Rising

We have some reports from the Pan Am Championships. Eddy and Zoe have medaled a couple times so that’s great!

Howard rode a gravel bike up the Rockies (on pavement) and finished riding strong into Boulder, covering 70 miles and climbing over 6,000 feet.

The Masters Worlds are on for sure and there’ll be lot’s of racing before and after those Championships - that’s good news too!

Finishing 1km of Dad’s work:

When I was (a lot) younger I used walk daily to the velodrome in Gent (Belgium) and enter via the front entrance because it was the shortest way to the changing rooms. On my way in there was a bust of Tommy Simpson with the caption (in Flemish) that translated “A Great Gentleman”. To me the statue was a sentinel evoking good manners and professionalism.

I will characterize Tommy Simpson in more detail another day, but its important to know that this beloved champion died under the specter of doping on Mont Ventoux in the Provence region of France

He’d fallen over and passed out, given c.p.r., revived, demanded to be put back on his bike, and fell over again this time unable to respond.

Meanwhile that day on the 13th of July 1967 as the 13th stage of the Tour de France was ridden, two little girls were on vacation with their mom and grandmother at the family villa in Corsica. Over the radio the commentator announced there was a serious problem with “the rider Simpson” and he was being choppered off the mountain called “The Giant of Provence”. Mom left on a plane with her dad, leaving the two girls ages 3 and 5 with grandma. They were Tommy’s daughters and they never saw their dad again. His team, friends and remaining admirers erected a monument on Ventoux about 1 km from the top and about where Tommy fell for the last time.

Ten years later I was in Belgium having tea with my friends in Mme. Desnerck’s kitchen when an extremely precocious teenage girl came bursting in the house with her family trailing behind. Rosa (Mme.) had invited the Hoban family to a dinner out and as we were saying our good-byes somehow the destination for Rosa’s supper with the family was announced. “Ah! Do I have to put up with that!!” was the girls response, clearly not a fan of a Michelin star’d establishment.

Stepdad, mum, and even Rosa herself looked defeated, imagining an evening of elegance ruined by the whining and corrosive comments of this extremely loud young lady.

I caught Rosa’s eye.

“Hey we’re all going down to the Kornmart to try out that new Mexican place. Wanna come with?” I suggested to the girl but looking at her parents. Barry (stepdad) and Helen (mom) looked at Rosa whom was beaming. Joanne, the girl, jumped up and down clapping her hands. So four American boys were her escort through the streets of Gent where she seemed to know everyone, waving and calling out in native Flemish as we clomped on the cobbled lanes to the Center of town for dinner.

Imagine my shock when we were served by a waiter that like everyone else in Gent, knew Joanne well served her with an “alstublieft M. Simpson”. Here was (one of) Tommy Simpson’s daughters! I had no idea but later Rosa explained to me that when Tommy died he’d left this family hard pressed to continue their lives in the “state in which they’d come accustomed”. A year later Barry Hoban, Tommy’s best friend, had married Tommy’s widow and had taken care of his family (still does).

Joanne spent dinner crunching down tacos and regaling us of her exploits around town, railing against her family’s attempt to keep her under control, a rather typical rebellious teenager for certain.

Who knew what she would become? Popular and (from what I judged) to be intelligent I figured things would turn out OK for her, though I didn’t know for sure. Every time I asked Mme. Desnerck: “So what’s up with Joanne?” Rosa would just roll her eyes.

Years later thanks to the all powerful social media I learned that Joanne had good job in Brugge and one day decided to honor her controversial dad by riding to the top of Ventoux. Up til then (in her 50s) Joanne had not ridden a bike except for a trip to the market. Her mom was against it (like so many things Joanne attempted). But Joanne trained and trained and in her words overtrained to a point when she attempted the climb she found it too easy. Riding in a yellow jersey (yes her dad wore that once) she stopped at her dad’s memorial on the hillside then continued to complete the climb her dad was unable to finish.

The next year Joanne now adorned in her dad’s Pugeot uniform with British flag on the sleeves, rode all the way from Gent with a group of friends who then proceed to ascend the mountain to the top.

At the top she was met by Sir Brad Wiggens (winner of the Tour de France) whom was there to help Joanne dedicate the steps from the road up the spree field to her dad’s memorial.

Joanne Simpson’s dad inspired her and in turn she herself inspired and rekindled many old and new fans of her father. Many fans are saying: “This woman had Tommy’s talent all along! and "Isn’t it a pity she only discovered her athletic ability so late in life.” I say: “Well done Joanne. It’s never too late to do something wonderful”

I was influenced by the statue Tommy Simpson at the velodrome and if there’s a cautionary voice in my head telling me to be polite and professional; its partially due to that artifect. But that taco crunching recalcitrant teenager in real life grew into someone I really admire.

Train hard, have fun, and always look to the next challenge.

Roger