It's Sunday afternoon, the van is stuffed full of bikes and a moderate amount of swag from the swap meet, CSNR is in the CD player and Greensboro is disappearing in the rear view mirror. What has just happened?
The Cirque du Ciclisme is too wild and wooly for any one person to do justice to the whole. It would take weeks of interviews to get any kind of comprehensive summary written. So I will instead present some mental snapshots in a semi diary format of what I saw. Here then are some memories of one of the best weekends of my life.
Friday. Arrive Greensboro around 11:00 am. Look in at Cirque HQ (Cycles De Oro) and see Dale running back and forth attending to myriad details like a producer with a new show opening on Broadway. On a picnic table are dozens of nicely drawn nametags, a gift of Roy Drinkwater. I snag mine, pin it on and presto, I'm Somebody. (Persons who lost their tags this weekend had a forlorn look about them.) Joe B-Z and Harvey Sachs are arriving about the same time I do. Harvey has so much stuff in his van, he's not concerned when a bike topples over in the parking lot as he digs into the van's innards after his fixed gear. Joe extracts a Rickert fixed from his vehicle, and becomes one of the first victims of the mania this weekend for pictures. The bike rack in front of CDO is filling up with an all star assortment of vintage lugged steel. And this is the informal Friday warm up ride!? What will it be like on the weekend? Items seen include a Taylor curved tube, Bates Volante, Atala Fixie Tandem, Ephgrave, Ray Etherton in a Tam-o-shanter complete with ginger hair side curtains, Brian Baylis with his personal Baylis fixed (gorgeous, of course) and too many other great bikes to count. I dig out my humble Gipiemme-Benotto and a pair of shorts, and get ready to ride. The Battleground Inn says we can't check in till 2:00 pm, so first the 1:00 reception and 2:00 ride, then pedestrian logistical details.
Friday is clear, warm and sunny: too sunny for a Yankee without enough miles in his legs. John Pergolizzi leads us out of the CDO lot, after having briefed us on safe riding procedures for fixed gears mixed in with road bikes. I am concerned that I may inadvertently cause a problem through ignorance, but it turns out to be okay as 90% of the group roars off over the horizon and drop me like a bad habit.
A short distance into the ride Mark Agree on the Torpado flats. Hot dog, and excuse to stop! I stand around wheezing with a half dozen good samaritans criticizing Mark's tire repair technique, but we can't do much damage as he replaces the tube too fast. Back on the road, my tactical error becomes obvious as the group increase speed to try to catch back on with the pack. I'm the anchor in the chase group, and can barely appreciate the nice bikes as my sweat filled eyes are crossed with the effort of hanging on. Weaving our way through the Greensboro streets, our little pack zooms along, frantically consulting the ride sheet to spot our next turn. But after about 15 minutes, we bridge back up (I suspect we took an inadvertent shortcut, but hey, we caught them!) and start through a lovely park and bike path route.
Another few miles and the pack gets frisky as we approach the end of the ride. I get dropped at a stop light, and decide to bail out. I turn onto Battleground Rd, and spin home. I was lucky enough to turn the right way but ended up approaching CDO from the north instead of from the south as I was expecting. My sense of direction isn't what it once was.
It's back into the van with the Benotto and off to the Battleground Inn to check in. The Inn's reputation for quaint practices with reservations lives on, as my room with two doubles has become a single King. Fine, except I'm supposed to be rooming with Mark Poore, who I know and like, but not that well. I stand around the counter looking dumb (my best negotiating expression, I'm told it's amazingly convincing) until they give me a room with two doubles. I don't know what kind of chain reaction this starts, so if you ended up with a single King, I apologize. Three or four trips, and the room is stuffed with bikes and it's time to go to Dale's for the Friday reception.
I only get lost once on the way (getting lost is a theme for this weekend) and pick up one hitchhiker whose rear wheel flatted (I can't remember the name, but he reciprocated the favor at the swap by practically giving me a pair of Patrick touring shoes). Dale's house is a lovely place, with a gracious backyard rapidly filling with bikies. The cookies, beer and other snacks are rapidly snorked up by the hungry bikers, while we wander around looking at gorgeous examples of frame building. Brian Baylis stands up (although it's hard to tell) and delivers an excellent address on the differences between nice lugs and nice lug work, and starts cutting up a blank lug as a visual demonstration. However he does the cutting in Dale's workshop which is packed tight with admirers watching the Master at work, so I'm content to wander around the yard snapping pics. All to soon, it's time to break up the party and eat dinner. Mark Poore, having ridden out to the reception, bums a ride back with me to the Battleground, and I abuse him by having him help me change a tire on the van that went flat. At least it waited until I got to Greensboro, instead of deflating in the middle of, say, Philly. Mark and I race to the inn, change, shower and get to dinner only a bit late.
We eat at a fine Mexican restaurant, in a room crammed full of bike nuts. Several list stalwarts like Dale, Pergolizzi and Bingham are circulating around the room meeting and greeting. We eventually manage to get dinner ordered and eaten, all between laughter and stories. Mark Poore and I head home, and I prepare for what I assume will be an early night given the packed schedule tomorrow. Okay, so I'm a rookie and didn't know better.
The lobby is packed with bikies. Vintage catalogs are out, a few fine bikes are displayed, and someone has brought a little electric bike racing game. Four little bikers race around a magnetic track, speeding up and slowing down in a seemingly random pattern. An amusing diversion you would think, but you're wrong. There is serious business afoot, and hunched around the table are several famous trackies and bike nuts, trying to figure how to get their man out in front, and, in a sign that the apocalypse isn't far away, betting money on this. Jan Johnson seems to be winning all the money, John Pergolizzi is explaining how his rider blew it, and ERichie is enjoying himself immensely.
On everyone of the Battleground's four floors there are bikies wandering in and out of each other's rooms. I make the circuit, and hear lots of good stories. The one stop that stands out was Jamie Swan's room, later that night. In there are two Swan built bikes, with Mr. Swan, Brian Baylis, Richie Sachs, Peter Wiegle and Curt Goodrich (plus a swarm of eavesdroppers) discussing the features and design of the bikes, as well as pontificating on building in general. If I was James, I would have been nervous as heck, but he was cool as the other side of the pillow. And the general consensus of the assembled stars was that James did good. I wish I had taped that session.
Anyway, it was getting late, so off to bed for me much later than what was prudent.
Coming soon, Saturday and Sunday.
Tom Adams, Shrewsbury NJ
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