Tuesday was the opening ceremonies and assorted other biznez. We put our bicycles together, sauntered down to breakfast (a variation of beans/rice and meat with salad and fruit that we had to decline. Boo). Some girls from the Italian Forno d’Asolo team (Mandy’s translation, “hiking boots in the oven”. I know because I have a pair of Asolo boots) wanted to ride 60k (to the millimeter). They were moving too fast or Hiroko and I (and Kathleen was lying in bed after retching her gut all night), so Megan, Andrea and Anna joined the girls. Apparently it was a bit harrowing. And the Ukrainian girl kept half-wheeling Andrea then yelling at her if she ever picked up the pace “no, we ride 60 k! Big race tomorrow!” Whatever.
I laid around and read my book (“The memory keeper’s daughter”). Then wrote some letters. Tried on my new shirt I got for $8 at the mall, which flatters the only two good things to come out of my winter weight gain. In general, I was pretty useless. The INDES is a facility guarded by guys with guns, so I didn’t dare venture out in search of the pupusas I so desired (an El Salvadorian delicacy much like a tamale, which, if I ate as often as I wanted to, would have me weighing 400 lbs).
We boarded the bus driven by Kike, who is the President/Court Jester/LogisticsMaestro/Token everything. We ended up at the velodrome, which is in the middle of a slum. Not an uncommon sight in San Salvador.
After much fanfare, a dancing bottle of yogurt (“Yes!” yogurt, strawberry-flavored), and scowling rows of military boys who’d rather be playing cards. There was a curious Swiss guy wandering around who caught our eye. He was nicely dressed in snazzy jeans and a sportcoat, but had made a drastic mistake by selecting moccasins instead of real shoes. Andrea told me to use my “man-attracting powers to see what is the deal with Moccasins”, but I had to remind her that since we were in Latin America, my olive heritage doesn’t have the same effect. Blondes are our key this week. Hence, the reason Anna got a gigantic bottle of water on the plane from our steward, and she, Kathleen, and Megan get oogled everywhere we went. I might as well be wallpaper.
So we never found out Moccasin’s deal.
The opening ceremony was strange, but the President of El Salvador was there! Anna and I chastised ourselves for not being able to pick him out behind the lectern. We are such bad tourists!
I laid around and read my book (“The memory keeper’s daughter”). Then wrote some letters. Tried on my new shirt I got for $8 at the mall, which flatters the only two good things to come out of my winter weight gain. In general, I was pretty useless. The INDES is a facility guarded by guys with guns, so I didn’t dare venture out in search of the pupusas I so desired (an El Salvadorian delicacy much like a tamale, which, if I ate as often as I wanted to, would have me weighing 400 lbs).
We boarded the bus driven by Kike, who is the President/Court Jester/LogisticsMaestro/Token everything. We ended up at the velodrome, which is in the middle of a slum. Not an uncommon sight in San Salvador.
After much fanfare, a dancing bottle of yogurt (“Yes!” yogurt, strawberry-flavored), and scowling rows of military boys who’d rather be playing cards. There was a curious Swiss guy wandering around who caught our eye. He was nicely dressed in snazzy jeans and a sportcoat, but had made a drastic mistake by selecting moccasins instead of real shoes. Andrea told me to use my “man-attracting powers to see what is the deal with Moccasins”, but I had to remind her that since we were in Latin America, my olive heritage doesn’t have the same effect. Blondes are our key this week. Hence, the reason Anna got a gigantic bottle of water on the plane from our steward, and she, Kathleen, and Megan get oogled everywhere we went. I might as well be wallpaper.
So we never found out Moccasin’s deal.
The opening ceremony was strange, but the President of El Salvador was there! Anna and I chastised ourselves for not being able to pick him out behind the lectern. We are such bad tourists!
Locate the El Salvadorian President. We couldn't either.
All the teams were called up, including the Belizeans, who had recruited as a guest rider none other than multi-World Champion and Olympic Gold Medalist Jennie Longo. She was her usual stoic self, looking around for the Whole Foods so she could eat some civilized organic cuisine in this damn country. Poor gal; I guess she has her routine back in France.
The Brazilians were there, too. They have swagger, to say the least. And hotitude. I marveled at it, and Anna reminded me “you’d be that hot too if all you did was play beach volleyball all day”. And talk about BRAZIL! Every damn thing they wore touted the flag. I am willing to bet their underwear were an homage to their blessed homeland. They even wore press-on nails with the green and blue!
Our mechanic, Pete, shows up after the ceremony (while we are trying to figure out the animal origin of the items swimming in the chafing dishes under a sorry-looking tent parked next to the SOBE truck manned by a macho guy with frightfully large arms and a sleeveless shirt). Pete is shell-shocked. He had showed up at the airport that morning (he had to wait in CT another day for the arrival of our Schick-emblazoned kits to come from Champion System in China) and had no idea where he was going. Didn’t speak a word of Spanish. How he got through customs with his fancy toolbox, 12 sets of green lycra uniforms, and various biking accessories; I’ll never know. He is charming, for an American; perhaps this was his golden ticket. He knows “no comprendo”. This is a start.
Pete ended up hooking up with the Brazilians at the airport, who all gave him icy attitude then made him lug their bicycle bags. Hopefully he won’t think that my dirty bike is so bad after the chilly reception of 6 Portuguese-speaking ladies.
The Brazilians were there, too. They have swagger, to say the least. And hotitude. I marveled at it, and Anna reminded me “you’d be that hot too if all you did was play beach volleyball all day”. And talk about BRAZIL! Every damn thing they wore touted the flag. I am willing to bet their underwear were an homage to their blessed homeland. They even wore press-on nails with the green and blue!
Our mechanic, Pete, shows up after the ceremony (while we are trying to figure out the animal origin of the items swimming in the chafing dishes under a sorry-looking tent parked next to the SOBE truck manned by a macho guy with frightfully large arms and a sleeveless shirt). Pete is shell-shocked. He had showed up at the airport that morning (he had to wait in CT another day for the arrival of our Schick-emblazoned kits to come from Champion System in China) and had no idea where he was going. Didn’t speak a word of Spanish. How he got through customs with his fancy toolbox, 12 sets of green lycra uniforms, and various biking accessories; I’ll never know. He is charming, for an American; perhaps this was his golden ticket. He knows “no comprendo”. This is a start.
Pete ended up hooking up with the Brazilians at the airport, who all gave him icy attitude then made him lug their bicycle bags. Hopefully he won’t think that my dirty bike is so bad after the chilly reception of 6 Portuguese-speaking ladies.
Some "Shoe in Oven" girls. Mariele and Caroline. Delightful lasses!
We finally rumbled home after a long delay waiting for the rusty bike rack to be installed on our 1985 Mitsubishi 4-door 2-cylinder truck AKA Schick-TARGETRAINING team vehicle. We were hoping for the Toyota Yaris till we figured out that the Guatemalan team had BYOC (Bring Your Own Car) and it was theirs to begin with.
Off to bed, after a dinner of (shocking!) meat and rice. My teammates are beginning to look askance, listening to their guts…but mine were silent (except saying “Feed me!”), so I plowed through it.
Dreams of gun-toting guards danced through our heads.
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