During last year’s Keepers Tour, the motor was fine for about two or three days until it suddenly sputtered and shut down completely on Wednesday. My basic problem, it appears, lies with my ongoing struggle with body dysmorphia; based on the quantity of calories rolling into the station on the Malteni train, I was loathe to lay into the vast spread of home-cooked meals our beloved Keepers Tour cook, Geneviéve, was churning out on a daily basis.

This would be idiotic for more reasons than the basic fact that I was depriving myself of second and third helpings of her incredible cooking. More critically, I was depriving my body of the nutrients it needed to rebuild after riding day after day on the pavé and bergs.

There is something about the stones and their way of knocking your bike against you over and over and over again that demands a bit more sustenance to mend the muscles than does your average Sunday roll up and down the local boulevard. This is not the time to whinge about waist lines – this is time to focus on building reserves and recuperation.

Herein lies the genius of the Pavé Cycling Classics boys William and Alex. William somehow tricked his mother-in-law Geneviéve into catering to us – two years running. I can imagine that coming into the experience blind last year, perhaps no one knew better. But that’s no excuse for this year; William must have done some serious sweet-talking in order to convince her to do it a second time. From what I know of him, I’m guessing he’s not above blackmail that involves grandchildren or bamboo shoots.

There is strength in numbers, of course, so this time around Geneviéve was smart enough not to take it on herself and somehow enlisted her best friend Odile as second-in-command. And in command they are. I used a bucket from the kitchen to clean my bike, upon which discovery they made some angry sounds and now I’m scared to make eye contact with them.

William’s cunning doesn’t end there though; he managed to cajole his lovely sister, Gemma, to agree to participate as well, though I assume the bartering of his children was involved in that negotiation as well.

Between these three ladies looking after us, we’re eating like kings and this time I’m all-in on the food. Tonight’s meal of lamb, pommes boulangére, and white beans in cream sauce didn’t stand a chance. I piled a mountain of it on my plate that made Odile do a double-take; when Geneviéve collected the plate after I crushed it, she made a gesture that said she was putting it back on the shelf straight away; no washing needed.

Moderation is not my strength. Maybe there’s a middle ground, but I’m never sure how to find those.

frank

The founder of Velominati and curator of The Rules, Frank was born in the Dutch colonies of Minnesota. His boundless physical talents are carefully canceled out by his equally boundless enthusiasm for drinking. Coffee, beer, wine, if it’s in a container, he will enjoy it, a lot of it. He currently lives in Seattle. He loves riding in the rain and scheduling visits with the Man with the Hammer just to be reminded of the privilege it is to feel completely depleted. He holds down a technology job the description of which no-one really understands and his interests outside of Cycling and drinking are Cycling and drinking. As devoted aesthete, the only thing more important to him than riding a bike well is looking good doing it. Frank is co-author along with the other Keepers of the Cog of the popular book, The Rules, The Way of the Cycling Disciple and also writes a monthly column for the magazine, Cyclist. He is also currently working on the first follow-up to The Rules, tentatively entitled The Hardmen. Email him directly at rouleur@velominati.com.

View Comments

  • @Cyclops

    Holy shit! What is that scary rat-pig doing on your table? Every house in Idaho has a cast iron frying pan; dispatch that crime against nature at once!

    @Frank: You're in France fer fuck's sake, and you have a native cooking for you. I suggest that you apply the same measure of Rule #5 at table that you do en pavé. Eat to ride? Are you kidding? Ride to eat this week, boys, and feast like kings. Memento Mori...

  • @Spun Up

    @Cyclops

    Holy shit! What is that scary rat-pig doing on your table? Every house in Idaho has a cast iron frying pan; dispatch that crime against nature at once!

    @Frank: You're in France fer fuck's sake, and you have a native cooking for you. I suggest that you apply the same measure of Rule #5 at table that you do en pavé. Eat to ride? Are you kidding? Ride to eat this week, boys, and feast like kings. Memento Mori...

    Or Belgium, don't allow my obvious exhaustion and slight inebriation to distract from the larger, and obviously more prescient and insightful, point.

  • Forgive my brevity; we've got to load up on food because we're headed to Liege to ride with this guy today.

  • @eightzero

    Small confession: food is why I ride. I've had a lifelong special relationship with food, and only when I ride can I justify how I like to eat.

    Besides: good food is expensive. It's not like I retired from a position as a wall street banker to take up cycling.

    Moar KT pics!

    +1.

    I ride, I eat what I like, when I like. Inside this skinny body there is a 'beefy' guy waiting to burst out. The bike keeps that man at bay.

  • I completely follow all of this sage advice.....but occassionally neglect to expend the calories first and therefore I am unlikely ever to hit 80kgs!

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