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June 30, 2006

Comments

Gwenda

Here's the email Christopher sent me and a few others who rely on him to keep us up to date on such things this morning (I'd already heard one version of this over breakfast!):

The biggest names are out: Ullrich, Basso and Mancebo. Vinokourov's new Astaná-Wurth squad probably won't be allowed to start at all. More hits are probably coming.

No Americans are implicated and it doesn't look likely at this point. Don't know why. No French either, because frankly, the French don't really dope (France and Italy both have criminal laws against doping as sporting fraud, but in France they actually aggressively track it and put people in jail for it, unlike Italy--Spain just enacted such a law and this Operation Puerto that's dredging all this stuff up is kind of their first shot across the bow).

More rumors coming in all the time: T-mobile won't field a team at all, Paolo Savoldelli of Discovery will be named mid-race, etc.

As usual, cyclingnews.com is the best place for the actual facts.

I'm trying to be philosophical. I really liked all three of the guys named at the top of the post, and really, I still do. The culture of doping wasn't created by _just_ the riders, and a lot of these guys, frankly, aren't all that bright. In a way, I'm even kind of excited. As somebody who consistently roots for the "no names" in the breakaway to, y'know, _stay_ away, I'm looking forward to a clean(er)--and probably slower--race with some winners we haven't seen before.

All that said, I hope Floyd wins.

Michael L. Wentz

I felt the same way -- shocked, stunned, and saddened. I've been really busy and just heard the news about an hour ago.

That said, Floyd Landis has been my favorite, although it would have been nice to see Ullrich and Basso battling with Landis in the big mountains.

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

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    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."