Tour of Britain: Final Thoughts

I've had these things for months and had never worn them.
London - Where did I leave off?

Was it before or after the hotel with the tiny rooms? Or was it the day a three-hour transfer turned into five?

Somewhere along the way – in the final days of the Tour of Britain – everything caught up with me. The long days, the string of hotels with Internet suddenly turned into Wi-Fi-less places that were simply locales in which to hold up for the night.

The days that had already begun to blur into one another were suddenly flashing forward. Had I not taken photos, I’d be at a loss to remember what I saw or where I was for Stages 6, 7 and 8.

I’ll try to do my best. Here is my final ramble on the Tour of Britain:

“Quid” is the slang term for the pound. Much like “bucks” are dollars.

A “lift” is an elevator. But maybe I told you that a couple days ago.

Getting used to driving on the left is one thing. Stepping out to cross traffic on foot is another. I nearly got killed Monday when I looked left, saw nothing coming, and started crossing. From my right, a massive truck just about took me out. Wow. My guardian angel was working overtime on that one.

Don’t order beef in England. Don’t ask why. Stick with the chicken.

The “tube” is the “London Underground” train system. At first, I thought Paul was telling me we were going clubbing when he threw out those unusual names. Fortunately, it only amounted to a 45-minute ride in which he related the story of how the train system map was created.

The most inexpensive thing in England – when compared to the U.S. – has to be postcards. I purchased six of them for less than a pound.

The town of Blackpool is a cross between Coney Island and Daytona Beach. And I only saw it during the daytime. Kind of scary to think what kind of creatures come out at night there.

Liverpool and London – by far – attracted the largest crowds of the entire Tour. Each was estimated to have fan turnouts of more than 100,000. For a comparison, the largest single-day crowd on the most popular U.S.-based stage race (the Amgen Tour of California) attracted about 75,000 on its biggest day.

The bride who cut me a piece of her wedding cake in the wee hours of the morning stands out in my memory. I said a prayer that her marriage is a long and fruitful one.

I could not have managed on this trip without team photographer and good friend, Paul McKelvey. A through-and-through Irishman, he knew his way about England and was never afraid to ask if he didn’t know something. His sense of humor, incredible work ethic and awesome picture-taking was a daily inspiration for me to do my best, too. Thanks, Paul.

My other special friend on this trip was Abby. Always one to help out in the “press room” (which was really a super awesome motorcoach for seven of the eight stages), she also put up with my wisecracks. Abby, I’ll see you again – at the Olympics in London in 2012, if not before. I’m sure you will be running the show for the British Cycling Federation by then.

Harrods – which I originally confused with “Harrah’s” casinos in an early conference call – is a massive, block-long, six-story high facility that is a throwback to the big department stores of the 50s and 60s. Kind of like “Brandeis” only much, much, much, much (I could go on) bigger.

When the Rock Racing arrived for its autograph signing Monday about 45 minutes behind schedule, there was no rushing. No, this is Great Britain. We had to first sit down and have a cup of tea. (Grandma Bep would be proud!)

Somewhere along the Tour, the announcers began referring to Rock Racing as the “Rockin’ Racing” team. I also found out that if you want to really roll your R’s, just turn the “o” in a word to a “u” and you’ll suddenly sound like a Brit.

A word of advice: despite its name, the “Premier Inn” is far from a first-rate facility. Internet that didn’t work, air conditioning that was broken, TVs with picture break-up, doors every 50 feet in the hallway that made it seem like we were on a ship… I could go on and on. Believe me when I tell you to avoid this chain that made our final two nights in Great Britain pretty much a nightmare.

It was hard saying goodbye to everyone on the Tour. People I had spent a week with – either as part of the Rock Racing team or as part of the race organization. The list is a long one, but here’s a start: Abby, Peter, Paul (though not Mary), Lisa, Letti, Marco, Alicia, Rich, Les (our motorcoach driver) and even the reporter who asked me if he could get an interview with Tyler Hamilton so he could let him “confess” to doping. (Sidenote to that story: That particular reporter will go down as the first person to add me as a Facebook.com friend.)

Souvenir shopping for the girls was a lot of fun. I spent a lot of time looking around this week – and remembering what kinds of things made big impressions on me when Aunt Jean used to return home from her global trips. Girls, I hope you like them. I even got your mom a little something.

The plane ride from Chicago to London is a blur. As I type this on the flight home, I’m beginning to wonder if this is going to be one of those nightmarish journeys where you can’t sleep, don’t feel good, just want to get off, etc. Hopefully not! (I’ll let you know in tomorrow’s entry.)

I’m not sure who took care of this, but when I logged on last night to check seat assignments, I noticed that I had been upgraded to first class on my flight from Chicago to Omaha. Wow. I’m going to have to do some investigating because that is certainly a nice surprise and will be much appreciated after the nine-or-so-hour flight across the Atlantic.

The British people were very, very cordial (Memo to Aunt Jean: times do change – and sometimes for the better). By the end of the trip, I was starting to pick up some of their nuances. Like being extremely polite (I usually try), not being in such a rush all the time and appreciating the little things.

I never did find a Catholic Church to attend. I did see one that we drove by one day. I certainly hope that watching mass on YouTube counts for something. I tried. Seriously.

Did you know police in England wear “stab vests” because knives, not guns, are most prevalent? The officer I spoke with in Blackpool was kind enough to explain just how heavy her stab vest was and show me a few things she carried (like pepper spray but not a gun). Weird.

Here are a few links to videos that you might enjoy:

Up close and personal
Team car experience
Interview with the king of Rock Racing
Interview with Victor Hugo Pena

Finally, working on-site for my job is certainly a nice change of pace. But it also makes you take stock of what you have – and what you should be thankful to have – in your life. My five beautiful daughters mean everything to me. My family has been extremely supportive of me throughout my life. I couldn’t ask for anything more from them. The many friends and colleagues who read this blog are so much appreciated as well. I missed you when I was away, too. Thank you, God, for keeping me safe.