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Velonews, Cycling News and the Daily Peloton covered these races in far more detail than I could offer. Instead of providing a blow-by-blow account of each event, I'm going to focus on some of the more striking moments over the course of the weekend of October 11-12. I've also posted a number of photographs my wife was kind enough to take. The photos are accessible by clicking on the tickets to the left.
October 11, 2003: Junior Men's and Elite Womens races.
Traci and I made our way to Hamilton through a dense fog. Both of us were tired, having rolled in to my cousin's house in Orton late the previous evening, and exhaustion and fog combined to almost obscure the signs to one of the three large parking lots. Traci's adept navigation managed to get us to the lot without a hitch, and within minutes, we were ferried to the course on one of the event's many shuttle buses.
.We arrived at the course around 9:30, and within moments, several vehicles from the police motorcade swept by. I've ridden in races with hundreds of starters before, but the sight of the multihued juggernaut storming through the fog was beyond description. The drop off placed us by the intersection of Victoria and Main, with what would have been an excellent view of the pack descending the Claremont Access. Traci snapped several pictures, and we resolved to stay for another lap before seeking the ticket holder area along the Access. By the time the pack reached our vantage point, it had built up a considerable head of steam as it plunged down the 2 kilometer hill. A 90 degree turn met the riders at the base of the hill, followed immediately by a second sharp turn. As the mass of riders braked, swung wide and shot through the curve, I braced myself for a crash . . .
. . . Which thankfully, didn't come. At least, not within the mass of the main pack. Although this was the first of 10 laps, a number of riders had already fallen off the pace (anyone who has raced with me at Mingo Creek or West Deer knows that I can relate to this). As one small group of riders swung by, one of them, an Irish rider, fell awkwardly as he swung through the corner and chose a bad line. He was up quickly, and fortunately, this was the only crash we saw in person. Unfortunately, it would not be the days only crash.
As we made our way to the ticket holder area, several things became readily apparent: 1. Canadians truly deserve their reputation as some of the most civil people on Earth; 2. the event staff was enormous and enthusiastic, frequently asking up if we had posters, flyers and other event materials; 3. there were very few spectators.
The ticketed area extended along the entire length of the Claremont Access climb, and afforded the scattered spectators a good view of the riders descending AND ascending the hill. Several intrepid souls occupied a bridge over the course, and a large video screen placed against the hill opposite the spectator area projected almost every moment of the race.
By the 5th lap, the area in front of the monitor was starting to fill with fans. Oddly enough, the pack hadn't broken up as much as I expected: the road course boasted 2 100 meter climbs up the escarpment. At 2 kilometers, the Claremont Access was the longer (and gentler) of the 2. Beckett Drive had roughly the same vertical climb, but in about half the distance. Clearly, the climbs would factor heavily in the final laps, but Juniors race set a pattern that would be repeated in the subsequent races: a rider or group of riders attacked on Beckett Drive, only to get caught on the descent Eventually, a group did escape, and we watched Dutch rider Kai Reus soloed in for the victory on the giant screen positioned by the food court at the top of the climb. Within minutes Reus' victory, we witnessed one of the more dramatic moments of the race. The giant screen projected images of a crash in the final corner of the race (hardly surprising, given the sharp turn positioned close to the finish). A rider from the United States and a second rider (I missed the country) had fallen by the barrier during the final sprint. To our horror, a Canadian rider lost his rear wheel in the corner, and slid directly into the other riders, knocking the U.S. rider back to the asphalt.
What followed was one of the most moving displays of tenacity during the weekend. While the third rider was loaded into an ambulance, the two North American riders attempted to remount their bikes. The junior from the States eventually carried his damaged bike to the line. Our attention was focused on the young Canadian, who tried to roll forward, then faltered. One can only imagine the extent of the injuries the rider and his machine suffered in the skid and crash, but he persisted. He eventually used the crowd barriers to awkwardly pull his way to the finish. Damn, these kids are tough.
The food court provided me with perhaps my only complaint: the ticketed Claremont spectator area was more than wide enough to accommodate tens of thousands of spectators. However, reaching the food court involved squeezing through an ever-narrowing corridor of barriers. In the organizers defense, the chokepoint was formed by permanent median barriers, but it was a chore to get to or from the food court as the crowds swelled, and I don't do well in large throngs.
After a quick lunch, we made our way back to the area of the lower screen for the start of the Elite women race. The crowds were growing, and, in concert with no less than 4 helicopter hovering overhead to cover the event, lent an atmosphere similar to what I would expect for a European classic or grand tour stage. The crowd was supportive of the juniors, particularly the massed Dutch fans at the top of the Claremont Access climb. They also cheered the packs of professional men, who made their way on to the course for a lap or two of pre-race warm up. I got a fairly good look at Freddy Rodriguez and Bobby Julich, and then they were gone. However, the fans truly came out in force for the women race. The flags of myriad nations lent to a truly international flavor, and the phenomenal speeds with which the women climbed the hill lent to the air of excitement. I don't believe that the professional men matched the speed with which the women ascended Claremont during a lap in the middle of the race.
The women's race followed much the same pattern set by the junior men, albeit without as many stragglers in the initial laps. A rider would escape on Beckett, only to see the pack bearing down on her on the Claremont Access. That is, until Jeannie Longo Ciprelli made her move and held the pack at bay.
With local favorite Genevieve Jeanson strangely absent from the action (most of us had yet to learn of her exclusion from the race due to a high hematocrit level), many of the Canadian fans seemed to have adopted her as a surrogate champion. Others, myself included, appreciated the aggressive move of one of the sport's legends.
Longo's break continued for several laps . . . her lead fluctuating between 12 and 30 seconds. A commercial interrupted the live feed on the final lap, eliciting a chorus of boos from the fans massed along Claremont. Droning helicopters approached overhead, the motorcycles and cars of the motorcade drove by, and then the great woman herself hove into view as the throngs of spectators roared their approval. Seconds behind, a group of chasers battled gravity and the increasingly harsh headwind in an effort to negate the aggressive Frenchwoman's lead.
The group ground their way past us, and as the cheers faded with the riders, we turned our attention to the screen. By now, we knew that a rider cresting the Claremont Access could look forward to a tortuous descent down James Mountain Road, followed by a relatively short, flat stretch of road, and then yet another 90 degree turn before the finish. Longo was on her way to that rather dangerous finally with a slender lead. She was a kilometer away, 700 meters, 500 . . . and then they had her. Thousands briefly voiced their disappointment, before cheering Susanne Ljunskog's masterful sprint to victory.
Men's Professional Road Race, October 12
The Sunday dawned with no sign of the previous day's persistent fog, but a dark, leaden sky didn't bode well. We made our way back to the lot, which was well over half full by 8:30. A light rain began to fall as we walked up the Claremont Access, and we briefly took shelter under a bridge. The rain quickly dissipated, and held off for the remainder of the day.
Paolo Bettini's Italian team was prominent at the head of the peloton as it meandered by on the first lap. The pros were relaxed, talkative, and initially, not inclined to do much of anything. The Belgians were holding up the rear, and we watched Peter Van Petegem saunter by. The packed wasn't likely to splinter at this pace, and the various teams were clearly willing to let the Italians set the pace. The pack was equally lackadaisical on the next few laps, so we were surprised to see Bobby Julich well off the pace. He came sailing by the crowd on the climb, hugging the barriers to avoid the wind sweeping down the hill and drawing the cheers of the massed crowd. His heavily muscled legs also drew the vocal admiration of several women around me, including my wife. And they think men are shameless! Mechanical problems soon forced Julich to abandon the race.
Few seemed willing to take advantage of the packs low speed until Koos Morenhout attacked on the Claremont Access. He rode alone for a few laps, until Victor Hugo Pena broke free and joined him. Bjornar Vestol joined them, and the three built up a lead of 3 minutes before the Italians chased them down.
As this was taking place, we decided to make our way to the food court for a quick lunch. We knew this would mean losing any hope of regaining the barriers, but at least we could follow the race on the monitors. The crowd was massive, several deep along the length of Claremont Access. As we worked our way up the hill, the barriers narrowed, and it became progressively more difficult to move. It was at this point that we ran into the "Pittsburgh" section of Bill Ehler and Claire Palmgren. One of my few regrets was that we didn't spend more time chatting, but Traci was hungry, and I wasn't doing well in the crowd. Still, it was great to see some familiar faces.
We returned to the area of the screen, and followed the action from the bank along the road. It was late in the race, and Bettini was still sitting in with his team. Something was afoot however, as the announcers listed off the riders in the top twenty: a number of Belgians, including Peter Van Petegem had infiltrated the head of the pack. Images of his exploits in the Tour of Flanders immediately came to mind, and sure enough, Van Petegem gained the front of the peloton on the final ascent of Beckett Drive and put in a huge pull. The group came around a corner, and it was quickly apparent that the attack had finally splintered the pack.
They sailed past us, but the pack was seconds behind. The pack was drawing ever closer, and I had an ugly picture of massive crashes on the final corner approaching the finish. Van Petegem was talking to Michael Boogerd, and the race favorite Bettini was in the hunt. But all seemed lost and the peloton rolled up to the escapees.
Suddenly, a Spanish rider, Igor Astarloa, flew away from the faltering break. A large group of Spanish fans burst into song, flags waved, and the bright colors of the Spanish team jersey roared past the enormous crowd, now over 5 deep and the barrier, with more (including us) standing in the woods on the hillside.
More riders followed. The break was free again, and laboring to hold off the pack even as they desperately chased the ambitious Spaniard. They almost had him! It was only a matter of time now, before Astarloa shared Jeannie Longo's fate . . . but it was not to be. He crossed the line seconds before his fellow escapees, who in turn barely held off the speeding pack.
What a weekend! I can't even guess as to the size of the crowd on the hill, but the official estimate is that 104,000 fans watched the race through the streets of Hamilton, and hundreds of millions more watched the event on television. From our perspectives, the event was extraordinarily well organized, enthusiastically supported, and almost flawlessly executed. I'd love to see something like this in the States. If only we could resurrect the Tour Dupont or Thrift Drug Classic . . .
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