Sunday Club Ride

Miles from Home - 5370.1 miles
Firsts / Highlights - Fastest ride I have done in Europe.
Miles Ridden - 70.01 miles
Vertical Feet - 2,276 ft
Route - View Today's Route Here.
People - Met Eros Poli

Met Roger & Helen from Basalt, CO. Roger operates a wine store in Aspen and Helen teaches Cross Country skiing.

Luciano from Melborne was the last remaining Aussie on his final ride. He bought a Pinarello Prince bike on this trip and wanted to get every last possible ride before flying home this afternoon. Katie – you will be glad to know that when I mentioned that I was from Steamboat, he said, “Ah… Champagne Powder”. We have an ally down under.



This post is from May 17, 2009.

Today, the hotel guests joined forces with a bike club from Verona to do a 70-mile club-style ride. Our guide-of-honor was Eros Poli and the club was called Le Amis d’ Eros (friends of Eros). Eros is a former professional bike racer from Verona. He has won Olympic Gold medals, finished second in the time trial world championships and, most famously, won a very unlikely stage in the Tour de France. He is not built like the typical wiry cyclist and definitely not like a climber. He stands out in a crowd at 6’4” and, I’m sure, over 200 pounds. That is a body built for speed and power, not floating over mountaintops. His typical role was to lead out Mario Chipollini for sprint finishes. The lead-out rider has to be a very powerful sprinter himself in order to build the speed the finisher needs to make the final dash for the finish line. Chipollini is considered one of the best sprinters in the history of cycling, so leading him out for his finishes was an important role.

No one would suspect that Eros’ career highlight would come in a famous climbing stage on the Tour de France. If anything, you would expect him to win a sprint, but that is not what happened. On a 200 km (124 mile) stage in 1994 over Mt. Ventoux, he went on a solo break-away with 106 miles remaining. A solo break-away that far from the finish almost never succeeds, but since he was not a threat in the general classification, the peloton allowed him to go. He rode alone all day and built up a 22-minute lead by the based of Mont Ventoux. The peloton would normally not allow such a large lead to develop, but since he was all alone and due to his size, he was not considered a climbing threat. By the top of the climb, however, he was able to preserve an almost 4-minute lead and was able to fly down the descent and get the stage victory. A stage is only 1 of 21 days in the Tour de France, but a single win is enough to turn a career into a legend. It is rare wins like this that keep riders attacking during these races with overwhelming odds against success.

So, that’s Eros’ story. We rode in a pace line all day with Eros like a locomotive on the front. Usually a pace line alternates the lead so that everyone shares some time breaking through the headwind. On this ride, Eros just sat on the front and more than 30 riders followed like baby ducks behind him. My little chain ring almost could have been left behind at the hotel this morning. We moved along at a pretty good pace all day. Even through there was a stiff headwind on the way back, Eros just sat on the front and powered through.

There was one real hill on the ride when the course broke away from the lake and into the hills. It was substantial with an 11-15% grade after a long flat ride along the lake. About half way up the climb, I saw that I was coming up on Eros. His bike was creaking under his weight and power. I was a bit surprised that I appeared to be making up ground on him. I reasoned, well 1) he has just lead a pace line for 25 miles on the flats, maybe he doesn’t want to use too much energy on the climb, or 2) he is not built for the hills, maybe he is going to go over the top slowly and catch up to us later, or 3) maybe I’m just that good. As I went past him, I looked over and saw that none of my theories were correct. He was talking on his cell phone. If my heart were not beating at about 160, it would have sunken in my chest. I kept going, accepting the consolation prize of passing him, even though it didn’t mean much when he was riding at a conversational pace with one hand on his handlebars. Just before getting to the top, he had finished his call and stood up out of the saddle. He accelerated past me and crested the top of the hill (bastard). I’m pretty sure he stole my lunch money too.