Good day at the races

After my first race experience, I was questioning whether it was worth the trouble to race over here. I thought: I could just go out for a nice 3 hour ride, on some new roads with some new scenery. No driving, no hassles, no crashes.

But there was a race only 25 minutes away, and I was told it would be hilly. I couldn’t resist hilly.

Things were starting to feel more normal. I had moved into my apartment. My clothes and other things, including my race wheels, finally arrived from the US. I was able to pack my race bag as I would at home. It’s interesting how little things like this have affected my general mood.

The course was a good one for me: only 2.5 km but it had a big climb, short flat part, then big descent. I wanted to be more aggressive this week, and went with most all the breakaway attempts. A 3-man break looked promising until one of the guys rode into my back wheel and crashed. I had visions again of someone hassling me.

About halfway through the race I jumped away solo on a prime lap. I took the prime then kept going. I dangled in front of the field at 20-30 seconds for a couple of laps. Then the gap started to grow. Then people around the course started to yell encouragement (which, I must say, was a big motivation).

I stayed away for the win, picking up 7 primes along the way. My take at the end: cash, basket of food (chocolate, cookies), two tires, pair of gloves, towel, model truck, 2 pens, 2 cigarette lighters (I think even the racers smoke here), fluorescent vest. Entry fee was 10 Euros (about $12), including the 5 Euro late fee.

After the race, I was the novelty – the unknown guy from the US who won. I talked to a bunch of people, gave an interview to a reporter in fractured German, had my picture taken.

This was just a couple days after the news of Floyd Landis’s positive drug test from the Tour. Everyone wanted to talk about this. The reporter asked if doping is common with racers in the US. I said I didn’t believe so, while thinking to myself, how unfortunate that this is the big topic of interest.

On Monday, a colleague at work brought in the newspaper. Looking at it, I could see the reporter also asked me if I had doped. I hadn’t realized that at the time, but fortunately I somehow gave the right answer.

DSL and talking to yourself

I finally have an Internet connection at home (along with a telephone).

I’ve been debating whether or not that is good. I’ve gotten used to not having Internet access all the time, always checking email, the weather, racing results, etc. I’ve been able to read books, made out of real paper. I think I’ll need some discipline to keep from being on-line all the time.

It’s taken a full 2 months to get the DSL connection. Getting the appointment with Deutsche Telekom is the first hurdle. Then the installer doesn’t show up for the appointment. Then he shows up but there is a problem with the system in the apartment, requiring access to a locked closet, for which we don’t have a key.

Sometimes it seems every little thing is difficult here. But in the end it makes for a good story.

The DSL guy is quite personable and helpful. As usual, I try to speak in German as much as possible. The DSL guy speaks pretty good English. So as is also common, I speak in German and get answered in English. People here often want to practice their English as much as I want to practice my German.

The DSL guy tells me he doesn’t get too many English-speaking customers, and says his English isn’t as good as he would like. Still, it’s better than my German. I never stop being impressed at how many people here can speak more than just their native language.

He often stops and searches for the right word in English, saying it first in German. It’s interesting for me to see someone do this with English, and imagine that this is what I look like with German. It often feels like I will never reach a decent level of fluency in German. There seem to be so many words to learn.

The DSL guy thinks out loud as he works. He repeats out loud what he is doing, like a narrative. He tells me that he talks to himself to help keep organized. He says he even does this while driving in his car.

Then he tells me he’s divorced and how he needs to go pick up his son later. I’m wondering if his (ex-) wife got tired of hearing him talk all the time.

I think of the Austin Powers movie, when they unfreeze Austin and he says (out loud) that he now has no inner monologue. I keep waiting for the DSL guy to say something when he sees the dust bunny in the corner (or worse).

He says that after working with a customer who speaks English he finds himself talking to himself in English.

I tell him maybe I should try that with German. I think that if I ever do start thinking in German, out loud or not, I will finally have “gotten it”.

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About the title

Several people have asked about the title of this blog.

Über die Brücke means “over the bridge” in German.

This has both a literal and a metaphorical sense.

Oberkassel, where I’m living, is on the other side of the Rhine from the center of Düsseldorf. So you must go over one of several bridges to reach my neighborhood.

Metaphorically, it has to do with being over here and on this little adventure (any more explanation takes away from the metaphor).

First Jerk

I met my first jerk ten days after arriving in Germany.

Other than the surly cashier at the market – common, I was told – people had been friendly. On my bike I’d only been honked at once, and that was my fault. So it was ironic that the jerk was another bike racer.

It was my first race in Germany, and I was nervous. Everything was strange. There were no teammates or friendly faces. No usual pre-race routine. At the start I saw guys look around, then look at me: the unfamiliar racer.

The race started fast, but not really any different than back at home. There were attacks and counter-attacks, fast periods followed by slow. It was a regular bike race. Still, I was nervous.

About halfway through the race, a guy on my right moved over abruptly. I moved too, probably overreacting. I felt someone to my left give me a big push. When I turned to look he started yelling at me in German. He put his hand on my hip and shoved me to the side. Then he tried to ride across my front wheel.

In all the races I’ve done in the US, I can only recall two occasions where someone rode with such intentional aggression, and it wasn’t this extreme. And here it happens in my first race.

I rode up next to the guy and tried to say, in German, “hey, the other guy moved into me.” But with trying to ride, breath, and speak at the same time, I’m pretty sure I made no sense. I didn’t anticipate making enemies already and now had visions of someone hassling me every race. In that one moment, Germany became less friendly. I wished my teammates were with me.

I felt I needed to do something. With 6 laps to go I attacked solo, 2 laps before a prime (a mid-race prize). I had a big gap, and it looked like I would win the prime until my left contact lens came out in the wind. With essentially one eye I had to go easy into the turns. Another guy caught me at the line for the prime – a teammate of my new friend. I rode the last couple laps at the back, happy for the race to be over.

The lost contact lens meant driving home on the Autobahn with one eye. With Audis, BMWs and Mercedes flying by, I didn’t dare enter the left lane. I just listened to the voice on my car’s navigation system when it said, “keep to the right for the A46 …”

A fast week

After 6 weeks here on my own, it was a nice change to have a visitor. I’d been so involved with getting myself oriented – at work and in general – and then with trying to keep up with training and racing, that I’d not had much time to relax.

It was still early when Carolyn arrived. After dropping her things at my apartment I suggested we go to the bakery. She started towards the car, and was surprised when I said we could walk there in less than 10 minutes (one of the things I like about being here).

Going to the bakery is something you “must” do here. My first week, while taking German classes, I mentioned to my teacher that I had gone to the supermarket and bought bread. She said, “Do not buy bread from the supermarket. Go to a proper bakery.”

At the bakery we started a week-long routine of taking pictures of our food.

We stopped at the grocery on the way home. Carolyn looked up and down the aisles at all the unfamiliar items. The foreignness of the grocery is part of what makes being here interesting: strange food, strange money, strange customs like bringing your own bag, or depositing a Euro to release the shopping cart.

In the end Carolyn picked out something that would be familiar to her: a box of Kellogg’s “Smacks”.

I think we repeated the bakery and grocery trip about every other day, and found something new to try every time.

I told Carolyn she was helping me to do some things I’d not had the chance to do on my own: we found the closest movie theater (which actually shows some movies in English), tried some new restaurants, took trips to Köln (Cologne) and Belgium, went to the top of the Rhine Tower in Düsseldorf (see photo). She helped figure out how to work the machine to print train tickets and itineraries.

We also learned:
• The movie theater gives you assigned seats (next to someone, even though the theater is only one-third full).
• The dogs all seem exceptionally well behaved.
• None of the ticket machines at the train station seem to work when you are in a hurry to catch a train.
• When you are about out of gas on the Autobahn, the next gas station will not be one that takes your gas card. But as soon as you fill up, the next one after that will.
• When you are on the tram, if you stand too close to the door it will not open and people will yell at you.
• There are plenty of cash machines when you don’t need them, but none when you do.

But for me the most enjoyable times were simple things we did: going to the market and bakery, shopping in Düsseldorf, riding the train, cooking out on the patio, picnic by the Rhine, watching a movie on TV in German and trying to make sense of it.

The week went by incredibly fast, and it seemed so quiet after she left for home. Her box of “Smacks” is still on the counter. They’ll go stale now, but I can’t bring myself to throw them out. They’re a little reminder of her trip here. The morning after she left, I poured some in a little cup and ate them with my coffee.

A new traveler

My daughter Carolyn came to visit last week. She flew here by herself, as an “unaccompanied minor”. At 13, she’s already becoming a confident traveler. Earlier this summer she spent 10 days in Mexico with a classmate, then flew back to the US by herself.

I’m pleased she’s had the opportunity travel on her own. As a parent I naturally had some anxiety, but overall I think it’s positive. We are of course protective of our children, but sometimes I’ve had the feeling this comes out as an unwarranted fear of the world.

I remember being surprised last November, while staying in Munich, when I saw two girls Carolyn’s age riding the subway at 11:00 PM. They appeared to be normal kids, on their way from a movie or something (i.e., not out looking for trouble).

At the time I couldn’t imagine my daughter doing that. But since I’ve been living here, I’ve noticed many children riding the public transportation without adults, walking around the city, in stores, on their bikes, out in parks. They seem quite at ease.

I also get the sense that other people – adults – tend to look out for them. I wonder if that is perhaps the flip side of telling other people what to do.

One less race

Here is more evidence that I’m getting soft. Sunday morning there was a race about 40 miles from here. Right up until the time I needed to leave, I debated about going. I had a cold since Tuesday and wasn’t feeling completely better. But the sun was out so I decided to go. By the time I got to the race, the weather had turned and it started to rain. A cold, rainy, 5-turn criterium just did not sound appealing, so I left. Fortunately, at Autobahn speeds the trip back was quick.

Back in Düsseldorf, it had not rained. I went out for a nice 3 hour ride then washed my bike for the first time since I’ve been here.

If this had been a race back home, I would have just done it in the rain. Back home I would have had teammates also willing to race in the rain. Back home I know how everyone rides and I don’t so feel uneasy on a slippery course. And back home we would of course rehash the “epic” race Tuesday night at Westlake.

It was pretty easy for me not to do the race. There was no need for me to tell teammates or anyone else I wasn’t staying. I just got in the car and left. It’s a nice change to be completely on my own. But I also find myself missing the camaraderie of the racing scene back at home – another one of those things you don’t think about until it’s not there. I’m sure there is camaraderie here too, but between the language barrier and being a stranger, I haven’t yet found it.

April in August

I did not imagine that Düsseldorf in August would be more like Cleveland in April.

I have not kept track exactly, but I think it has rained just about every day in August. Not all day, every day, but just enough to make it hard to plan for outdoor things. Unless you don't mind getting wet. Like today, it's been mostly cloudy with a very few bits of sun, and now, when it's time to leave and maybe go for a ride, it has started to rain. I think that might be one of those laws of the universe, along with the one that says a rainy weekend is followed by a beautiful Monday.

I've not yet learned the weather pattern here. At home, armed with Internet connections and almost real-time radar, we cyclists like to think we're amateur meteorologists. And after a while, you do get to see patterns in the weather. I can look at the radar and have a pretty good idea whether I can go ride and stay dry or not.

Here, at least so far in August, the weather has no pattern that I can make sense of. It will be raining at work, but not where I live (25 km away). Or I ride North and it's raining, then turn around and find it never rained only a few km to the South. The upside is there have been some interesting cloud formations:


After almost 4 weeks of this, it's getting to me. Part of my problem is I don't like to clean my bike. And given my apartment living now, it's even harder. I can't really go out on the sidewalk and wash my bike. And actually I've been told that is probably "not allowed". I was told you may not wash your car out on the street.

So if it's looking like rain is likely, I've not been going out or have been staying close to home.

What do the cyclists do around here? Sunday, while sitting in a coffee shop and watching the rain through the window, I saw a line of about 10 cyclists go by. This was a hard rain, and they were "just" recreational riders, not racers, so they didn't "need" to be out training. They were just riding, and getting wet. Obviously they like riding enough that getting wet wasn't a problem.

We racers tend think of ourselves as hard core when it comes to riding. Right now I'm not so sure.

Train watching

After Sunday’s race, I went out to ride a few more miles. Much of the route was on narrow roads that cross through farmland. The weather was great, and I passed many people out for Sunday bike rides.

At one point I came to a railroad crossing to find maybe 30 people standing there, with cameras, obviously waiting for a train to pass. This was essentially in the middle of a field somewhere near the border with the Netherlands. I figured they must be waiting for some sort of special train, so I decided to wait too (I had my camera in my back pocket).


While waiting, one guy started talking, loud enough for all to hear, about something related to the train. I couldn’t understand most of what he said, but could tell from the way he was talking that he was, shall we say, “pontificating”. He bent down, pointed to something with the track, then pointed down the track, then made sure to say from which direction the train would come.

I moved over to the other side of the track, thinking a picture would be better from there. When the gate started to come down, Herr Know-It-All made sure to tell everyone to be careful. Then he yelled for me to move my bike out of the way. Crazy, since I was no closer to the track than anyone else.

No knowledge of German was needed here. This was the sort of person you roll your eyes at, independent of any language.

Finally, the train came by. It was an old steam train, with a few passenger cars.


I rode back to where the race was. The junior race was going on. People were now telling me to stay off the race course, though I showed no intention of riding on the course while the race was on.

Before coming here, a friend had told me about this preoccupation with telling people what to do. I thought he was exaggerating, but now I am starting to wonder.

PS: when I come back to the US, please make sure I am not dressing like this. Capri pants don't work for guys, and I cannot figure out why this is common here.

Carsick in the UK

Mon - Thurs I was in the UK. My colleague Richard picked me up from Birmingham airport (which turned out to be a wise choice). I received an immediate introduction to driving in England. I'd been here once before, but don't remember the driving being like this.

Richard has been in the military, and spent some time driving Range Rovers off road (for which they are intended, he says). He's taken off-road training from Rover. Unfortunately for me, I think he missed the part where they explained the difference between on- and off-road.

Between the constant speed changes, hard braking, ever-present roundabouts, and the disorientation of driving on the left, I think I spent most of the trip with this low grade car-sickness.

I saw a number of road signs saying things like "82 fatalities in 5 years". I wasn't sure if that was supposed to be good news or cautionary. Going by the way they drive, I'm thinking it was good news.

But we did see some nice English countryside (particularly in Wales), visited Hampton Court Palace, drank some real English ale, and had some very good work meetings.



This is "Iron Bridge", which is the first iron bridge ever made (ca. 1779)



Hampton Court Palace, built by Henry VIII.



Road sign with both Welsh and English.

Settled in Oberkassel

It only took 2 days to find an apartment, then 2 weeks before I could move in. After 15 days in a very warm hotel room, I was happy to be out.

My apartment is in the Oberkassel neighborhood of Düsseldorf, which is just over the Rhein from the center of Düsseldorf (the title of this blog means "over the bridge").

There are many restaurants, cafes, shops, etc. within walking distance (even quicker by bike), and the center of Düsseldorf is reachable on foot, or by the tram.

Here are some apartment pictures:


View from the street (my kitchen window is to the left of the front door). The street is a little busy, but only from the kitchen.

Out back, it is a totally different world.



And here's the living room. Plenty of room for my bike. Unfortunately I've already had to ride on the trainer, since the weather lately has been more like Cleveland in spring.