This weekend I just finished up working as a mechanic for the Vuelta Maestrazgo. It was a short two-day tour, but taxing nonetheless as it was raining (messy) and Saturday there were two stages squeezed into a nine hour period (hectic). I sold myself out to Jose in exchange for two 5 kg bags of pasta- a sacrifice for the good of the current gusano center trio. I suppose I didn't miss out on much here in Alcoy. In my stead the two Chris's weathered one near-nervous breakdown, watched several cautiously rationed "Family Guy" episodes, and endured the 15th and 16th consecutive days of rain. The most notable perk of the two days was an invitation from Jose's girlfriend (ex-girlfriend?) to go out to the Pub of which Jose was the previous part-owner, thereby earning a night of open bar privileges. Duffy in his discipline declined but DuBois, presumably rather unmotivated as a result of his recent injury-related and twisted-off-dérailleur-hanger-into-the-spokes-related problems, gladly accepted the offer and had a fun night out with Yoli and Largo and company.

The tour was stressful and full of the swelling and pain of being on my feet all day. But it had its high points as well. A key element of our presence here has to do with being categorized essentially as tourists. We're among a demographic of men who have come up through the ranks of racing on the Junior Circuit, growing slowly but consistently into the conviction that they are good enough to become Pros, that continuing to ride is worth something to them as a career choice. We stand out, not only because we fall into the middle-to-lower categories on a scale of relative ability, but also because they know we're paying to be here instead of being paid to be here. Take the Cuban for example. This is a guy who everyday provokes amongst the three of us a kind of disbelief in the proper completion of our puberty cycles. He's wicked fast. He has extremely large legs. He has a deep manly voice. He grew up in Cuba, and claims to have been fully independent by the time he was 14. Oh, and then there is the story of how he came to Spain with the Cuban National Selection and somehow managed to escape from his team who locked riders in their hotel rooms and caught a taxi several hundred miles to Alcoy where he happened to know a friend who gave him a place to stay. No prospects of a job and no luggage to speak of. A Venezuelan rider here recognized him one day and lead him to Jose, who scrambled to offer him whatever he needed to secure a season's contract. Last year he won something like 2 tours and maybe 5 or 6 other races, finishing rarely lower than top 15 in any race he entered. The only reason he's not Pro is because he's already too old (27). What was all of this background for? I'm trying to capture the contrast between the three of us and the four of the guys living across the ravine in Jose's apartment. I'm also about ready to get to why the Tour was good this weekend.

Working at these tours as a mechanic bears a lot of responsibility. Jose runs everything by the seat of his pants, completes everything at the last minute, and leaves all sorts of loose ends that make you ask "How could he possibly be doing this without me?" That sounds conceited- but it is far less a comment on my skill as a mechanic and much more an expression of my amazement in Jose's ability to pull things all together in the end. There were a number of times when Jose gave me directions for arriving at the finish in the team van that were something like "You know, head down the national route 344 and then head towards [insert small mountain-nestled town here]". Navigating these tiny villages was always a gamble- each street I thought about turning down I could imagine as a giant Chinese figure trap, waiting to swallow me up, van and all, and then never let me go unless I dared to re-trace my steps with my head out the window, driving in reverse. Speaking of hanging out of windows, last tour I got to do the Tour de France style hanging out the window act to repair one of our rider's dysfunctional dérailleurs. Then there was about the most stressful one-hour period of my time here this far when I had to, in the space of an hour upack all of the bikes, set them up for warm-up in the trainers, tune up the time trial bike's shifting, and exchange the brake pads so as to be compatible with the carbon wheels they were using. I finished these tasks with literally a minute to go, just about time enough for a quick pee against a dumpster and a jump into the van to follow their beautiful seven man pace line down the race course, up into the next town.

Being able to do all of this stuff, and be recognized for having done it well feels good, especially since Jose is a person who rarely says "Thank you" or "well done". This weekend, it was like I got a little bit closer to redeeming myself, even though I still bear the dreaded black spot of the "tourista". Plus, being 100 feet from the Mediterranean in a four star hotel afforded all sorts of long-since enjoyed luxuries and amenities like hot showers longer than 90 seconds and dessert and soft towels and heat and food food food!

We started a quotation board in the kitchen. Here are some fine selections:

"Whats your goal for the week?"
"A TSS score of 800 with an intensity factor of .75"

[Speaking of lightweight backpacking:]
"When you're out for three days, you're going to need something to stay warm."
"No, you can just huddle together or kill a deer and sleep in their bowels."

"My parents wanted me to learn to play the piano when I was little so they bought me a keyboard and a book called 'Teach Yourself to Play the Piano'"

"Wake up and piss, the world's on fire."
"Let it burn."

[Gitano theme:]
"Every man's trash is our treasure."

"No man is an island, but the three of us, well...that's an archipelago."

As for my knee and the long term plan, things don't look so good for the cycling end of things. Prospects are bleak, let's just say. But I've had about a month to slowly come to terms with it (well, more like 6 months), and I realize that not being able to train like I need to may have it's perks. For example, I am currently inside of the one-year count down to losing my beloved superpower free-plane-flight privileges. I won't be able to jump the puddle again without laying out some hefty cash, and with that in mind, I think it will be good for me to take the initiative of starting some new kinds of adventures over here. The kind of things that scare me as much as coming here all alone to ride once did. The top two options on my list right now are heading down to Valencia, where the world's most prestigious Sailing Cup is taking place, and trying to find work as a deckhand on a cruising sailboat. Otherwise I may become a member of WWOOF.org and search for work on an organic small-scale farm somewhere in the Pyrenees, trying to aquire the skills and knowledge for implementing solar power, pursuing subsistence agriculture, renovating and restoring old abandoned houses etc. etc.

I'm enjoying my 1 hour rides, in the meantime, and otherwise keeping myself busy with our small lettuce/carrot/parsley crop, pen and ink portraits, letter writing, laundry, cooking, shopping (I could quote you the average price for just about any vegetable or fruit you could think of, and the cheapest place to seek it out), and hiking with my fellow lightweight backpacking/ philosophizing/ wine tasting connoisseur Chris DuBois. The Festival of the Moros i Cristianos is big-time and it is coming up soon. All over town people have the flag of the Cristianos hanging out their windows. Chris and I want to find materials to make a flag of the Moros and hang it out our dumpy apartment window. So there!