Fortunet 1
Fortunet1
Having logged in twelve hours at the American LeMans race in Monterey I am whisked off in a rented van, along with seven other selected employees, to begin an eight day whirlwind tour with one of the most prestigious bicycle races in the world, the Amgen Tour of California.
We travel the 169 miles from Monterey to Santa Rosa in light evening traffic, passing over the Golden Gate with the tops of the towers obscured in fog, stopping only once at a secluded "ride the bus" parking lot for one of us to barf from the dehydration of today's duties, then arriving road weary in Santa Rosa and plopping deep into a mattress at a Hilton Garden Hotel.
Unlike all the other events I attended last year, where I packed a tent and bare essentials on the ST, this was more like a traveling musician, (minus the Banjo), with fancy Hotel reservations made well in advance, continental breakfasts, stuffing your face at the crew feed tents on site, then racing to the next city before selecting just what and where to have dinner before crashing in the next hotel, exhausted by the day's activities
.
In its seventh year it is just plain mind boggling what transpires during this event, the support equipment and news rigs that follow this mass movement from city to city each day of the tour would make your head swim. A handful of bobtail trucks transport huge tents, two fancy VIP toilets that look more like the highest end motor coach's inside, refrigerated foods, tables, chairs, linen, custom made finish line barriers and even an overhead finish line tunnel complete with electronic timing. One company from Colorado provides about a quarter mile of orange steel fencing, setting up in the morning and tearing down after the race, sleeping only after they have reached the next day location. Two jumbo tron televisions move to each location, as well as four or five big rigs equipped to broadcast live shots from helicopters, all of which has to be transported up some really challenging treacherous mountain roads, with tight switchbacks that would have you in first gear on the ST. Now that we have the monstrosity of this carnival in focus, let’s talk about the motorcycles.
I found one 1100 ST in a sea of support and logistic motorcycles. This man had some difficulty with his Beemer, on the east coast, phoned a friend in Utah and flew there so he could ride it to the race on time. A wide range of rental Vee Stroms, GS’s, K model beemers and a wild, all panel reflective bike nearly hid any signs of what make it was. This group along with the support bikes of the teams involved looked in numbers to be like a well attend ST Owner’s week campout, lining up on the streets of Santa Rosa that first day. What makes this tour a real adrenaline calamity, and one that sets it apart from all the other events I have attended is the anticipated crescendo that occurs during the last kilometer to the finish line. A lead motorcycle appears with lights flashing and siren blaring, accompanied by a city squad car screaming. Hand held bells begin sounding as well as a few light beats on the new aluminum barriers. At one kilometer out the helicopter overhead is heard and the beating on the barriers begins in unison between speeding motorcycles of camera crews and officials. The sound is defining at the race finish, and only subsides for minutes as the crowds roar again when the peloton comes across the line with a rush of air that would blow your hat off. Overhead the live coverage chopper hesitates as it captures the winners being swallowed up by press and team celebrates. The stage is ready with champagne, flowers and cheek kisses by perfect looking young gals, while the VIP tent workers clear off their stainless food warmers to waiting trucks. Just the beginning of the start of a massive tear down. My group heads for the transport van as soon as the live coverage TV’s are taken down from inside the front row VIP tents.
It’s good to be back home in my own bed,....... and I'm glad I don’t own a banjo.
The Garlic Press News
We travel the 169 miles from Monterey to Santa Rosa in light evening traffic, passing over the Golden Gate with the tops of the towers obscured in fog, stopping only once at a secluded "ride the bus" parking lot for one of us to barf from the dehydration of today's duties, then arriving road weary in Santa Rosa and plopping deep into a mattress at a Hilton Garden Hotel.
Unlike all the other events I attended last year, where I packed a tent and bare essentials on the ST, this was more like a traveling musician, (minus the Banjo), with fancy Hotel reservations made well in advance, continental breakfasts, stuffing your face at the crew feed tents on site, then racing to the next city before selecting just what and where to have dinner before crashing in the next hotel, exhausted by the day's activities
.
In its seventh year it is just plain mind boggling what transpires during this event, the support equipment and news rigs that follow this mass movement from city to city each day of the tour would make your head swim. A handful of bobtail trucks transport huge tents, two fancy VIP toilets that look more like the highest end motor coach's inside, refrigerated foods, tables, chairs, linen, custom made finish line barriers and even an overhead finish line tunnel complete with electronic timing. One company from Colorado provides about a quarter mile of orange steel fencing, setting up in the morning and tearing down after the race, sleeping only after they have reached the next day location. Two jumbo tron televisions move to each location, as well as four or five big rigs equipped to broadcast live shots from helicopters, all of which has to be transported up some really challenging treacherous mountain roads, with tight switchbacks that would have you in first gear on the ST. Now that we have the monstrosity of this carnival in focus, let’s talk about the motorcycles.
I found one 1100 ST in a sea of support and logistic motorcycles. This man had some difficulty with his Beemer, on the east coast, phoned a friend in Utah and flew there so he could ride it to the race on time. A wide range of rental Vee Stroms, GS’s, K model beemers and a wild, all panel reflective bike nearly hid any signs of what make it was. This group along with the support bikes of the teams involved looked in numbers to be like a well attend ST Owner’s week campout, lining up on the streets of Santa Rosa that first day. What makes this tour a real adrenaline calamity, and one that sets it apart from all the other events I have attended is the anticipated crescendo that occurs during the last kilometer to the finish line. A lead motorcycle appears with lights flashing and siren blaring, accompanied by a city squad car screaming. Hand held bells begin sounding as well as a few light beats on the new aluminum barriers. At one kilometer out the helicopter overhead is heard and the beating on the barriers begins in unison between speeding motorcycles of camera crews and officials. The sound is defining at the race finish, and only subsides for minutes as the crowds roar again when the peloton comes across the line with a rush of air that would blow your hat off. Overhead the live coverage chopper hesitates as it captures the winners being swallowed up by press and team celebrates. The stage is ready with champagne, flowers and cheek kisses by perfect looking young gals, while the VIP tent workers clear off their stainless food warmers to waiting trucks. Just the beginning of the start of a massive tear down. My group heads for the transport van as soon as the live coverage TV’s are taken down from inside the front row VIP tents.
It’s good to be back home in my own bed,....... and I'm glad I don’t own a banjo.
The Garlic Press News
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