Photo: Janet Hill

As a dyed-in-the-wool Northerner, my time living in the South was a mixed bag. Southerners think differently, speak differently, eat differently, and prioritize life differently than do Yankees. In many ways, I became a better person during my time in the South, learning to relax a little bit and stop chasing my tail over everything all the time. In fact, the new and relaxed Frank was probably better prepared for the mellow attitude towards living that I’ve found so delightful here in the Pacific Northwest. (Believe it or not, PNW Frank of today is less-uptight than previous iterations.)

On the other hand, trying to get something moving faster than it was already moving was a near-impossible task and one that caused my impatient self frustration at times. I also learned that while the North has long since moved on from the trials and tribulations of the Civil War (er, the War of Northern Aggression), parts the South has not. In fact, any conversation with an elderly Southern Gentleman would invariably lead to the assertion that the South would rise again, to which my query was ignorant as always: “Again?”

My sense of nationalism is a wonderfully flexible thing. I was raised in the States in a Dutch household by Dutch parents speaking Dutch as my first language. I was, however, born in Saint Paul, Minnesota, about a score after Johnny Cash accidentally met a heartbreaker there. On any typical day, I self-identify as a Dutchman, despite my passport being inarguably American after having been born within the borders of the United States. But whenever the good ol’ US of Fuckin’ A pulls one out of the bag, my allegiances happily flop over and I’m suddenly a proud American. Its very convenient, always being on the winning side this way.

Seeing the turnout at the Cyclocross World Championships was one of those times. Everything fell in place; the crowds, the racing, and the weather going full-blown Cyclocross by throwing ice, snow, mud, and rain at the racers. American Katie Compton even brought home a Silver medal. (Oh, and by the way, the Dutch won 3 out of 4 events, so put that in your pipe, Belgium.)

This was already enough to restore my faith in American Cycling, but it wasn’t until the Elite Men’s Award Ceremony that I was nearly brought to prideful tears. There isn’t any population that has a healthier disdain for authority than do Americans, and I can’t think of any group of Americans with a healthier disdain for fat white corrupt assholes than Southerners. Given the current state of affairs, I tip my hat to the great work done by Louisville, Kentucky in organizing the event, the throngs who showed up and proved that Cycling can be successful in America, and booing Pat McQuaid like he has always deserved.

I’m not sure if the South will rise again, but I’m mighty proud at how we pulled this one up from the ashes. Chapeau, ‘Murca.

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.

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  • @VeloVita

    @Ron

    Bummed that we didn't meet up.

    Too much to catch up at work to wax poetic about the event but I'll echo your reports: it was a great day. In the end, happy that they moved everything to Saturday (even though that meant missing out on a Saturday morning distillery visit) as the walk from the hotel to the venue was a little longer than anticipated. This way, was also able to catch the junior race which was good. Loved how the Japanese rider was getting the loudest cheers from the crowd! Weather was perfect, crowd was great, tight course layout meant easy access to every part of it. True that getting a beer before the last race was a bit of a challenge.

    We missed the podium ceremony (and thus the boos heard around the world) as we were hangin' out by the Rapha Focus pit, hoping to get a few autographs (didn't). But we did run in J-Pow and Ryan Trebon in the hotel lobby on Sunday and they couldn't have been nicer.

    I also managed to run into Ryan Kelly (of "ah, chocolate milk fame" from 200 on 100) over an over: first at the Galt House hotel bar, then at the course, at the official unofficial after party, Sunday night at Against The Grain Brewery (also where Rapha Focus had their team dinner), and finally at the airport Starbucks. He looks shorter on the internet.

    Link to my pics from the event.

  • I cannot explain how annoyed I am that I didn't make it down there from Cincinnati. Why must I have a job? Oh. The horror.

    But, the weekend before Kings CX was awesome.  As a side note, a member of the team I used to ride for was very excited to place 9th in the elite women and, wait for it, get drug tested.  Apparently, it is now a right of passage.

  • @VeloVita

    Even the Belgian U23s know how to do Casually Deliberate

    I sit like this all the time, but I do not look pro doing it.  One of those things where wearing the Belgian baby blues means you can do WTF you want and you will still look the look.

  • VeloVita - Ha ha ha, amazing.

    Damn, didn't realize Trebon crashed that hard!

    No trombone for me, I spent all my Talent Points on sports, none on music. I used to get kicked out of chorus in high school (we had to take it) because the director thought I was trying to ruin the sound of the 100 person choir. I was doing my best though.

    Some photos, nothing nearly as good as some of the others, but here they are:

    Klaas's bike wheeled away by a sharp looking older mechanic while he was being pissed off on the podium:

    A second shot, you can barely make out his name on the TT. The gent to the left had on a Bart Wellens fan club parka. Awesome!:

    Some one get this young man some leg warmers. The blood on his socks & beaten pegs pained me to watch come by each lap:

    Pretty sure this is the U-23 start:

    Action shot of Niels being followed by Simunek Jr., I think.

    This gent held down the fort all day long, was in the same spot for every race:

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