Casablanca 25 years ago Pt. 7

Days 2 through 10 of the never ending junior world trials began the next day… The next 10 days were hell. Each day I headed to the track for a new set of seemingly arbitrary evaluations, (though the first day Jamie didn’t show up.) Standing starts, flying 200’s, motorpaced 200’s, side-by-sides jumps from corner to corner, all head to head with Jamie, all potentially determining a trip to the world championships. Each day brought about another version of the trials. It quickly became clear to me that Jamie was unaware of his “shoe-in” position (if it were real). If Eddy and Craig had already chosen him, they didn’t bother to tell him, so each day we both showed up with something to win, and something to lose.

The worst part is that we often timed each other… For example, in motorcycle-led 200m sprints, Anje would ride the motorcycle and wind it up with one of us following and the other timing. Then after an appropriate rest, we’d switch places on the bike or with the watch – and Anje would write down the times in between.  

I felt good on the bike and felt I performed well, pulling up to the side of the motorcycle after significant accelerations, but my times were mid-tens (10.4, 10.5) – at least according to the watch Jamie was holding. 

When I timed Jamie, he performed well, 10.2, 10.3, so I asked Anje to pick it up in subsequent rounds.

He did so, but still, my times were slower… at least according to Jamie’s stopwatch.

Finally, Craig showed up, and Jamie and I both did a few more  traverses around the track. This time Craig had the watch. Jamie went first with a good time, and then I lined up behind Anje. He winked at me and said in his thick accent, “If you stay me, no matter what watch says, you are fastest.”  He lit it up on the motorbike and we accelerated through corner – tilting completely sideways and continued accelerating hard down the final straight and into the finish.

“10.2 Carney,” Craig said, “9.9 Coyle,” and Anje winked again. Craig also smiled at me after Carney sulked off. It seemed he wasn’t necessarily in Jamie’s corner either and was just following orders.

Finally, a week or so after the trials, the announcement came from Craig: “Coyle, Carney, you both qualify for the junior world championships.” Jamie and I were both immensely relieved and for a period our rivalry was subsumed by our relief.

Still my distrust of the coaches, the process, and the team underpinned the trip I had finally earned… and it showed up in the diary of my 17 year old self...

(On a lark, I decided to search for Jamie on the internet - now 25 years later. Since 1986, we've only met once - summer before last at the Downer's Grove Nationals. Jamie was super fit, but not racing. I had just finished the cat 2. race and come in third. We shook hands. He noted my finish. And then he started, "you know I retired last year, but decided to jump in a stage race up in the pacific Northwest a few weeks back - good money - and I ended up winning the whole thing!" Nothing had changed.

Here's a race from 2006 on the track - a "Keirin" that is led out by a motorcycle until 2 laps to go. If you start a around 3:00 in, you can see the carnage begin. Jamie is in 2nd and backs off the lead rider with 1 lap to go (looking, looking) and then accelerates, riding another up the track and then crashing him...a simple mistake? Then, after the finish Jamie gets cruely taken down for no reason after the finish by another rider... (slow-mo at 6:30)or, if you read the comments...or watch the father of the other rider at 6:51?) No.. nothing has changed.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGnLDr6jRSI]

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Back to the diary: Casablanca 1986

My repechage was a 4-up, taking only the winner. In it was an Italian, French, and Australian. I started 4th (highest) and since you can’t go slow on the banking, I ended up 4th on the pole. On the back straight I jumped into 2nd behind the Australian. He led at a decent clip until 1 ½ to go when all of a sudden the French rider sailed to the front. If I would have realized he was going for it I would have jumped but I just thought he was going to the front – until I saw the gap he had. Instead I waited – cuz I thought he would sit up and the Australian would get on his wheel.

As it was, he got a gap and by the time I realized he was going for it, the Italian had gone around me.

I then jumped and by the corner was coming around the Aussy. He rode me up – for no reason really, then I passed him. The French and Italian riders were long gone. I caught but didn’t pass the Italian – bridging 50 feet to him on the last lap. The French rider won by 40 feet.

I was out.

I was really disappointed – I thought I was as fast as or faster than most of these riders – I just didn’t do it. The East German beat everyone in the 8th final by 2 bike lengths, finishing 5th overall. I had to settle for about 16th.

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Wednesday:

Today I got up at 12:00pm. I ate lunch then walked down to the beach. There were trillions of people there once again. Today is some funky holiday – the King’s 25th year of reigning or something. His palace, or one of them, is near our hotel. I then ate lunch, then read, then went to the track. The East German who barely beat me won his first ride against a Russian, then lost his second, then won the third. In the third ride, he led it out and the Russian didn’t come nearly as close as I did to winning. I should be in the top 8 at least. The East German is now top 4!

 

After the races I ate dinner, then went out to the rocks then started writing.

Oh, yesterday, Craig took us all out to eat at the Hyatt Regency. It is the nicest hotel I have ever been in. The floors are all highly polished black marble, and everything was lavish and highly decorated. It was like a palace. I had a shrimp/lobster crab salad, a “Copacabana”, and a sirloin steak. For the finale it was a banana split – the only ice cream I’ve had since I’ve been here. It was great.

Thursday:

Today I got up at 11:30. I took a shower and ate lunch. For the appetizer they had 5 fish. Head, fins, eyes, everything but scales. I picked at it for awhile. It tasted OK, but it wasn’t worth the effort to pick the meat off the bones.

Anyways, after this I went with Anje and Craig and Yuri to the bazaar. Anje wanted a leather jacket like mine. We searched 6 leather stores – but not one had one like it – even the place I bought it from. It was the best one – and I got it. Anje bought another one instead – for $50 – cheap. It is nice but not like mine.

I tried to trade my Levis, but even with them the first two shops wanted 600 Durhams and my jeans. So we left. Back at the hotel I got ready for a ride, but discovered that I didn’t have any wheels. I found my front wheel  - it was on Stefans’ bike. My rear was nowhere to be seen.

So I finally borrowed Clark’s wheel. But it really bugged me that they would take my stuff without asking. I rode hard, doing the road course twice, but extending it down the coast – past the city to the other side. I went fast and when I was finally almost finished, I got a flat – a mile from the hotel. Since it wasn’t my wheel, I took off my shoes and carried it back to the hotel. The sidewall had blown out.

It made me mad because my tires would have been just fine. I later found out that Aaron took it. He bugs me – he is always negative. He is almost exactly like Carney – sometimes worse – always bragging about something and telling you how bad he’s going to beat you. Definitely just like Carney.

This girl Lisa the the OTC was telling me that she was in the Sports Med. Building the day after the World Team Trials and that Carney was in there, and that he had just had them test him for an iron deficiency, mono, and a couple things including anemia. He just had to have an excuse for me beating him at trials. She said he didn’t believe it when the tests came back negative and that he wanted to be tested again.

Anyways, the sprint finals were tonight – I was stranded here at the hotel with a flat and no wheel, but I heard about them.

For the 5-8 final there was 2 Russians- including last year’s world champion (I guess the drugs wore off) a Japanese racer, and an East German I rode against. The East German won, Japan 2nd, and the Russians 7th and 8th. I should have been in there! Third and 4th was between a French rider and an East German. The East German won both rides.

For first and second it was the really fast French rider (11.23) and the Russian Kilo World Champion – he was in position to win two world titles in 2 days! In the first race, the Russian led it out, then rode the Frenchman up – but he still came around and won. In the second ride, the Frenchman led it out and the Russian came around him!

They must have been so tense for the final ride. The Russian led on the pole, and the French rider sat back 5 bike lengths, almost taunting him to Kilo him. So he did – with 1 ½ laps to go he took off. It seemed clear that this was his favorite place to go because he could accelerate that long.

The Frenchmen jumped, but he didn’t close. With ½ lap to go, he was gaining quickly now, but still far back. He was three lengths back there, but caught him near the end of the corner. He then came around and passed the Russian by less than 2 inches. I guess it was pretty awesome. The 200m time – even after 1 ½ laps of sprinting – 11.5 – incredible.

Dinner was lame lamb so we decided to hop over to an Italian restaurant the Kirkbrides had discovered. It was awesome. I had lasagna and a stuffed Calzone and chocolate ice cream. Scott, Stef and an I then went out on the rocks but I got soaked walking out. I stepped in a hole while wading with my pants rolled up, and found myself up to my waist. That’s all that happened today. I miss Stacie. I haven’t gotten her a souvenir yet either.

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Next up - final diary entry from the 1986 Junior World Championship in Casablanca , Morocco, and an evaluation of the Moroccan society, income, and classes.

Casablanca 25 years ago Vol. 6: The perfect race Pt. 4

The Perfect race - finale:

Jim Michener was vomiting into a trash bin in the center of the track, his muscular hulk shuddering, rattling the metal against concrete. He stood up and wiped his mouth as I passed by. “Good luck against Jamie – he’s tough, but you can beat him.”

These encouraging words came from my defeated semi-final round competitor at these Junior World trials. Jim had given me a run for my money two races in a row, possessing an uncanny ability to wind it up from 300 meters and keep the acceleration going all the way to the line – a race strategy directly in contrast to my ability to produce surge of speed and then try to sustain. Jim confessed to having thrown-up after each and every race.

Match sprints and short track speedskating have much in common in terms of the waves of lactic acid induced nausea and weakness after each event and the need to recompose in a relatively short interval of 15 minutes for the next round.  Showing back up to the line after a maximal anaerobic effort is parallel to spooning up another plateful of whatever food you just threw up – “as a dog returneth to its own vomit…”

My stomach troubles were further exacerbated by the self induced pressure that had been building for 6 months since the day I hadn’t been selected to the national team training camp. I could hear Ed’s voice in my head, “What are you getting all high and mighty about Coyle?…If you are as good as you say you are… just come back in July and win the trials." Jamie had pulled out of the last sprint and was probably fresh, I was still shaky and breathing from the effort.

Jamie and I lined up at a safe distance 15 minutes later and without theatrics the 4th gun was fired for the potential finale of the Junior World Championship trials. By now, all the Juniors had clustered right down by the line and were on their feet yelling at us from the moment the gun went off. The “cool” kids were cheering for Jamie but I noticed that I had adequate representation in the stands.

I drew pole position and was required to lead the first lap and did so without deliberation, setting a pace of 20mph and following the black pole lane for one lap.

We came around with 2 laps to go and as soon as we crossed the line I swung up and slowed. I had seen Jamie’s face on the line - he’d been bested despite the theatrics and tactics – his guidance would be to take the race on merit. Sure enough as I slowed, he paused and then pulled through on the pole lane and we continued around the backstretch and into the far corner, 1 ¼ laps to go.

We entered the final straightaway with 1 lap to go and the bell began to ring, Jamie moved up the track and began upping the pace such that we were traveling 25mph by the time we hit the start/finish line. I kept about a 3 bike length space between us and I rode high towards the barriers where the juniors were leaning over, screaming almost right in my ear as we streamed by. I kept “slingshot room”

We sped through the corner high up the track, both of us out of the saddle, Jamie ever vigilant, watching me, riding down lower to intersect any early attacks. As headed for the far side of the turn Jamie jumped and dropped down to the pole, accelerating to more than 30mph as we crossed the 200m mark.  I followed, halving the distance between us in order to capture the benefits of the draft. Whether he knew it or not, Jamie was coldly eliminating my strengths of a quick acceleration, short sprint and bike handling. If the race were to become a straight out drag race it would be close.

Then pride interceded: midway down the straightaway, Jamie paused in his constant acceleration and, looking back, dodged up to just above lane two ( about 5 feet above the pole lane) providing a tempting hole to dive through. I was not foolish enough to spring that trap and hovered above waiting. The pace stabilized for a moment - breathing room.

The final corner approached and I started to accelerate laddering up the track out of the saddle to keep the distance between us steady while increasing my potential energy. Jamie bobbed and weaved trying to own all three lanes looking back. As we began the turn in earnest, Jamie committed, turning his head forward and hitting it hard. Back out of the saddle, he scissored down to just above the pole lane and our pace leapt from 30mph to 40mph in 20 meters – it was on.

The even pace on the backstretch had given me a moment to reload my springs and I uncoiled everything I had remaining. The G-forces in the corner pressed me into the saddle and as I leaned far to the left, the cracks in the track rattled through my forearms. I arched over the bars forming a protective shell over the motor of my quads and calves thundering below and that warm hum began as power throbbed through my legs into the pedals. I matched Jamie’s acceleration and more: despite having the outside lane and longer trajectory, I closed the distance and began riding up on his back wheel.

As we exited the corner I had drawn even with his hip and my front tire had come into view. Jamie flicked up and we had momentary contact and then he dropped and locked onto the pole lane. Any movement from there and he would be disqualified. Meanwhile the liability of the outside lane around the corner delivered its double rewards of higher rotational velocity and declining altitude as the corner flattened. I burned the remainder of my reserves and loosed the catapult, now shoulder to shoulder with Jamie, both of us hammering into the pedals.

Pulse hammering in my brain, my head, hands and hamstrings delivered a pulse of speed down the short straightaway, elbow to elbow for a moment, I then surged past Jamie to cross the line with a ¾ length advantage.

Sound returned and a sudden roar filled my ears and I realized I had done it. As I swung high up the track to absorb my speed I realized that I had won the Junior World Championships Trials and the one and only spot to the Worlds in North Africa. I raised my hands… again only to cradle my head – this time in relief – and spun down around the corner, cheers echoing from the far side of the track.

I finished the warm-down lap, slapped high fives with a core group still at the fence and then retreated to the apron. Richie and a few other juniors were there to catch me and hold the bike as I unstrapped, and Richie shared the unofficial 200m time – at 10.96 possibly a new junior record.

I quickly gathered my things, and as I prepared to leave, there he was, the “man” himself, Eddy B., who shook my hand, smiled stiffly and in his thick accent said, “Yes, good racing. Jamie not race well though…  Perhaps we must bring two sprinters to Junior Championships…” and then he was gone.

Disappointed that I would potentially yet have to face the threat of my mortal enemy across continents I was thrilled with the outcome of the most stressful and rewarding races of my career.

I crossed the track into the shadows of the stands and as I re-emerged into the lights, was humbled to find two dozen junior elite athletes waiting to escort me back to the Olympic Training Center. The sun had set yet I could feel the warmth radiating from the stucco buildings and we parted the trees on the sidewalk as we passed through the park for the 10 minute ride back home.

Conversation was mostly hushed but I rode at the arrow of the peleton with honor guard coverage for street crossings. As we entered the parking lot, an arbitrary paceline formed to give me a leadout to the PedXing sign and I took the bait, winning the parking lot prime sprint with a surge towards the line and a bike throw and we all laughed as we headed for the cafeteria.

It was Richie Hincapie who brought a dose of reality back into the ceremonies. “Great race – I hope you get to go – you earned it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my voice turning shrill, “I won the trials, of course I’m going.” I paused and thinking said, “but I guess Eddy B. thinks Jamie should go too.”

“No Coyle…, that’s not what I heard. I heard Eddy talking to Campbell about maybe they should bring you too…”

My mind raced back to Eddy’s words, “Perhaps we will have to bring two sprinters to Junior Championships.”  “No,” I said, mind blackening with the darkening sky as realization set in, “they were talking about Jamie – Jamie might get to go – I won…” “I won the trials..”

“Sorry John, but all these trials disguise the reality that it is coach’s discretion – Jamie’s going already. That was decided long ago. But the good news is you still might get to go if you keep beating Jamie at practice…”

Seeing my face he added, “Sorry man, thought you knew…”

Days 2 through 10 of the never ending junior world trials began the next day…

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(Video – this is the 2007 world championships, final race. This race went down in a classic match sprint pattern almost identical to the race w/ Jamie. If this were us, Jamie would be in blue, and I’d be in orange)

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8kVb1JteAV4&feature=fvsr]

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Back to the Diary:

Tuesday – sprint day:

Today I got up at 9:20, ate breakfast, then slept until 12:00pm. My neck was still stiff – yesterday I couldn’t even turn it to the left. I couldn’t see traffic coming. Anyways, after getting up, I got ready for a ride, only to discover my front wheel was missing. I later discovered that Scott had taken it on Craig’s advice when he discovered he had a flat. I was the only one racing today and I couldn’t even go for a ride so I waited.

I decided to go to Azdine’s room and listen to my Brian Adam’s tape I loaned him. I was really shaken by his room. It is about the same size as mine at home. I figured Azdine had a pretty good job and would be reasonably well off for a Moroccan. I was wrong. All that Azdine owns in life can be easily laid in a normal suitcase. He has no furniture other than his bed. He shares this cement floored and cement walled room with another worker. He has no other furniture besides a small table. On it he has all his worldly possessions – a half-full suitcase of clothing, 2 magazines, 7 or 8 copied cassettes, a walkman type tape player (no radio or recording) and two small speakers powered by the walkman. My box of tapes is worth more than all he owns.

His tapes are funny. He has one for the English class he is taking, along with a magazine-like textbook, one store bought tape of “1984 Superstars!” a K-Tel type tape of top-40 music, a couple of Arab music tapes, a couple copies of American music, presumably off the radio, and his second and final store bought tape, “Canary Birdsongs,” for his 3 canaries.

I don’t know what he does with his money – maybe it isn’t much and it all goes to pay rent and for his class or maybe he is saving it.

At the track, I waited while the coaches and Mr. Kirkbride (who, by the way has been staying in my room since Friday) put my bike together. I guess the tread had flaked off my white, light tires, so they put Panaracers on those wheels. I tried warming up on the new tires, but they are narrow profile and slid very easily – I almost fell when I slid from 2 feet above the red line to the pole line, so I switched to my trust old heavy Wolber rims and tires.

My first sprint was a 3-up. I was the 6th ride out of 8. I was up against a Bulgarian and an East German – both big and muscular. The Bulgarian had qualified 11th and the East German 5th – their times 11.6 and 11.5 respectively.

I drew lane 2. The East German led slowly on the pole until the backstretch. He picked up speed and climbed the banking. I was about 10 feet behind him when the fat Bulgarian came underneath me, then hooked sharply and hit my front wheel – trying to knock me down. I made it though, but I didn’t want 3rd, so I dove underneath and was in first by the end of the turn. I led across the finish with 2 laps to go and around the corner and down the backstretch. Then the East German dove to the pole and started leading. I dropped down in second and was sitting comfortably a little below the red line where the German was riding when I was slammed from underneath again! The Bulgarian had slipped underneath me and from the apron he shot up and hit me. I bounced up, and then down a little and still, before I had time to recover my composure he came and hit me again.

At about this point I got mad. I don’t know if he was just trying to intimidate me, if he wanted 2nd position that bad, or if he didn’t like the USA, but I didn’t like him, so at this point – about halfway through the corner, I took a steep angle down the track and chopped that stupid Bulgarian.

He was 5 feet onto the apron after that – there was no doubt about my intent on that move – he knew then that I wasn’t intimidated.

The German steadily picked up speed – apparently thinking that the Bulgarian was the one to worry about – and that the Bulgarian certainly couldn’t come around from third.

The Bulgarian made his move around the second corner. I saw him coming out of the corner of my eye, waited until he overlapped my wheel, then rode him up past the third line before diving back to the East German’s wheel – who was sprinting now. I was just he and I now…

I knew it would be nearly impossible to pass in the uneven corner so I waited. I felt good, so I let a small gap go then made a run at him at the end of the corner. Into the straightaway we came, neck and neck – but the East German had a very strong kick, and the straightaway was short (wide turns, short straightaways) so I missed beating him by 6 inches. Oh well.

Craig was very pleased with my ride and I knew I had ridden well but I didn’t win and if I lost the repechage round I was out – done.

Back at the hotel I talked with Azdine at his house on the roof. There is some garlic up there in a corner – who knows why – aging I guess, or to ward off vampires. Anyways, I showed him how to freak people out by throwing it (the garlic) into the street.

Not about to be outdone, Azdine grabbed one, went to the back part of the hotel roof, leaned over and pointed to a lady seated by the pool of the hotel next door. I laughed because I thought he was joking, but then he threw it – hard.

It shattered on her table. She freaked out screaming and was looking up in all directions. I was on the ground I was laughing so hard. Azdine is a lot of fun. We talked for an hour and then I went to bed.

Casablanca 25 years ago Vol 4: The Perfect Race Pt. 2

1986 Diary - Friday: The opening ceremonies were very different. The stands were packed – dignitaries and athletes on one side, and spectators on the other. The spectators were packed in extremely close – Americans never get that close – strangers were practically sitting on each other’s laps.

In the center of the velodrome were approximately 500 brightly dressed dancing girls who formed groups in circles and danced and sang between events. Also, a solid line of girls in pink pants and white shirts ringed the track (which doubles as a dog racetrack – having the pulleys and everything for the mechanical rabbit as well as kennels right next to the second turn.) These girls did nothing that I could see. While waiting the King and his son came and sat down along with 50 body guards. They started the ceremonies by introducing the King to the public, and then jabbering away in Arabic about god-knows-what for 10 minutes. Finally some bands played in the infield – small groups either banging on drums or cymbals and dancing faster and faster – I needed a camera! Hopefully I’ll get pictures from Stefan or Dave…

We were supposed to ride 2 laps “in our sweatsuits for ceremony” said Craig, so we brought our road bikes and normal shoes. It turned out to be a 20 lap points race with track bikes, cleats, and helmets. We are so uninformed. I could have won some money if I had only known. A Russian broke away (with 3 teammates blocking) many of the other teams didn’t know about it, and those who did, only the Moroccans had more than 1 rider (2) beside the USSR w/ 4.

After it was over, I chatted with some of the other teams’ riders – mostly Australia and Japan before returning to the hotel for dinner.

After dinner, Scott, Stefan, Greg and I went out to the ocean. We sat on the rocks for awhile as the tide started to come in (drawing of the beach/rocks). Then Scott and I went out to the end of the rock promenade and sat on a rock that jutted far out into the breaking waves (drawing here). At first the splashes went up straight over our heads and then returned straight down - we were surrounded by a temporary white wall of water - and it appeared we were getting soaked, but we weren't. But after a while the waves got higher and higher until one big wave swamped us. It was a lot of fun. Scott is a really fun guy.

When we returned, Scott discovered that he had locked his key in his room, and that the only way to get in was to climb from my balcony to his - but there were two rooms in between. We both went - just for the adventure - but the second balcony had a man in it. Fortunately his back was turned and he didn't see us before we turned around - we couldn't go that way... But then Scott devised a scheme. He climbed to the first balcony, and then got ready to go to the next. As soon as he was ready, I walked down the hall and knocked on the 2nd room door. While the man got up, Scott moved.  Upon opening the door, I could see Scott traversing the balcony giving me the sign - "stall!" - he hadn't gone all the way yet - there was a chair. So I looked surprised and asked the man if he spoke English. He said, "a little," so I talked to him for a minute and then said "au revoir" and Scott was already back in the hall through his own room. It was a fun adventure/scam – Ferris Buhler would have been proud.

Saturday:

Today I got up, went to breakfast and then took the bus to the market w/ Stefan. Before leaving we talked to 3 pretty Moroccan girls for a while (Stefan did all the talking – in French.) I guess they told him they liked my eyes and thought I was very tan – my skin was darker than theirs. I heard them say “magnifique”.  Anyways, once inside the market we walked for a while before meeting a very nice man who spoke English. He told us that he would show us all the best places and haggle for us. We were suspicious, but at least he kept all the people off of us. He took us to a “caskan” factory.

 

His name was Mustafa. I bought my mother a beautiful lavender 2 piece caskan – embroidered. We later found out that Mustafa was pretty much taking us to only the places where his friends worked – he didn’t take us anywhere else – it made me mad. I think I may have paid too much for the caskan and the robe I bought myself.  I paid $20 for the caskan and $10 for the robe. I also bought a knife for $25. It is curved – really cool. I bargained it down from $50. This lady with a baby tried to beg 1 durham (15cents) off us and we gave her nothing, but it was good we didn’t – we needed it for the bus ride back. I also bought a scarf of really nice cloth for $3.

 

Stefan went crazy – he bought all kinds of stuff – jewelry, silver, bags, a caskan, scarf, etc. he borrowed $25 from me and 40 durhams too. Mustafa grabbed a t-shirt I had bought to trade and later he informed me it was his – I had “given it to him for a souvenir.” He later tried on one of my 7-11 hats and when I tried to get it back, he got violent. I was totally sick of the place after all this, especially when the storeowner of the knife place asked me for a little flag for a souvenir, and when I wasn’t looking he took 3 – all of them. I finally got them back though (2 of them.)

We finally got out of there although 5 Arab shopkeepers followed us out trying to sell Stefan silver.

Upon returning, I took a nap then went to watch the TTT finish. It was really cool to see all the teams finishing and especially cool to see the good old stars and stripes coming up over the hill. From where we were on the hill, we could see a half of a mile, and it was 4-5 people deep on both sides as far as we could see.

 

After this, we talked to some teams again. I really want to trade my U.S.A. sweats for the Italian sweats – they are so nice.

We then left for the track. We (Jamie and I) warmed up with the team pursuit. We then did 4 jumps in which I pretty much beat Jamie easily even though he was riding a 45 and I was riding a 47.

Then we each did a 200m time trial. I did a 12.14, and Jamie did a 12.42. Apparently they painted the 200m mark wrong because we couldn’t be that slow – both of us.

We then returned and ate and chatted with Azdine the waiter. He is really nice – he speaks a little English, and has offered to take us to the market. He does think I got a good deal on my leather jacket – I do too. He really likes it. It’s the best! I still have $48 left – not much huh? But the jacket is worth more than I have spent so far so that’s ok. Tomorrow I will write postcards – goodnight!

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The Perfect Race Part 2: 

Nothing had changed in Jamie’s attitude when he lined up next to me after our first aborted race. The referee’s vague warning was issued with a wave of his hand and a complete lack of eye contact. It had little effect and I faced the same leer with now whispered challenges. We rolled off the line.

This was the finale of the match sprint trials for the 1986 Junior World Championships and most of the 70 or so other junior racers had turned out to watch - most of whom had already competed in their own events. Unlike other events where riders could qualify for several open spots on the national team in said event and win an all expenses paid trip to Africa, in the match sprint there was only one spot. It was a 2 out of 3 series showdown with winner-take-all.  Jamie and I had already raced 6 times that day: 3 mano y mano matches where a third race was unnecessary - we were both undefeated.  

The trouble had started upon my arrival – the national team coaches had wanted to own all the practice times and use those practices to “evaluate” riders, but my coach Roger had other ideas and after a verbal showdown with Eddy B. he demanded some time on the track for me and a few other 7-11 riders (“slurpees” as they called us). I was glad he had created space for me to train, but felt even more isolated from the U.S. team and coaching staff who had failed to invite me into the fold. I was not ignorant of the fact that these same coaches would become my future team were I successful. Meanwhile across the track I could see Jamie working directly with Craig, Anje & Eddy. Clearly they had determined that he had the talent they were looking for and had invested a lot in his success.

This was an old rivalry. The days are long in the summer of youth and hence its shadows stretch longer across the seasons. The fact that this match - this head to head combat - had started at age eight was the equivalent of the 100 years war. Jamie and I had always been at odds. From my very first race in the rain around the Dearborn towers nearly a decade prior we’d been evenly matched in talent – but with temperaments that put us at odds. http://johnkcoyle.wordpress.com/2008/10/16/clair-young/

Six years and decades of memory prior Jamie and I had matched up at our first national championships for the “midget” category in San Diego in 1980. The clear favorites of the bunch, the rivalry extended to our parents as well, with Jamie’s dad taking repeated opportunities to provide intimate and intimidating details of Jamie’s training regimen, diet, preparation and successes with my own father in the early days prior to the event.

Having faced similar posturing at prior races, my father decided to strike back in his own way the night before nationals began. He stopped at a local bike shop to pick up a cardboard bike box to fly my bike home after nationals, but instead of leaving it in the room, he boldly set it out on the deck of the sprawling motel we were all staying at, taping it carefully closed as though it were a new bike straight from the factory. Sure enough Mr. Carney saw it and my father calmly explained that it was my new, custom made, superlight race bike from Europe (rather than the 20 year old repainted steed I was riding). My dad and I chuckled about Jamie's dad's curiousity about that box for years.

Jamie and I were closely matched in those first nationals but I came out the victor, and he a close second. These competitive clashes continued to play out over the years – as did the contrasting approaches and personalities. Jamie was the extrovert – the fun trash talking ‘typical’ sprinter. I was more like the typical road rider – independent and relatively self absorbed – but without the endurance. I wished I could fit the mold of one or the other but I didn’t yet know what my strengths were.

Rolling forward for round 2 of race 1 of the Junior World trials Jamie was again slightly in the lead. As the banking steepened, he suddenly looked back at me, grinned, and then steered up the track. My front wheel hooked sideways and even as gravity pulled me toward the concrete, it also pulled my front wheel down into his rear wheel we both collapsed again into a heap at the bottom of the track. We'd raced twice and only progressed 90 feet total. The raspberries from the road rash were starting to shine in the heat.

This time the referee’s warning was stern – another incident and Jamie would be relegated. We lined up again and this time my coach waited until Jamie pulled to the line before rolling me to the start line well above him.

The starter raised his gun…