How Time Flies... Death Race 2010

Ilhan and new friends from Cambridge (all super-brains) punting on the Cam (left)

I’ve been remiss, again, in my posting punctuality. I’ll bridge the gap quickly because I am more excited about the next few months than the last few. After returning from the Tour De France, I spent the rest of the summer training at altitude in the Vail Valley before riding in the 2009 Green Mountain Stage Race. Before the summer ended, I was also called into Pioneer Natural Resources, a Denver-based energy company, for a number of meetings and presentations to the geology and engineering staff. Pioneer was interested in my senior geology thesis’ implications for geothermal energy and coal bed methane prospects in Raton Basin, southern Colorado. In September I set off to hit the books at Middlebury – my last semester of college.

Over fall break I spent a week in the UK applying to exploration geology graduate schools, reuniting with old friends, and meeting new friends from Madrid, Caracas, Abuja, and London. I traveled with Ilhan, a Korean friend exploding with ideas and energy. We spent time in Edinburgh, London, Woking, and Cambridge. In London we stayed with our mutual friend Harry, and in Cambridge we stayed with one of my closest friends from high school, Brett, who is studying for a masters degree in International Studies. Ilhan and I ate the famous curries of Brick Lane, ordered in the bar where DNA was discovered, stood on the ancient Roman colonnade of the National Monument outside Edinburgh, and somehow Ilhan arranged press passes to the Frieze art Fair in Regent’s Park.

Now I’m back in Colorado to spend the holidays with family. The future holds big things. I’ll be graduating at the end of January, and I have a large chunk of time between graduation and my start date with Cambridge Associates or the Watson Fellowship (still waiting to hear back from the fellowship’s final round interview).

Between January and July I am planning a bicycle racing tour of the major multi-day stage races in the western United States. I’ll be hitting the Redlands Cycling Classic (California), Sea Otter Classic (California), Napa Valley Grand Prix (Cali), Tour De Gila (New Mexico), and Mt. Hood Classic (Oregon). I’ll also be mountain biking in Moab, Utah and Fruita, Colorado. I’ll spend the winter conditioning and backcountry skinning and telemark skiing in Colorado and New Mexico.

The six-month tour will all culminate in the 2010 Death Race in Pittsfield, Vermont on June 24. I was one of 100 people admitted to the race this year. The organizers “screen” entrants by requiring video submissions and inviting athletes to training camps – last year I did a 8-hour workout with the guys who run the race and about fifteen other athletes from around New England. The organizers put a video of the camp on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xw_7J_LeVcA.

The death race is loosely defined as an “adventure race,” but basically it is a 24 hour slog with a series of mental and physical challenges. Historically, only about 10% of people finish. You can find more information about the Death Race at this website: www.youmaydie.com. Additionally, you can see videos and interviews with the 100 athletes in this year’s race (including myself) at this site: http://www.races.peak.com/deathrace/applications_for/2010. Some of the contestants are absurd, some are legit. There are a few Navy SEALS, marathoners, and Iron Men who seem pretty tough.

I’m planning to use the race as a fundraising effort for the Lance Armstrong Foundation, which I’ve raised money for in the past. I built a new blog to chronicle the six months, my training, racing, and adventures: www.DeathRaceForLife.blogspot.com. The blog will have a link for donations, photos, videos, as well as a forum for commentary. I've applied to become a grassroots fundraiser for LAF, so 100% of donations will go to their cancer fighting efforts. Every donation will also support and encourage me during the long hours of training and racing. Check it out!

Mt. Ventoux on Race Day

This video will give you an idea of how crowded the race courses of the TDF were. I rode the 25km up Mount Ventoux before the Tour arrived. Half way up I met a Frenchman named Bruno wearing a California Republic jersey. He had a friend from Ireland; both guys were strong riders. We rode up the rest of the way together, taking turns leading into the 70km/hr headwinds on 8-10 percent grades.

Street Performers Under the Eiffel Tower

Took this video just before heading upstairs for a dinner with a serious view.

Finishing the Tour De France

If you want to watch the Tour, stay at home. The last two weeks taught me that people do not come to the TDF to watch a bike race. In fact, the millions of people who descend on France every summer actually come to partake of the world’s largest and longest party (cumulative). Turns out the race is really just an excuse to drink wine and blast music from your camper van in exotic mountainous locations.

I “watched” four stages of the TDF, but saw a total of less than one minute of actual racing. Each day I spent hours and hours waiting in thick crowds to watch the peloton rip by in three seconds. It was worth it, not because of the race, but because of the experience and the energy. I found more interesting people, spectacles, and cultures in this crowd than anywhere else I have ever been. The attached video of a Dutch roadside party offers only the smallest taste of what lined Mont Ventoux for literally 22 kilometers. The crowd in Paris was even crazier with over 1 million people lining the Champs Elysees!

I’ll remember the trip for other reasons... like raw beef. One huge perk of guiding bike trips is that you get to live the lifestyle of a vacationing 55 year old executive for a couple weeks. Foias gras, pate, beef tare tare, octopus, and lots of stinky fromage – I didn't pass the opportunity to try bizarre new (and delicious) foods! The food has been awesome. We even ate in the Eiffel Tower on our last night.

After the bike trip ended, I rendezvoused with Emma Drucker, a friend from Middlebury who worked as a nanny in Paris this summer. We visited our favorite impressionists at Le Musee D’Orsay, walked down the left bank and found a nice café tucked into a side street, then headed for the Basilique du Sacre Coeur. The basilica boasts one of the most impressive views in all of Paris, which we enjoyed for hours by carrying peaches and nectarines up the hill after a great diner in the bustling streets below. We ended our night talking life over mint tea and apricot hookah at a street-side café in the Fifth district. Another Middlebury girl living in Paris, Justine, recognized us and sat down to join the storytelling and laughter.

Eventually the café owner asked us to be quiet because it was so late and his neighbor was sick. We realized that it was actually 1:00AM, and I had missed the last train to the airport. The fast-thinking, French-speaking girls helped me understand the bus schedule and literally run to the last possible metro train headed for the bus station. I had to sprint and slide under a closing set of gates to exit the station, then hop on the last possible bus out of the city, which delivered me to my hotel at 2:25AM. I boarded my plane bound for Amsterdam at 7:40AM, then loaded into my Houston-bound connection at 10:10. It was a crazy, improvised blur of traveling, but I’m glad I didn’t cut my adventure short just to catch the early train.

I’m back in Houston now, spending a night with my grandparents before I drive my car to Dallas to pick up my family's new puppy. After Dallas, I drive for two days back to Colorado. Looking forward to the next big adventure – learning to finance and install solar panels in Vail!

I Was Winning, Until the Gendarme Caught Me...

A quick video of me running next to an Astana rider during the time trials in Annecy on July 23. I was repping Colorado with my flag-cape and cruising along next to this rider until a gendarme officer (French national police) literally grabbed me off the street. You will notice me disappear in the last few frames... totally worth it.

The Big Problem

I find myself in an excellent culture, which troubles me. The contrast with my own country concerns me. I repeatedly arrive at the thought that French people seem to lead more satisfying lives, on average, than Americans. I cannot help but ask why; through that inquiry I think I found an insight into a subtle cultural peril facing America and the world. Permit me this rant.

There are no billboards in France’s Savoie region. What’s more, there are no Wallmarts, Starbuckses, Holliday Inns, or Pizza Huts. Everything you find here is unique. Every shop is original. Every hotel, rated two stars or four, is independent. Every restaurant offers a specialty that is actually special.

Why? Because artisans define French culture. Further, pride in one’s unique artistry constitutes a central (and often misunderstood as arrogant) tenet of French culture. If you make baguettes in Savoie, then you are a bread artisan, and damnit you are proud to make the best bread you can. The same goes for the cheese maker, the pipe carver, the farmer, the butcher, the wine maker, etc.

What can America learn from this? What can I learn? I’ll generalize, but I think accurately. In America we also aspire to be the best at what we do, but by best we typically mean biggest. Be the biggest name in Hollywood. Move to the Big City. Make the biggest profits. Everything is bigger in Texas. Drive the biggest car. Build the biggest muscles. Executive penthouse on the highest floor of the biggest building. Biggest house on the block. Biggest client base. Venti coffee. Jumbo size. Think Big.

So what is wrong with big? Nothing, except for everything you have to sacrifice to get big. Americans are gypsies – skipping from location to location, job to job, career to career in search for big success. We gladly abandon our hometowns and local heritages (or what’s left of them after Wallmart obliterates every unique shop in town) in that pursuit of big fame and big fortune. I posit that increasing American individualism results from decreasing local culture.

Why stay in Detroit if Detroit is the same as Dallas or Kansas City or Cleveland or Scranton? Our metropolises suffer from escalating cultural confluence – big box stores, malls, and convenience centers are wiping away our character. The pursuit of big success drives us to big business, which all too often crushes little mom and pop, destroying any local flair that might keep a person satisfied with their local culture, thereby encouraging the person to abandon local heritage in pursuit of big success. If I am right, then bigness begets sameness.

Savoie reminds us that the pattern is not universal. There are people out there satisfied with their hometowns. Those people are content – happy even – to chose a humble trade and excel at it. French success is feeling good, not big. Part of feeling good in France is investing yourself in a strong local culture, place, food, and people.

My advice? Support your local farmer’s markets. Cherish the co-op. Celebrate cottage industry. Buy local. Think like Vermont. Resist big box stores.

It’s true that the local bakery doesn’t generate tax base like Super Target, nor will the local movie rental store boost GDP. Local will cost more also. However, I’ll gladly pay extra to preserve uniqueness, traditions, and diversity in America. They pay 60% tax or more over here – consider the co-op a self-imposed ethos tax. Let’s reincorporate artistry, not for the sake of the artist, but for the sake of our culture.

Of course I am overlooking something in this rant. America is a superpower exactly because from the outset we permitted and promoted the drive to big, individual success. It's called the American Dream. I still love that dream. I have my own American Dream to build renewable energy power plants - a decidedly big goal. However, let's not "make it big" at the expense of making it well.

Find your own artistry. Find a passion, not just something that will make you a big success. I struggle so much with this. I’m torn between “making it big” in the conventional sense and following a more personal calling. Perhaps France can give me the strength to say "big blows."

Arrived in France - Le Tour 2009

Bonjour mon ami,

Yes, despite innumerable setbacks, I arrived here in France 48 hours ago. After being swindled by Dutch pirates at the airport ($400 to check by bike one-way on Royal Dutch Airlines) I flew to Amsterdam, then to Paris. On my second flight I traded iPods with a French college girl and listened to new music the whole way.

In Paris I boarded a train bound for Grenoble; however, severe jetlag induced a coma and I missed my stop. Regrettable. I approached the conductor, looking as pathetic, sleepless, and incompetent as possible. She researched the logistics of a re-routing to Grenoble, which would involve two additional train rides and a bus. I asked “will I need to buy another ticket?” which she considered briefly, then took to writing a long letter on the back of an envelope. She told me to present the letter wherever I encountered hassles and that my first ticket would cover the rest of my trip. I had to show the letter to a conductor in Nines and again to the bus driver in Valence; in both cases the man read the letter, looked at me with pity, and ushered me inside the coach. I haven’t translated the letter, but I imagine it reads:

“The American standing before you suffers from severe incompetence or mental retardation – which is unclear. He purchased a ticket to Grenoble, but refused to exit my train at the appropriate time. Doubting that he can pay for return fare, I authorize you to deliver him to his destination without further charge. Sincerely, HP346 J.

Anyway, I got to Grenoble, met my dad and good family friend Kurt Hoppe, and we drove to a rural alpine town where the hotels have no shower curtains, the cheese is local and abundant, and the mountains are intimidating enormous. We rode the famous Col Du Madelena today, which is steeper than any road I’ve ever seen in the states. The 11 mile ride took an hour and a half (dad took two and a quarter). Atop the pass we found something quite conventional in France – excellent food in unsuspecting and remote locations. Pizza, beer, coffee, orangina, chocolate baguettes, then off we went, sailing back down the hair-pinning descent. The rain began just as we arrived at our van, which we drove to a warm hotel and meal of salmon, cheeses, and kir (a white wine mixed with fruity crème).

Tomorrow, weather permitting, we tackle the infamous Telegraphique and Galibier – a pair of passes renowned for shattering professional cycling pelotons and inducing tears from lesser men (such as myself). My next message should have pictures from Le Tour De France 2009. Watch for me on TV too – I’ll be the one wearing a Colorado flag as a cape and running alongside Lance up Mont Ventoux! Wish us luck and good luck to you too.

Santé,

Cully