Though the Peloton begged to the likewise, Jacob took a week off from the peloton in order to locate and bring back two fabled riders from the past of UT cycling – feisty Swedish sprinter Mathieu Von and Spanish breakaway artist Jorge “De los piernas peludos” Hagstromo.
These were not your ordinary cyclists, and Jacob knew hunting them down would be tough. Knowing their exact location was impossible, but Jacob knew that they did their summer training in the Sahara and their winter training in the wastes of Norway. And so our intrepid hero went to Norway.
The following are excerpts from his travel journal:
Day 1: Took a small plane from Oslo to Sandnessjøen. The locals seemed wary of my Fuji.
Day 2: After some asking around, I heard of a local crit raced on a thawing fjord. Thought I might look for our two racers there. Obtained this photo I’ve attached. To get more grip on the ice, I’m going to run some 25s I picked up. I never thought it would come to that. This is the only bike race where people have died of hypothermia, so I’ll have to be on my toes.
I find the giant penguin intimidating, not because he looks to be a dozen feet tall and angry, but because if he got here all the way from the South Pole, he must be pretty badass.
Day 3: The race is tomorrow, but I consulted a Noaide, the Norwegian version of a Shaman, and asked his blessing for the race. I had to sacrifice my Fuji to the cycle gods, but I got a Storck in return. The Noaide spat on me a few times, I’m convinced it’s part of the ritual.
Day 4: Raced in the crit. 23 starters. It is not unlike the crit races we have in the states except it’s on ice. It was a flat course with wide turns, not unlike the Driveway of old. I was cornering and the guy next to me lost his grip, hit the deck, and just kept sliding. Another time someone fell into thin ice. Impressively, he then burst out of thin ice about 10 feet later and kept on going like nothing had happened. He managed to get in first in the sprint. By this time, the group had been parsed to about 10 people. We came around the final turn and the guy who had crashed earlier was still sliding around the course and slides into the group, just behind my rear wheel. I stay upright and sprint away, coming in 2nd. 1st was Henrik Guttormsomsen, and 3rd was Edvald Schlendenson. Everyone on the podium was invited to the Cykle Platz, a German fortress from WWII recommissioned as a cycling fortress. I decided to go the next day.
Day 5: I looked up the history of the Cykle Platz. It is a safe haven for road cyclists against roaming bands of fixed gear riders. Apparently, the fixed gear riders they catch get the ‘flop and chop’ treatment. I don’t know what it is, but it doesn’t sound friendly. Entering was an intimidating affair. Even though I podiumed at a crit, I could be a fixed gear rider in disguise. I showed them my freshly shampooed hair and uttered the secret password ‘brifters’ and I was in.
After passing guards armed with ninja-stars in the shape of gears and nun-chucks with frame pumps at the end of 10-speed chains, I was ushered into the royal hall. There, before my eyes, were Jorge Hagstromo and Mathieu Von, sitting atop Selle Italia Strike saddles made of white gold, and with women clad in polar-bear skin bikinis frolicking around them. I beseeched them on behalf of the beleaguered Texas Cycling Mens B team to return to America, take up racing there, and prepare themselves for a mighty campaign. These two assented to my humble request and consulted me on other matters at which I am not at liberty to divulge. We did however, decide that it was time to cast off the old German name for the fortress and call the impressive structure Velohalla.
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