've been out, but the cycling gods again played a cruel trick. I was ready to hit the road, but noticed my rear tire was flat. I went to change the tube then saw the tire itself was falling apart. The rubber was peeling off the edges -- not a good sign. I think that's what caused the flat.

So, no ride on Sunday and I have to run the wheel up to the bike shop for a replacement.

Shameless advertisement: I do most of my bicycle shopping at Lakeshore Cycle and Fitness on Riley Street in Holland Township.

All the bike shops in the area are great and will bend over backward to help you. Lakeshore is where I got my Fuji and the owner, Todd Garvelink, is extremely patient with my inane questions and tendency to hang around his store to study the accessories he has and ogle the new bike models that come in. He knows me by sight and doesn't run away. Now that's service.

It's seemed strange to me that neither Saugatuck nor Fennville has a bike shop. The towns rely on tourism and are major thoroughfares on bicycle routes.

I mentioned the stretch of work days: I'm taking this Wednesday off as my holiday (I worked July Fourth) and was planning on a nice day without work, but my boss e-mailed to say the new publisher is going to address the newsroom on, yes, Wednesday. I was strongly encouraged to be there. Strongly. Sigh.

A former boss of mine got tired of me complaining about his meeting schedule. I used to have to come in on my days off for his meetings, or come in to work hours early to be part of his little gatherings. So, to shut me up one day, he asked just what my problem was with these meeting times. No other editor was complaining about 11 a.m. meetings.

My response: David, I said, let's meet on my schedule. No other editor works nights and, since I work nights and weekends, the best time for me to meet is 2 a.m. Sunday morning, after my shift is over. How about it?

Odd. I got no takers on that.

Thought: You know I feel all right.

Leave Lance alone

I was dismayed to read last week that some of the top competitors in the Tour de France were booted out for doping. I was looking forward to watching Ian Ullrich and Ivan Basso battle it out in the race. After all, without Lance Armstrong, this race was up for grabs.

The race is still a free-for-all but I have to learn some new names.

I was bothered by the doping charges because I had hoped that the drug problem was behind cycling. That was naive, I know, because of what the sport demands. I can't think of any other sport that takes so much out of a person. Just look at the riders at the start of the race, then look at them at the end.

I like what one racer said. Cyclists aren't unionized so authorities can raid them whenever and wherever they want. Can you imagine if the police periodically raided the locker room of the New York Yankees? Or searched the hotel room of Payton Manning when he was on vacation in the off-season? This is what happens to cyclists all the time.

That doesn't make taking performance enhancing drugs right. It just makes cycling an easy target when baseball, basketball and football have protections. With so much at stake -- money, pride and more money -- people will do anything to be No. 1.

The 800-pound gorilla on a Trek

That said, what about Lance Armstrong? Did he take illegal drugs to win the Tour de France?

I'm still naive and have a small spot in my charcoal-black heart for heroes. I think that the most-tested athlete in the world was clean of illegal drugs when he won the races. I just think he's determined and an outstanding athlete. He also used some non-super human strategies as well -- scientifically crafted material, chess-master-like tactics and he surrounded himself with outstanding riders whose sum was greater than their individual roles.

And all the accusations?

I think Lance Armstrong is not necessarily a nice person, or, at least, he's so focused he could easily offend anyone near him. You don't get to be No.1 without stepping on toes. So, I'm saying that some former teammates who aren't as great as Lance Armstrong, and some past Tour winners who have had their accomplishments eclipsed (sorry, Mr. Lemond) and all of France (jealous their race was stolen by an American), are bitter and will join the feeding frenzy of suspicion.

Thought: If John Lennon could, he'd add Lance Armstrong to his list of people not to believe in. But just believe in me. ...