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.

View Comments

  • @Ron

    That might be Logan Owen, huh?

    The bloody-socked American?  Yep, that's Owen.

    I didn't realise Trebon crashed either - he kept coming around the finish lap after lap and then just didn't.  I figured he must have had a major mechanical or something.

  • Owen's pale Pacific NW guns made me cold & wince just seein' 'em.

    And speaking of regionalism & differences - holy fuck, do some (most?) Southerners talk really damn slowly. When a few of my Southern friends start telling stories I'm able to pull out a pillow, catch a bit of shut eye, then wake up for the end of it.

    Then again, I talk too fast & include far more detail than necessary for most discussions.

  • 1st post...this may be a dumb question but what makes the Belgians so freakin dominant?

  • @Ron

    Then again, I talk too fast & include far more detail than necessary for most discussions.

    I think my wife would tell you the same thing about me.  If I'm talking and get 'the look' I just stop.

    @shackleton

    1st post...this may be a dumb question but what makes the Belgians so freakin dominant?

    Not a dumb question at all, although I'm sure Frank would be the first to point out that it was actually the Dutch who had the best showing in Louisville.  I think its mainly just because its in their blood - they grow up with it.  I think this says it all:

    @Sauterelle

  • @VeloVita

    Any west coast based KT attendees want to volunteer to bring one of these back for my pedalwans in a 40 or 45 cm wheel size?  Failing that, a pair of the little-kid size drop bars?

  • @shackleton

    1st post...this may be a dumb question but what makes the Belgians so freakin dominant?

    In no particular order: history, geography and climate. And beer, of course.

  • Frank, don't be so hard on yourself.  Neither hailing from Minnesota nor Seattle would make you a yankee down here, at worst you are a psuedo-Canadian Midwesterner or a vagrant, pot-smoking Californian.  You would have to be east of the Mississippi and north of the Mason-Dixon line to be a true yankee.  It is a very select group, and one that no one would willingly confess to being a part of.  It would be like calling yourself a Frenchman.  As for southerners not liking the corrupt fat white asshole, hell we invented him, remember Huey P. Long, Boss Hogg & Jeb Bush?

  • Both your own country and the country in which you reside refuse to nominate you, so you get Malaysia and Barbados to nominate you. Which requires a rewrite of the rules in the middle of an election season.

    That's legit!

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