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

  • Ah, le bon goût de cuisine domestique ! Save some for me and The Engine Thursday night.

  • Looks and sounds fabulous. If you can't blow a gasket at table after a day on the cobbles, when can you? And in France, with somebody's mother cooking? Sweet Jesus.

  • O, what envy. I eat of the wheat bread and organic peanut butter. The milk. You have planted more -- yet more -- reason to attend the KT 2014.
  • and Geneviève claims not to speak English, so all that foul mouthed talk that would get one thrown out of any other house is somehow tolerated at the gite. It's a win-win situation. 

  • In that case, I recommend frequent and incorrect conjugations of the verb "foutre." It's only what you've got coming, you lucky sods.

  • Great food, and great beer. Is that not the deep down, real reason, that we love this sport?

  • 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!

  • Good old home cooking, Looks  & sounds like top quality pave  fuel to me. Living like kings and riding on the roads of legend .  On that note food is one of the most overlooked items out in my group rides that i can think of. One might even confuse it with lack of fittness in contrast to  lack of fuel your body needs to keep going. We've all been there at some point, when you've burned one to many matches and no way to light the candle. ( shit sandwich i tell ya) Now It's part of my mental check off before i roll. Really think about it..... can you enjoy your recovery beverage when you've just spent triple over time in the pain cave. The pain cave it self is a bastard, let alone any over time one has incurred for lack of preparation. Justsaynen

    VLVV

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