What follows, is another passage from Pasqualles yet-to-be-published manuscript about the cycling life, Il Chat del Giorno. It should provide a suitable window to have open next to your porn in case you have to switch real quick.

Il Coffee Stop.

Coffee and cycling go together like Riccardo Ricco and full retard. The two are inextricably linked and often mutually exclusive. The monotony of a motor pacing session behind Valentino Rossi can be easily broken up with a well placed pausa at a coffee shop. The cycling equivalent of the office water cooler, the coffee stop allows for gossip exchange, a venue to show off new threads and of course the opportunity to imbibe that delicious nectar we call espresso.

Inherently cyclists are a fickle bunch. We obsess over saving the weight equivalent of half a power bar at the cost of half a Panerai. I’ve seen old fashioned “Take 15 Paces and Aim” duels fought over whether Campagnolo is a superior gruppo to Shimano. For those curious, the Campagnolo man won, while more expensive, his dueling pistol was far more beautiful and constructed with more passion delivering a crisper firing action and more sensual results. Ergo, it’s no surprise that the pursuit of a decent coffee shop is a serious matter necessitating extreme focus, relentless persistence and a palette that don’t want no scrubs.

The location and ambiance of a desired coffee stop is of paramount importance. The venue must lay claim to ample outdoor seating where the presentation of the cycling body can be laid forth with supreme impressiveness. Ideally a yoga or pilates studio should be close by as multiple scientific studies conducted by numerous well respected scientists have shown that female practitioners of Eastern flexibility workouts are 74% more interested in men in tight clothing than the average woman and that number then jumps to 82% when caffeine ingestion is occurring simultaneously. It’s science, literally 100% factually accurate science that is impossible to argue with. The post ride dismount and pre-coffee shop entrance can be a particularly harrying time for the discerning cyclist. Helmet hair is a bitch lover that rears her ugly head when you least expect it and the collection of mucus, saliva and road grime that live in the corners of mouths all combine for a one way ticket into Fred’dom. Knowing this it’s imperative that the chosen coffee stop maintains shop front windows with near mirror perfect reflective properties allowing for the application of cycling caps and the requisite amount of primp and preening before even considering entering the business. Ideally the location will be consistently bathed in the warming glow of the sun allowing for the further searing of tan lines and providing a flattering light to accentuate ones features. Available reading materials aren’t absolutely necessary but if current issues of La Gazzetta dello Sport are on hand you are probably already in a happy place. The staccato click clacking of cycling cleats on hardwood floors can border closely to Chinese water torture so it’s important that the cafe del giorno have acceptable music gracing the ether, Vivaldi, Frank Sinatra and anything from “La Course en Tetê” is passable. Once tolerable conditions have been achieved it’s time to get down to the business at hand… espresso.

Even with the perfect application of all the previously mentioned elements they can all be for not if the espresso is rifuti. A perfectly prepared coffee isn’t just a beverage as much as it is an experience, an escape, the realization of the finer things in life. Much like a perfectly tuned bicycle, the perfectly prepared espresso drink is the culmination of various elements all performed and perfected with the utmost dedication and passion. The selection of the proper beans is where this caffeinated house of cards finds its foundation. A roast not too bitter or sharp yet at the same time bold enough to remind you that milk and sugar is for the kids. The perfect grind is where many espresso drinks meet there demise before they even began. Too fine and barely any water will pass through resulting in a severely bitter extraction, too coarse and the espresso will flow from the machine with the same ease as Richard Virenque’s tears. With the marriage of the proper grind and superior beans an intensely conceived love child is brought forth spilling southward into the awaiting arms of its ceramic mother, swirling hypnotically into a twisted melange of rich browns and blondes, the consistency like motor oil, the aroma immediately recognizable and invigorating. At this point a decision is made whether to take the elixir straight up or with milk.

Ciclisto: I’ll take a cappuccino
Barrista: Sorry?
Ciclisto: A cappuccino
Barrista: Lunch time is over sir
Ciclisto: Bravo barrista, I’ll take a macchiato

It is imperative to know milk and espresso keep very different hours from one another. Ordering a cappuccino or latte after lunch is much like wearing your bibs over your jersey. You’re letting everyone around you know social conventions mean nothing to you and you maintain little respect for that which is sacred. A macchiato is acceptable if milk is a must but generally speaking it’s espresso straight up with a shot of grappa if you have hair on your chest.

The exploration of your inner fortitude while on the bike is a never-ending pursuit littered with the ups and downs of triumph and disappointment. It can be a lonely road with few friends and even fewer motivations at times. Bad weather, unruly drivers and unforeseen catastrophes can all combine to either tear you down or make you stronger. The suffering endured on the road is what makes the coffee stop such a welcomed respite. For a brief moment the world around you embraces you and tells you it understands your plight. That first sip of caffe warms the soul and washes away the trauma of hill repeats in the rain. The coffee stop is there to let you unwind, to recharge and to bask in the achievement that is your subscription to a different way of life. So sit back, let the sun brown your skin and hold your dainty mugs high in a salute to being fantastic. Cin Cin.

That’s all for now.

Remember to party,

Lanolin

Now I’m proud of all or bikes but these new stainless rigs have my head spinning and my loins all up in a bunch. From a performance perspective, they are, without qualification, the best hand-made frames in the world. Vanilla may have a 5-year waiting list, but these bad boys are rolling out the door every couple of weeks, making grown men’s fantasies come true. To help spread the word, we’ve started to engage in PR, which I’m told stands for “Public Relations.” Apparently PR involves asking somebody popular (like a magazine, website or local hooker) to check out your bike and then hopefully tell their friends/fans/johns about how dope it is. I’m somehow intrinsically not wired for that kind of salesy bullshit. But, despite myself, we have stumbled upon a few willing reviewers, like the fine chaps at Cyclocross Magazine, who posted a glowing review of the Steeplechase. (I personally am quite used to hearing terms like “counter-intuitive,” “insane” and “backwards” in reference to my general line of thinking and have found that doing things 180 degrees from usual is often exactly the right direction.)

If you’re interested in getting yourself a Steeplechase or one of our other Ritte Lab bikes for yourself, please contact a Ritte dealer or fill out our custom request form.

And as always, please remember to party.

Lanolin

The Cyclocross scene here in Southern California doesn’t have the mud, cold and misery that racers in other parts of the country enjoy. So SoCalCross promoter Dorthy Wong had an idea that would make December’s UCI weekend in Downtown LA just as miserable as the sub zero conditions they have in Wisconsin. Alan “Danger” Zinniker (author of thehandup.com) secured victory in the single speed race after the rhino slowed to gore the rider in 2nd.

Can’t wait to see what Dorthy has in mind for next weekend.

Party,

Lanolin

from the 1989 Myata catalog

My first racing team was University Cycle in Dallas, Texas. We had incredible red kits and rode beautiful steel DeBernardi bikes, and U-Cycle had some of coolest bike shit of any shop in the city. We were proud to race for them (I hit the deck constantly, earning us the motto: “U-Cycle, we crash.”), until one day we rode over to the shop and it was closed forever. Someone had died while wearing a helmet they’d bought from the shop and their family sued the helmet company and the shop that sold it. It wasn’t long before I hung up the bike and didn’t get back on for 10 years.

I’m not gonna turn this post into a political small shop v. big shop v. online thing, just wanted to give a shout out to the dealers out there and remind everybody not to take them for granted. I was thinking about this because Pasquale and I were talking about bike shops the other day. As it turns out, Pasquale started working in a Milan bike shop at the tender age of 3. He wasn’t quite old enough to straighten frames and sew tubulars, so he was used as a display for the shop’s collection of cycling caps. As he tells it: “Often standing for hours holding a victory salute or doing the hunched-over Cannibal pose.” I think it scarred him in a way no one will ever understand. After our chat he wrote about shops on his web log, iL Chat Del Giorno. What follows was written by him:

In addition to pre-ride coffee shops and post race champagne/money/podium girl parties there lies another institution that rests comfortably within the pantheons of the cycling umbrella. I speak of your nearby bike shop. The local hub that draws cyclists from all disciplines uniting the two wheeled community in their universal thirst for components, chamois cream and carbon fiber. With the now burgeoning online e-commerce market taking over the cycling community it is becoming more and more rare to actually make substantial purchases at bike shops. Online proprietors often have new products sooner and at much lower prices than neighborhood shops. Yet what ebay and PBK.com will never have is the constant cast of characters that frequent a shop creating a Cheers-ian tragicomedy complete with running laugh track and end credits. While all shops are different, similarities in the casts run deep and methinks you’ll be able to recognize a few, if not more, of the characters listed below.

Where like, a few people know your name

Latin Mechanic
Latin Mechanic hails from somewhere you can’t remember in South America. His is rarely referred to by his actual name instead going by some nickname like “Maestro” or “Pancho Villa”. His skills are unrivaled and inexplicable at the same time. He doesn’t use tire levers when replacing a punctured tube and he owns lubricants and greases that may very well be homemade. Latin Mechanic can true a carbon wheel with a Pez dispenser and has questionably believable connections in some way to professional cycling. Almost always Latin Mechanic has another completely unrelated business on the side that you’ll probably never know about.

(Phone rings)
Shop Boss: Hello? Yes I’ll accept a collect call from Tegucigalpa.
Latin Mechanic: Hola boss, it’s me Conquistador!
Shop Boss: Oh hey Conquistador what’s up, where have you been? When are you coming back?
Latin Mechanic: Oye boss I’m away visiting family, I’ll be back in dos meses! Hasta luego!
Shop Boss: Wait, hold up…

Cheers Drink of Choice: Numerous scattered half finished Coca-Cola bottles

Bike Shop Nerd Employee
Bike Shop Nerd Employee is a supremely helpful individual who thrives on providing top notch customer service generally when it’s not wanted. Bike Shop Nerd Employee many times doesn’t even ride a bike preferring, rather, to just be immersed in the culture. He is most helpful to customers new to cycling and quite adept at excitedly talking about products that you read about on Cycling News 2 months ago. Bike Shop Nerd Employee is universally accepted as a nuisance but is such a genuinely nice person it is literally impossible to be mean to them lest you be labeled a sociopath. The resemblances to Stacy from “Wayne’s World” are striking but there’s a very real chance Bike Shop Nerd Employee will probably save your cycling hide one day when you’ve flatted 60 kms from the nearest form of civilization.

Bike Shop Nerd Employee: Hey bud! Couldn’t help but notice you got a flat out here in the Mojave! Need a hand?!?
You: Oh hey, uh, yea…yea I do man.
Bike Shop Nerd Employee: Man have you seen these new CO2 cartridges? So easy to use, easy to store and effective too!
You: Yea, yea I have seen those. Hey what are you doing out here by the way?
Bike Shop Nerd Employee: And only $5 a piece at the shop! Hey you like my Fat Tire jersey?

Cheers Drink of Choice: Blue Powerade

Old Foreign Guy
Old Foreign Guy is, shockingly, both old and foreign. Commonly from a traditional European country, Old Foreign Guy is almost always adorned in a complete cycling kit from at least 15 years ago and tends to hang out near the service counter communicating (poorly) with Latin Mechanic. He used to race as a junior and still rides a steel lugged Colnago. He pulls income from an unknown and seemingly endless source and it’s nearly impossible to ever actually see him ride a bike on the road. Old Foreign Guy constantly references old race results and still eats a raw egg during his cold shower every morning. Old Foreign Guy likes to make borderline uncomfortable references to your current form and physique which you’ll do well to just chock up to his being old and foreign.

Old Foreign: Ah, yes, I see your legs looks aggressive and supple. Very provocative, very provocative indeed.
You: Heh, yea, thanks Angelo.
Old Foreign: Yes very slim, very slim. Good to be young and virile no?
(cue slow exit to the cashier’s desk)

Cheers Drink of Choice: Whatever he keeps in that old tin Campagnolo bottle he always has.

Fixie Riding Employee
Fixie Riding Employee would appear to hate his job nearly as much as he hates mechanical shifting. He can be found trolling HipsterTits.com nearly as much as he frequents Facebook on the shop computer. Hilarity ensues when an unsuspecting customer has the audacity to actually ask him for assistance with something in the store. Fixie Riding Employee is usually still in school ergo exercise supreme caution in the month of September lest you get threatened with a U-lock.

Unsuspecting Customer: Excuse me, could you tell me the difference between this dual suspension MTB and that, uh, “Si-nelli” bike thingy there? Is that how you pronounce it, “Si-nelli”?
Fixie Riding Employee: (pinching bridge of nose while simultaneously Tweeting frustrations) Fail…

Cheers Drink of Choice: A super exclusive micro-brew you’ve probably never heard of.

Local Pro
Local Pro rides for a small elite-amateur/professional team and specializes in mid field crit finishes and blowing the legs off of unsuspecting riders on the weekend group rides. He is impossibly fit in comparison to a normal human with a work schedule. His tan is rich, his marital morality stance questionable and his inclination to helmet application whilst riding absent. Local Pro appears to live a life of luxury yet little is actually known of his personal or domestic orientations. He is usually waited upon with bated breath and revered with blind acceptance walking about the local bike shop with near regal authority. Upon further investigation no one can actually remember Local Pro’s last win.

Local Pro: Are these the new Power Bar gels?
Shop Owner: Yea! Yea you want some? Take some! Just have em you can totally take some!
Local Pro: Throw them in the bag, I’ve got a personal training appointment I can’t miss.
Shop Owner: Classic! Good luck this weekend champ!

Cheers Drink of Choice: Whatever your wife drinks.

Bike Fit Advocate Customer/Entrepreneur
Bike Fit Advocate Customer/Entrepreneur relishes the opportunity to speak to you about your current position on the bike. He has watched far too many physiological videos on You Tube and is violently ergonomic. He carries extra cleat shims in his wallet and plumb wires in his fanny pack. He trolls the cycling shoe section of the shop waiting for the opportune moment to pounce on the unsuspecting customer and inundate them with kinesiology catch phrases. His affiliation with the shop is not entirely known but he does drive around a Scion xB with his company insignia emblazoned on the side. You will have his card.

Bike Fit Man: So like what’s your pedaling style?
You: Huh? Uh, I dunno, effective?
Bike Fit Man: Like are you pedaling squares or circles dude? C’mon!
You: I don’t know I’m just trying these Sidi’s on.
Bike Fit Man: You need a shorter stem bud and lower your ankles on the climbs next time. Here’s my card, you’re welcome.

Cheers Drink of Choice: Water for its ability to take any shape gracefully.

The bike shop is finding itself in a current state of flux, a once reverential institution now struggling for a solid foothold on what was once a stable foundation. The internet and social media have issued significant first blows but the bike shop is not an opponent to lie down so easily. Online commerce certainly has provided a forum for near instantaneous selections, impossibly low prices and unrivaled inventory. Yet. Yet, there is something soothing about walking into your local shop and seeing Virenque get shelled in the ’99 Tour de France on the TV for the 276th time. Something reassuring in passing the signed USPS jersey framed on the wall near a vintage 7-11 poster. A sense of calm when making your way around the beach cruisers featuring a new Paul Frank iteration along the fenders. A familial hand of guidance in the never changing selection of bar tapes gracing the particle board display walls. A palpable sense of community in watching the social ballet of shop regulars interact with one another. The local bike shop fits like your favorite pair of summer bibs and gives you that certain qualcosa you can’t find online. Cause making your way in the world today takes everything you got and sometimes you just wanna go where everybody knows your frame.

Well I was as surprised as you to read that pun at the end. Doesn’t seem like Pasquale’s style. I guess American culture is starting to rub off.

Party,

Lanolin.

My personal Interbike experience started with food poisoning and ended in a cold. I don’t remember much very clearly, though I distinctly don’t remember showering or changing my clothes. Since then I’ve drunk more cappuccinos than I’ve ridden miles, broken 3 chains, DNF’d 4 out of 7 races, designed the 2013 Bosberg, lifted approximately a billion tons of boxes in and out of trucks, and hatched a scheme to take over the world with my buddy Mike Creed (which you’ll hear about soon),

Somewhere in there I did some other things, like designing this logo for my friend Jeff Lawler’s new coaching endeavor, which Jeff unceremoniously told me he didn’t much like:

But since I had already spent several hours hand drawing that vintage cycling shoe to look like a woodcut from the 1910 Sears Catalog, I basically told Jeff that he was stuck with it. (This was especially unfair of me since he didn’t even ask me to do the logo in the first place. But shit, life isn’t fair, Jeff. Life … isn’t …  fair.)

I’m gonna cut myself off right there and let you enjoy the ramblings of another member of the Ritte family, Pasquale. Pasquale is the twin brother of our wayward Belgian racer Stratton, who you may remember from the Ritte videos. Pasquale is somehow even more fashion obsessed than Stratton. Possibly because he was abandoned as a baby and raised by nuns in Milano. Though apart, both brothers took up cycling at a young age. Stratton becoming a low-level classics specialist and Pasquale a world-class gran fondo specialist.  What follows is Pasquale’s take on the glorious 90′s:

il 90′s

Decade’s have a way of making their mark in the ledgers of time. In cycling, as with life, it’s generally possible to delineate betwixt the ages merely by the fashion choices gracing the participants. Hair styles, music, cars and pop culture all contribute to the social fritto misto that make up any given decade. In addition to the usual melange of defining what-have-you’s, cycling enjoys a uniquely boisterous anomaly. Yes there’s the pompadour of Anquetil, of course there’s the mutton chops of Merckx and De Vlaeminck, without a doubt there’s the headbands of Fignon and who can forget the TT body suits of Cipollini? Yet apart from all these defining components there is one that has stood the test of time. Like the blind servitude of the Swiss Guard it has transcended the epochs and solidified its presence as a stalwart of professional cycling. I speak of course of doping. Yes that four letter word so reviled in the cycling community yet so impossible to ignore. I wish neither to defend nor laud doping or the dopers in this entry, instead I choose to merely point out the idiosyncrasies in its progression. In particular, one decade specifically stands out amongst the rest for the sheer outrageousness it fostered. That decade is the 90′s.

Since the inception of professional cycling doping has existed. In the late 1800′s, not content to climb unpaved mountain passes in a fixed gear on a bike made of lead and mercury, the riders upped the ante by apparently trying to commit suicide beforehand. It wasn’t unusual to find racers imbibing cocktails of cocaine, heroine, scotch and strychnine in search of a competitive edge. Who exactly thought hard drugs and poison was a performance enhancer is questionable, but, France was still in a position of relative global power so we’ll just go ahead and chalk it up to different times d’accordo? As the times progressed we crept into the era of speed and amphetamines which saw professional cycling get the closest it will ever come to having something in common with The Jersey Shore. What was great about the amphetamines influx was that in addition to the increased stamina and speed there was a directly proportional increase in sheer stupidity. Countless PROfessional riders speak of young neo-PROs coming to the front of the peloton looking like Sloth from the Goonies then dropping the hammer 2 km into a 300 km race thinking they could solo to glory. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you swing, amphetamines advantageous properties all but evaporated as ambient temperature increased which led to the always hilarious “bad fish” excuse when entire teams would have to pull out of competition. The roots of tainted food run deep in our sport. As cycling passed through the roleurs of the 80′s the chiseled physiques of John Rambo, Apollo Creed and John Connor’s assassin introduced Hollywood and i ciclisti to the advantages of steroids. Testosterone, cortisone, corticoids and and a myriad of other ‘sones got heavy use with PROs increasing muscle mass, decreasing fat storage cells and popping leg veins so defined Random House published a book entitled “Varicose Vanity: Charcoal Etchings from Le Tour”. The downfall of these products was the ease with which they were detected. Amphetamines and steroids showed up in tests that already existed at the time requiring creative but often ill fated methods at beating the system. And then… there was the 90′s.

Race Official: Excuse me Virenque but what may I ask is in that water bottle?
Virenque: Oh this bidon here?
Race Official: Yes
Virenque: Vittel
Race Official: It looks like the DNA cluster from Jurrasic Park.
Virenque: Yes it’s EPO
Race Official: Fantastic, vive le France!

Doping in the 90′s was like cocaine on the set of a John Hughes movie. Those involved in the sport knew of its widespread use while we “regular” consumers got to sit back and naively reap the rewards. It was a different era of doping because of what became possible to witness. EPO was introduced and with it racing was changed forever. By increasing the red blood cell count in athletes EPO made it possible to literally ride people to hell. Water bottles filled with ice and syringes were passed around race starts and jumping jacks became the new jogging in order to keep the sludge that was riders blood from coagulating in their veins at night. Despite the health risks and clandestine practices the racing was unrivaled. Frank Vandenbroucke big ring’ing Liege-Bastogne-Liege single handedly increased the nationwide copulation rate in Belgium that year. After mistakenly hearing that the race motos had failed to show up for the Ardennes Classics, Bianchi Gewiss took it upon themselves to ride ahead of the peloton to make sure everything along the course was up to snuff. Averaging 40 kph. Up 9% grades. All while breathing through their noses. And never getting out of the saddle. The attacks of the 90′s were violent and complete. When a rider decided to play his cards in the Alps it was done with singular dedication and ferocity. Take this video, for example, of Lance putting in his first attack on the Sestriere in ’99. At 0:29 he goes so hard and so fast that he’s actually riding the climb like a descent, utilizing the apex and BRAKING before entering the turn. Then it continues, the attack doesn’t stop it’s a constant assault of devastation. At certain points when the camera is next to Lance it would appear he’s riding on the flats. Insanity. These guys were literally sprinting through the Alps and the Pyrenees yet looked like they were out on a Sunday coffee ride. I remember watching a filler piece with Paul Sherwen in which he incredulously describes the riders utilizing a 53 x 23 to make it through the climbs of the Tour de France. He simply cannot believe they are going to have to resort to the 23 tooth granny gear.

Yet I believe Marco Pantani best personified the brashness and over the top spectacle that was cycling in the 90′s. He still holds the record for fastest ascent of Alpe d’Huez and he more than likely completed most of it while in the drops. No helmet, no hair, a superbly ostentatious kit design and ear hoops swaying rhythmically atop one of the greatest climbers of the modern era. Il Pirata was a sight to behold on a bike especially when the road headed north.

The 90′s gave us some truly spectacular performances, the type of achievements that grandchildren will hear of in years to come. It was fast, merciless and damn good entertainment. It reminded me that these guys were PROs for a reason because there wasn’t a jar of Nutella’s chance at fat camp that I could ever big ring my local hard man climbs the way they did. No matter how much I trained I was never going to attack my group ride for 14 minutes straight. And regardless of how dedicated I was to improving my skills my face would always revert to a contorted mess when I knocked on the door of my pain cave. But that didn’t happen to these guys. They were PRO and as I sat watching the Sony Trinitron in my Bugle Boy shorts nursing a Clear Pepsi and throwing a Thigh Master at my younger brother I couldn’t help but smile and revel in the circus that I was privy to.

Oh yeah and Dinosaurs was still on TV then too.

Posted by Pasquale Ragazzo

You can find more of his musings on his blog Il Chat del Giorno.

At sub 1160g for a 54, the all-carbon Crossberg is one of the lightest cross frames available. Its massive down tube and chainstays also make it one of the stiffest. The result is a capable, quick, grass-eating, mud-chugging race machine. Of course, it’s not just a great bike; its stunning handsomeness makes most other cross frames look as appealing as a strung out Detroit hooker.

We just finished a small run of Crossbergs for this cross season. If you want one (and you know you do) contact your nearest Ritte dealer or hit us up directly and we’ll make sure you get hooked up with a ride.

STEEPLECHASE:

If your style leads you to want something truly unique, we’ve made a very small run of our special Steeplechase stainless/carbon frame. We have a few available in 52, 54 (disc version), 56 and 58. Quick, nimble, lively. There is absolutely nothing else like these in the world.

Party,

Lanolin

Haute Couture

First impressions go a long way and your outward appearance plays a major role as such. Taking the time to put yourself together in a cohesive manner lets the world know you respect both yourself and others. The same can be said when donning a cycling kit. In addition to the inherent design, the manner in which it is worn adds to the overall panache exhibited.

The cycling kit has come a long way since its inception in the mainstream. What once started as black shorts coupled with a wool jersey emblazoned with one title sponsor at most has morphed into something entirely different today. The kit of the modern velocipede warrior claims ownership of fabrics and innovations so technical I got a BA in Biomechanical Engineering from the University of Phoenix (online) to be able to decipher product description tags. One thing that remains unchanged is the confidence one exudes whilst galavanting around in clothing so tight it leaves little to the imagination. If you were to tell any normal red blooded, meat eating male “I have a pair of hot pants and a short sleeved shirt for you, they’re brightly colored and and will cling to your body like a virus” you’d more than likely get smacked in the mouth hole. Of course, cyclists are not what we would consider to be normal. We relish the opportunity to garnish ourselves in overly coordinated attire, squeal with muted glee at the thought of form fitting vests and gush with Gaga’esque intensity at the possibility of matching our fingerless gloves to our hats. The nature of the cycling kit beast is such that it often is a slave to function. Decisive fashion choices are forced to take a back seat to appeasing the sponsors. When Valentino decides that sequined, asymmetrical cocktail dresses are what Fall 2012 will be about, cycling kit designers curse the heavens as they continue to find themselves confined to the banality of shirt and shorts. In spite of all of this, even obtuse designs can maintain an air of class when properly worn.

That’s right, it also comes in not-neon. But only for me, loser.

Take Giovanni Visconti for example. His team, Farnese Vini, are the owners of a mid 90′s throwback design complete with neon yellow and an overwhelming amount of sponsors gracing the fabric. However this is not Visconti’s first rodeo. Far from it in fact, Giovanni had the good sense to win his national road race championship thereby vaulting him into the elite category of season long custom kit enjoyment. Telling an Italian they have free reign to design a piece of clothing that will be displayed prominently for all the world to see is akin to telling a German they can design and maintain the railway systems for the entire world. Excitement is a word that doesn’t even begin to describe the emotions. Visconti has done well here, respectable sock height, classy glove matching, admirable helmet colorway and a healthy splashing of white all combine to let everyone know he comes from a land where style resides comfortably. More so than the design is the assurance he maintains whilst in the kit, even his own teammate is left staring and wondering:

Teammate: How do you do this Giovanni?
Giovanni: How do I do what teammate of mine?
Teammate: To be for looking fantastico! This kit, this kit is like the flag of Italy made love with affection and romance at the same time.
Giovanni: Si, si teammate, my kit is a noble and beautiful combinazione of vigor and violence. It is to make fear for others while letting le donne know I am a tender and fair lover.
Teammate: Is there a way I am to try and make these emozioni real for me?
Giovanni: Certo teammate, eat your Nutella, drink your espresso, massage your legs often and live a life of passione. Also it helps to take runway walking lessons from Gisele Bundchen.

Cycling is a sport that lies hand in hand with style. Looking impressive on the bike is just as important as ones palmares, sometimes even more so. Maintaining masculinity in brightly colored skin suits is an impressive act in itself and one that, if achieved, should be commended with respect. Like the lucky few that look good even in a burlap sack, the supremely confident cyclist can rise above inferior kit designs to display his achievements to the world. The dedication and sacrifice that cycling demands offers few returns but the ability stride around coffee shops in, essentially, a body sock and still be able to turn female heads is a revelatory experience.

Posted on August 8, 2011 by Pasquale Ragazzo

Something like 40 miles of gravel roads, some as steep as 26%.

A few weeks ago, we sent a team of 6 guys up to Portland to participate in the Rapha Gentlemen’s Race. 6-man teams ride team time trial style through 130 miles through the Oregon country side, down back lanes and dirt roads. We were intrigued by the concept and already have a bunch of racers who look for any excuse to spend 8+ hours on their bikes. What follows is the race report written by Bobby:

“We were the 22nd to start of the 28 6-person teams. We were feeling fit and prepared and we liked our chances. The start went smoothly. Then Alan flatted. After 200 meters.

With a dozen spare tubes in our pockets, two frame pumps, several air canisters and a spare tire, we were prepared to deal with flats on the many mile of gravel roads we’d be riding on, but we hadn’t even gotten to the real dirt yet. After a quick tube change, we were back on our way and moving quickly until we took a wrong turn at mile 9. We decided to debate the decision and then ride another 3 miles before we realized that we had to back track. By the time we got back to where we’d missed the turn, we had lost about 30 minutes.

We again started to get in rhythm again, even on the gravel-strewn early climbs that reached 20%. We had our second flat (Block) at about mile 30, and it was at this point that we found out from the race director that we were last on the road. Obviously, we had work to do. At the first checkpoint (mile 50), we passed our first team. Soon we passed a few more teams. Then I flatted. Then we passed some more teams. Then I flatted. Soon after this, we had to slow to keep our team together, but we still made progress on a few other teams, even in the 93-degree heat. We made it to within a few miles of the final checkpoint at mile 105. Then I flatted. Then I flatted again, this time requiring not only a new tube, but a new tire too. After a quick refueling at the check point, we began our assault on the final 25 miles, which was mostly dirt and included two 5+ mile climbs.

We made it to the top of the final climb a little spread out, but not too far apart. Then I flatted (no. 5). By the time we finished after 9hrs and 20minutes of riding time (about 10h20 total) we found out that we were one of only 7 teams to have finished the race intact. In fact, we were the last of these teams, which earned us the prized red Rapha cycling caps honoring the race’s Latern Rouge. (Ed. Note: They were the last to finish, but the 5th fastest overall. A respectable 45 minutes off the winning team’s pace).

that is one dorky bunch of hardmen right there.

Who knows what would have happend if we hadn’t taken the wrong turn, or if I hadn’t flatted an average of once every 25 miles, but may not have gotten the red hats, and we all had a great experience anyway. It was a truly epic day and nothing could have made it better than racing side-by-side with such great friends and teammates. I Can wait until next year.

A few team stats: Mileage, 138; Gravel roads, 40+ miles; Elevation gain, 10,000′ (approx.), 7 flats. My personal food intake: 6 Power Bars, 2 Stinger Waffles, 5 double-caffeinated power gels, one honey stinger gel, 10 enduralite capsules, 6 bottles of energy drink and 6-8 bottles of water.”

if you want to be a good climber at 40, you may have to make some hard body image decisions.

Good job guys.

-Lanolin.