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33 Vuelta Ciclistica Independencia Nacional
Dominican Republic (Feb 19th – 27th 2012)
Written By Marcel van Garderen
To say racing in the Dominican Republic is just another day at the office for the team riders and staff is a far cry from the truth.
The USA Cycling Federation asked if I had any interest in heading down to the Dominican Republic with the U23 team in February. The U23 team is the bridge between the Juniors and the Professional ranks and the riders have to be between 18 and 23 years of age. I recently was laid off from my architecture position and had started looking in other directions. I have worked a few years with Mavic in the neutral service program and thought wrenching for a team could be a viable option for employment. When I got the call it did not take me long to iron out things at home with my daughter and I had my ticket to Santiago Domingo that afternoon!
I have done my fair share of traveling around the world but never with this many “accessories”; two bike boxes, one with a bike and one with 150 water bottles, one bag with my tools and food for the race, one golf bag with a bike stand pump and parts, one carry on and my messenger bag. It was a new experience getting around at the airport and I made full use of the massive carts you can rent for $4; worth every penny!
I arrived in Santiago late at night, at the same time as a couple of the U23 riders; Jos, Tanner and Kerry. Unfortunately none of our bikes made it on the plane. Therefore, we had to wait at the airport for the next flight on which our bikes were supposed to be. As we all sat on the airport conveyor belt we spend the next hour getting to know each other. Turned out Jos had a severely worn out cleat on one of his shoes so I went to work right away. It turned out to be a bit more involved as the screw was completely stripped out and I ended up cutting the screw and Jos rode the entire race with two screws in his cleat.
Thankfully our bikes arrived on the next flight along with Howard, another one of the riders.
The US cycling federation had arranged a pickup for us, which was very convenient. However the local pickup service did not understand that we had accessories….I lost track at counting but it was somewhere in the vicinity of: 14 duffle bags, backpacks and bike boxes. We patiently waited close to two hours for the drivers to attempt to fit our things in his minivan packing and repacking…and repacking. In the end it became comical, maybe it was that we were all sleep deprived as the clock was creeping towards 1am.
Once we made it to the hotel and into our rooms it was well past 2am. I don’t recall my head hitting the pillow, but I had a wonderful night of sleep!
The next morning I met the whole crew at breakfast; the riders; Tanner, Jos, Kerry, Russel and Howard. Marcello was the director and Viggo was the soigneur while I was the mechanic. The irony was that this is the United States U23 national team, while all the staff is from Europe; Marcello (Switserland), Viggo (Norway), and my passport reads “Netherlands”. None of us had been to this country so we could not play on our experience racing in this third world country. I did cheat and got some valuable info prior to departure from my friend Alex Hageman who had raced here a few times.
The first thing I noticed when I got outside was the thick cloud of two stroke motorcycle fumes from the hundreds of 50cc motorcycles whipping around town. Once I had adjusted to no oxygen and my body had adapted to surviving on two stroke exhaust, I notice the peculiar driving style the locals practice; dashed lines that outline the lanes are not used for as much as a suggestion where to drive, and police officers are mere decorations in the intersections. The proper way to get through an intersection is to hold down the horn while letting ever so slightly off the gas….not using the brake, just letting off the gas. Once it appears a car may come close to colliding with you, then you tap the brake. You don’t want the other guy thinking you brake or you may not get to cross the intersection ahead of him.
At the start of the first stage all the cars in the race caravan filed in line and things seemed to be starting smoothly.
At the first corner, about a kilometer from the start, the marshals let civilian cars into the caravan and mayhem ensued. As the official caravan cars were trying to stay glued to the bumper of the car in front of them the locals saw nothing wrong getting mere inches away from our car to push their way in to the caravan. After all, this was everyday driving to them, just 20kph slower. Marcello worked his magic behind the wheel and got around the majority of the civilian cars as Viggo yelled at them in his thick Norwegian accent; “gat de hill out of the wey, you idiuuuut”.At first I felt we perhaps needed to extend a little courtesy, after all we were guests in their country. Let me tell,three days of this and I was right there with Viggo and Marcello yelling and squirting water on the people who felt they could join the race on 50 cc mopeds. To clarify, it is incredibly dangerous for those individuals to be in the race caravan and repeated warnings from the escorting police did nothing but raise the stakes for them. They don’t know the protocol of the caravan and have no understanding of the proper etiquette of the caravan. This mayhem we fought every day for every hour the race lasted, it was stressful!
The road conditions were another cause for stress. Potholes that would make the Grand Canyon envious were a common occurrence. Tanner was unfortunate to follow the Astana lead out train during the last 10 K of stage 4 and disappeared in one of the potholes. I saw him standing on the side of the road, well before we got to him. I let Marcello know Tanner had trouble. As I got out of the car, wheels in hand, Tanner motioned that it was no use…his fork had sheered, and his wheel…well it did not resemble a wheel any more. We got the last spare bike from the neutral car and Tanner was on his way. A mile down the road as we caught up to Tanner he motioned at his feet; “wrong pedals, my feet won’t stay clipped in!” Tanner, cool as a cucumber said; “here take my shoes, I will ride on my socks” Mind you that all the while he is riding next to the car at 50kph. After taking his shoes I did a quick brake “adjustment” and he got into a group of about 20 that had been caught behind the crash.
Jos had a similar incident a few stages later, as a rider in front of him went into a pothole and he had nowhere to go. Up until that point Jos had been the luckiest, with no crashes or flats…that all changed with one pothole! His deep dish carbon wheel imploded and sent him to the ground. It did not take long to get him back on his way and he was back in the field in no time.
All in all the race was a long hard ten days for both the riders and the staff with every single rider crashing at least once, three broken frames, five wheels destroyed, 30 or so flats and numerous other mechanical, personal and physical issues. However all that was worth the blood sweat and tears when Tanner managed to get in a break on stage eight and took the win!!! All the tough days we had prior to that were instantly forgotten and we all focused on the fact that we had managed to get a victory we collectively pursued for the entire week.
They say (not sure who “they” are) that it is not about the win but about participation, but that falls on deaf ears when your rider and team mate occupies the highest step on the podium.
Marcel van Garderen
(Thanks to Monika Bunting for editing)
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