Not The Future, But Getting There…

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Palo Alto, to some it paints a picture of sunny beaches and Californian life. Others though, associate it as home to the who’s who of the technology industry. Its illustrious occupants already included Stanford University and Xerox’s iconic Palo Alto Research Center, and soon attracted other giants such as HP, while today it serves as an incubator to many more from Facebook to Google, who all are based in or around Palo Alto. Some go so far as to say, you haven’t made it big in the tech industry till you don’t have a facility here.

So it’s with some cynicism that people looked at a car manufacturer setting shop in these environs. One, many geeks look at the automobile industry as an archaic behemoth of a bygone era, and two, “Whatever was wrong with Detroit, the mecca of American automobile manufacturing?” But then the product CEO Elon Musk is manufacturing is nothing like the stuff rolling out of Detroit. For starters it does not work on gasoline/diesel, heck it does not even have an engine! And to make Palo Alto proud, software is at the heart of making this baby turn its wheels. Presenting everyone – drum roll – Tesla.

I know, most of you reading this might be saying, “Was all this buildup for this strangely named, yet mundane looking sports car?” Yes the car does have an unglamorous and super nerdy name (Tesla is the unit of magnetic flux density), and does not fit into any grand sci-fi vision with hidden wings or bayonets, but it’s about as far from today’s vehicles as the internal combustion was to steam engines. To use the Palo Alto analogy again, its driven by exactly the same sources that drives the millions of servers – electricity.

“Well another electric car, hmph! I’ve had enough of the Toyota Prius, and that’s hardly worked wonders.” Ok so first the Prius is a hybrid, meaning it still needs to burn fuel to drive and to charge its batteries, which only ‘aid’ the engine to enhance its fuel efficiency. Tesla however, make cars with no engines, and which can be charged from your home power socket. Their first product the Tesla Roadster smashed many records for (practical) electric cars, having a top speed of 201 km/h (0-100 in 3.7 seconds) and boasting a range of 400 km on a single charge (at lower speeds of course). Those are figures to do any vehicle proud, but better still, these are not some crazy test figures, the car is a finished product you can go and buy, if you have around $120,00 to spare.

At that price though it remains a rich man’s toy, and that’s not enough to cause any radical change in the industry. Musk understands this and hence is working on his epochal product, the Tesla Model S. This will be the company’s offering to average Joe, seating between 5 to 7, and which, after subsidies ($7500 by the federal govt in US and a further $2500 by the state of California) should be priced around $50,000. That fits it perfectly in the range of mass luxury sedans (5 series or E class) and should appeal to a larger populace.

The company is parallelly also working on a SUV option, though Musk agrees that the Model S is his make or break product. This has to succeed for Tesla to survive and prepare for the future. The hurdles are many. Setting up a car manufacturing unit is infinitely more complex than an internet startup and the costs involved are astronomical. Then there is the lack of a supplier base and high dependence on third-party products to complete the design. Biggest challenge though, is the lack of a worthy power source – batteries.

Right from laptop to mobile phones, manufacturers of various products bemoan the constraints of current battery technology and single it out as a major limiter to their product’s performance. Now for a product that has batteries at its heart and its single defining feature, that’s a big problem. Current batteries are heavy, store insufficient charge (which means more are required and hence more weight) and need to be replaced periodically (less charge means more charging cycles and earlier replacements).

Thankfully some smart innovation at Tesla has squeezed enough out of the lithium-ion stacks to make them car viable. Jeffery Straubel, Tesla’s CTO, believes battery manufacturers are upgrading fast will eventually catch up, especially if the sales number justify the product. “Between the time we did Roadster and Model S, the batteries have improved by about 40%,” he says. “That’s a pretty big number. That’s about four years.Engines don’t drop in size by half in a few years. It doesn’t happen. It’s almost like the properties of steel are changing year by year.”

Even if the car is a success and does set the niche rolling, personally I don’t think its THE (permanent) solution. Those words you read of Electric Vehicles (EVs) being the ‘holy grail’ are more propaganda than fact. Firstly, the claim that these are ‘zero emission’ vehicles is marketing lingo at best and a blatant lie at worst. EVs do cause emissions, just that it’s shifted from the tailpipes to the chimneys of the power producing plants elsewhere. So while it might look ‘clean’ with the conspicuous lack of a tailpipe, it’s not a self-sustaining vehicle.

Supporters of the technology claim that its easier to implement and control fuel saving technologies at huge power plants than each vehicle, and that those plants work at far higher efficiencies than the most economical of the internal combustion engines in our cars. Further the energy supplied to your homes (and being fed into Teslas) can be hedged into renewable sources like wind, solar, tidal etc., and thus add to the green credentials of the car.

All the above is true and an electric car will always be greener compared to its fuel driven brethren (including the hybrids), but all I want to bring out is that these cars are not the final solution to the automobile industry’s (and in fact the world’s) fuel crisis. Nor will they protect the consumer long from rising fuel bills, as eventually electricity meters will start charging more and more, with the ever-increasing number of electric devices introduced in the world at an astonishing pace.

But electric cars can do a lot of good. If these vehicles gain a modicum of popularity they immediately loosen the burdens on the oil wells (maybe even bring oil prices down to justifiable rates) and the benefit of hedging electricity production methods are mentioned above. More importantly though, the car can provide a huge impetus to investments in battery technology and research on renewables. Once people start driving on electricity, companies will be forced to invest in the associated technologies and that can only help the planet.

However the most significant benefit of the Tesla would be the time it buys for scientists to come out with the ‘car of the future’. Currently all fingers point to ‘fuel cells’ which use hydrogen as fuel (the most abundantly available element on earth) and mix it with oxygen (sucked in from the air), producing electricity and (clean drinkable) water. Note that here too the driving force is (battery-powered) electricity, only the production now is confined within the vehicle and is truly 100% emission free (well clean water is an emission which am sure we all can live with).

So as consumers buy electric vehicles (not only cars mind you), fuel dependence reduces, associated technologies boost, and therefore researchers working on fuel cells and administrators working on hydrogen production and distribution all get a breather to work under less pressure. All of this while the ecological footprint of the automobile industry reduces with every passing day. So Tesla (or the EV) while not being the life saviour many hail it as, can certainly be a life changer – for the good.

And for this very reason I do hope and pray the courageous venture does fructify. Tesla will need support from many quarters, politicians being the first. No electric vehicle currently can match the mass-produced fuel versions on price. Internal combustion industry has had a 100 year head start to refine their processes and a billion strong market for economy of scale. Therefore government subsidies will have to support the product in its infancy.

Also there has to be some commitment from the traditional manufacturers. They have to see these cars not as the enemy, but as the next evolution in their history. Few manufacturers (Daimler and Toyota in particular) have joined hands with Tesla and provided support in various forms, but large-scale involvement remains a dream. Then is the contribution required of Palo Alto’s finest – software. Thankfully here, good progress seems to be made and with the globe’s current fascination of all things IT, software should be one of the strong points of the Model S.

“Here’s to creating the greatest car company of the 21st century, and to moving us off fucking oil as fast as possible,” said an enthusiastic Musk to his employees as he celebrated moving to the glorious environs of California in 2010. Probably 102 years ago Henry Ford would have launched the Model T with equal alacrity; and the car did go on to immortalise him in the automobile pantheon. Elon Musk will be hoping that if his similarly named model can be fractionally as successful, he could be revered far more. Not only as the man who gave the world a path breaking product, but as the one who gave the planet a new lease of life.

ps: for a in-depth info about Elon Musk’s vision of the company and his worries, the article below is an excellent read (one that heavily influenced me to write this).

Why Tesla Motors Is Betting On The Model S

Get Well Soon Fabrice

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It was a usual FA cup quarter-final draw. Two Premiership teams battling it out to keep their silverware dreams for the season alive. There was passion, there was drama, there was tension, there was commitment. And with two early goals at both ends, the match was building up to be a cracker. And then it went horribly wrong.

Just before half-time Bolton’s No 6, Fabrice Muamba collapsed to ground. It was quite bizarre as there appeared to be no challenge from any player, not even an accidental contact. But within seconds the Tottenham players were gesticulating wildly, calling for the medics to rush onto the field. As a dazed crowd and TV audience watched for the next ten minutes, medical staff from both clubs tried to resuscitate the player, administering CPR and using a defibrillator.

After the agonising wait, Fabrice had to be carried off on a stretcher, with a stunned crowd chanting his name in unison. There were no rivalries now, just a single pool of fans supporting a competitive player fighting not for the ball – but his life. There was still much confusion over the player’s condition, but it was pretty clear the signs were not looking good.

Referee Howard Webb having consulted both team captains and management, reached the sensible conclusion of abandoning the match. It would be impossible to ask the shocked players to battle it out on the pitch, with their minds elsewhere. Not to mention it would have been almost disrespectful to Muamba had the proceedings went on as normal. The crowd – so often vilified for being chaotic and incendiary – respected the decision and filed out peacefully, though most were crying or dazed.

In the days that have passed since then, Muamba fights for his life. Though his condition has certainly improved (especially in the last 24hrs) and he is responding, yet the situation remains critical. His commitment to the club and the sport is clear in his first words to his father. “Did we lose?” asked Fabrice, still under intensive care. Such dedication is only expected of soldiers and sports persons, and is shockingly pleasing in today’s cynical corporate world.

The 23-year-old originates from Congo (erstwhile Zaire), and was accorded asylum in England after his parents had fled their native country due to political skirmishes. He was part of Arsenal’s youth system before moving to Birmingham and eventually to his current club in 2008. Fabrice’s talent has been recognised at the national level too, as he captained England’s U-19 team and went on to represented the U-21 in 2007.

It comes as a shock to many that such a young, supremely fit person who regularly has medicals could suffer such a catastrophe. But it’s not the first time such a tragedy has occurred on a football pitch. There have been worse instances with players suffering fatal attacks on the pitch, however this has to be the most high-profile incident in recent times. It’s never a good sight to see a sportsperson (in any sport) sprawling on the field in agony. We have seen some horrible injuries in the sport, and each time it makes one feel sick in the stomach.

On the bright side the situation seems to be getting better and thankfully it wasn’t a bad tackle or any other such misdemeanour that prompted the incident. Also pleasing to see was the response of the medical teams and how well equipped they were  to handle the matter as best could be in the stadium. Worse could have happened for sure had the Premier League not enforced strict regulations for clubs to place adequate medical staff and facilities on pitch in every match.

We all have seen or heard of the tragedy in 1991 at Imola, where the most revered sportsperson of his era lost his life doing what he did best. Ayrton Senna was a darling of millions, whose almost divine talent was burning up race circuits all over the world. Yet all the talent and legion of fans could not save him from crashing to death in Italy on that fateful day (sadly less known to most people, Austrian rookie driver Ronald Ratzenberger had died on the track only a day before). That incident was probably the most high-profile death in a sporting arena and was to be the instigator to an obsession with safety in Formula 1.

In case of football, thankfully conditions are less risky and actions have already been taken by the FA. Though here as well, it was Peter Cech’s head injury in 2006 which shook the administrators into tightening the laws and the reaction at White Hart Lane on saturday proved that the right steps have been taken.

Also the referee Howard Webb needs to be commended on the swift and decisive action he took in consulting the teams and calling the match off. Of course there was no way a match could go on after the events, yet it was heartening to see the various authorities involved act in unison. Last but definitely not the least was the incredible reaction of the crowd, who chanted Muamba’s name in the hope the player is buoyed by the vocal support. But more importantly was the manner in which they respected the official’s decision to abandon the match.

There was not one shout or stupid comment (though eventually a 21-year-old did get arrested for a vitriolic tweet, but that was outside the stadium) and most of the crowd could be seen visibly moved, many with tears in the eyes and hands clasped in prayer. To the critics who often claim the sport is encouraging tribal rivalries, this proves that humanity still beats at the heart of the game and its million fans.

It wasn’t just the local supporters, but in the ensuing minutes the internet was abuzz with support for the stricken player. As millions tweeted “Pray4Muamba”, support from all aspects of media and various portals came flooding in. The footballing community showed support both within and outside the country with players and fans across various leagues offering their wishes to Muamba and his family.

However the Bolton captain brought out an irony, “It is the first time in my nearly 19 years in the game that I have seen a stadium unite,” he said. “It was touching but I was laying in bed thinking how sad it was as well. As professionals, we put a lot of hours in. We work hard and make a lot of sacrifices. But it seems that the only way you are going to get a ripple of applause away from your own ground is to get carried off on a stretcher.”

While that is true however you cannot blame the crowd for being partisan. Football is religion to many and the players themselves feed on the crowd. That’s precisely why away fixtures prove to be so tricky. In a perfect world fans would applaud a well crafted goal by the opposition; but in reality, if they have the heart to get behind an injured player, that will do.

At this moment my prayers (as million others) go out for Fabrice and his family. Hope he makes it through this ordeal and it would be a great sight to see him take to the field one day, when it happens. There are many instances of players returning from dreaded injuries or sickness, so there is always hope for him. The legendary Liverpool manager Bill Shankley, once famously said, “Some people say football is a matter of life and death. I’m extremely disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that.” In current circumstances, am sure the great man himself would have rethought his words (his club fans below seem to agree).

ps: Since my initial post, I came across the touching pic below on Tumblr, taken by kawee6281. As it says in the original post, “When people ask me why I love football, this is the reason I tell them – community.”

My First Marathon

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On 20 Jun 2007, on a dark rainy night in Bombay I met with a road accident. Driving my bike, I failed to sight a taut rope tied across the road, and hit it resulting in my trachea (wind pipe) being severed completely and oesophagus (food pipe) partially. Thanks to some immediate and excellent medical attention, I made it out of the surgery to the ICU, where I stayed for long.

In those long months on the hospital bed I went through a range of emotions, from despair to rage, hope, relief, frustration and – sadly sometimes – self pity. It was then that a very dear friend gifted me something very precious, which was to change my outlook forever. He (who will know if he is reading this) gave me the revered book “Its not about the bike” by Lance Armstrong. The book really impressed upon me that impossible is actually nothing (ironic coming from a Nike sponsored athlete).

In the next few days, on a small paper (that I still treasure), I jotted down a mini “bucket list” – and running in any capacity had NO place on it. In short, I wanted to see the world (a high target but never mind), change a few priorities in my life, and most importantly, not waste a moment in my future doing things that I didn’t like or with people to whom I didn’t matter.

I was discharged in early 2008 and even then on a tracheotomy tube. Many surgeries followed (12 in all), but steadily I recovered far better than initially expected. And as decided, I began to search for my “list.” But despite being out of the hospital, I wasn’t completely out of gloom. It was then that two friends told me to join them in their daily runs. I was extremely sceptic, but their insistence was too hard to deny.

Reluctantly I agreed to join them for short runs, and it proved to be the second best gift I ever received. Infact I can even go so far as to say that it was the best decision I ever took in my life. What running has given me since then is definitely intangible, but it couldn’t be more conspicuous. When I ran my first half marathon in 2010 (in Bombay), I wasn’t a complete convert yet, but the event decided it for me.

Never in my life had I seen so many people turn up for almost nil rewards. Hardly any of them could hope for any prize, no professional favours, but only toil and suffering for hours. And then were the thousands who turned up to cheer. Sorry, not just cheer, but to volunteer assistance of various kinds. It was just surreal, 1hr 52mins of being treated like a celebrity. I knew that day, that there was no turning back.

I returned in 2011 and had a horror of a race. My first reaction was that I had lost focus, but the fact was, the run was no longer a challenge it was the first time. The elements were all there as earlier, yet the passion was slightly diminished. I knew there was the “full” up the ladder, but it was quite scary, for the elites, and definitely not for an average runner like me. As ever friends came into the picture, one of whom had just completed his second “full” and by the time registrations opened for the 2012 edition, I was motivated enough to choose the harder option.

The first thing I realised was running a marathon is not just a “one day” event with a little practice beforehand, instead its a full-scale commitment for about half a year. The training regimen I followed was just short of it (20 weeks), but demanded serious dedication. There was no point in going under prepared and embarrassing oneself, especially with the aura built around the event. Of course in today’s chaotic life, it was impossible for me to follow the schedule to the hilt, but I was lucky to manage without missing much.

If anything, I made it a point not to miss the important long runs and hence ensured to squeeze in a race (the Delhi half marathon) and the mandatory 20 mile practice run. If anyone would question me now, I would say that these runs go a long way in preparing one mentally, apart from the obvious physical aspect. The internal battle you fight to miss a weekend party for next morning’s run, when you drag yourself out after a bad day, when you run despite the schedule getting on your nerves, that’s when the pillars are building in the head.

No amount of preparation though can prevent from the last day jitters. Have I overused my shoes? Did I do enough tempo runs? Have I carbo loaded adequately? These are few of the hundreds of doubts that keep arising till the gun is fired. So finally after this abstract, coming to the race day experience itself.

This marathon was my sole focus and pretty much the pivot of my life for past 5 months. So it says a lot about my planning abilities, that I reached the venue 8 minutes late, long after the race had begun and not a runner in sight of the start line. Thankfully the race organisers provide everyone with a personalised timing chip, hence each competitor is timed individually when he/she crosses the start. Nevertheless it was far from ideal, especially as one does panic and overdo the start to catch up with the bunch, and then zigzag through all the runners slower than him.

By the time I turned around Nariman point, I was well settled and starting to enjoy the experience. I crossed a few friends, saw smiling (but focussed) faces all round and the Queen’s necklace passed in a blur. I was so high at this point that I even raced up the dreaded (for me) climb up Peddar Road. Move on to the Worli sea face and there were more high-fives exchanged as I crossed familiar faces running the half-marathon from the opposite direction.

Then came the main attraction of the day – running on the Bandra Worli Sea Link. This suspension bridge has become the new architectural face of Bombay, and while this was my third time to cover it on foot, each time the experience only grows richer. Maybe because this time I ran in the early morning glow, or since the breeze was much cooler, but I just could not stop grinning like an idiot as I jogged the 5 odd kms of tarmac hanging over the ocean.

The half point of the race arrived sooner than expected, and to my joy (which I would later realise was misleading) at a very comfortable effort. This dream continued as the route headed to Shivaji Park and the crowd began to get richer. It was probably my happiest stint of the day as little kids high-fived and people from all ages clapped, shouted and cheered. For a few moments I felt am going to sail through this.

But not for nothing is the marathon so feared and infamous. If it was such smooth sailing, it would never have attained the aura its associated with. At the 28km mark, I felt the first stings of trouble in my leg. As I reduced pace to shake it off, my head spun funny and within moments my dream world began crumbling manically. Approaching the revered Sidhivinayak Temple, the agnostic in me instantly converted to a devout and I duly tried pleasing higher powers.

Sigh they were not to be fooled! As kilometer 30 approached I was a total mess. The pain was getting unbearable, muscles aching, cramping, head spinning – in short it was all turning pear-shaped. I distinctly remember as I rounded the Worli loop, I had tears rolling down my cheeks. I wasn’t crying, it was just the pain, which was venting itself in this strange manner.

Even the dreaded thought of giving up or collapsing arose in my mind and continued for a good 10 odd minutes. But then as I looked around me, I saw grimacing faces, people struggling to put their feet ahead and it was obvious – I wasn’t alone. All these co-runners – many elder than me – were in the same boat, and if they could somehow keep going while suffering, so could I.

I also happened to exchange looks with a few runners in these moments. Looks that only fellow runners can understand. Looks where nothing is said, but two complete strangers fully understand what the other person means. We started pacing each other, one drafting ahead as the other weakened, duly looking back pulling the weaker runner on. Of course the ordered reversed with regularity.

And then there were the hundreds, who while not in the same suffering, were lining the route with pure support for each runner as one of their own kin. The most remarkable was a sikh family distributing water near the Worli dairy. Right from the octogenarian grand father to the 6-ish year old grand child, the entire joint family was out helping us runners – when that time could have been better spent elsewhere.

It’s with this faith that we (notice its no longer “I” now) approached the climb of Pedder Road once again. This approach is steeper and longer, which, added to the ailing limbs could spell disaster. Luckily this also happens to be the area where the crowds are the strongest and most vociferous. It’s just a wall of noise and appreciation that you pass through. Result – the gradient is as steep as ever, but the effort somehow diminished. And right from water, fruits, energy gels, biscuits, the crowd offers you all the supplements you could ask for.

The final phase is back on Marine Drive, albeit this time in bright sunlight. I have always found this to be the hardest part; not because it’s towards the end, but since its hot, and the other end is visible far away, somehow accentuating the task at hand. Even the support is marginalised by the “official” bands and corporate cheering squads. The innocence of the “sikh family” and purity of cheering is lost amid this electronic din.

However at this point you know that it’s just about survival. Keep plugging for a last few painful minutes and you are sure to reach the destination. That I did, just shy of 4hr 30 minutes – half an hour over my target time. Yet there was no disappointment. I also cannot say I was exultant or jubilant or ecstatic. They are just too extreme terms for the complete blankness I felt at the finish line. There was definitely a huge sense of relief and a feeling of “I really did this”, but you could not have realised that looking at my face.

It’s strange because after all the suffering and effort one should be jumping with delirious joy, but is conversely looking for peace. Its just a void, maybe it takes time to really hit what has just been accomplished. That’s the beauty of the event I guess, no matter who you are, no matter your time, no matter the number of times you have done it – the marathon will be a humbling experience. You realise that you do not conquer the marathon, you survive it. Just that few survive stronger than others.

I have never suffered so much in such a short duration, but I have never felt so alive either. This is an accomplishment no one can take away from me – ever, and I can proudly say hereon after, that I am a marathoner. And that one line makes up for all the pain.

Wolfpack Roadtrip Day 3: Bangalore to Wellington

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Waking up on Day 3 proved to be an ordeal – even for the punctual runner among us, Harsha. The temperature was just cold enough and blankets proving too cozy to come out of. However one by one we trudged to freshen up and found a sumptuous traditional North Indian breakfast of puri, bhaji and halwa waiting. Try as hard we might have, however none could control our appetites and after the meal each was looking to hand over the car keys to the other.

A quick photo session with my cute little niece Ilisha later, we hit the road (Bibin finally agreed – reluctantly – to drive through the chaos). If we needed jolting out of our reverie, Bangalore traffic was there to oblige and by the time we hit the outskirts heading towards Mysore, the comforts of home were long forgotten and the breakfast digested courtesy some rally-route inspired roads.

My eyes were looking out for the much hyped Mysore expressway, but to my disappointment I found it’s still under construction and hence we had to make do with the traditional Mysore road. This wasn’t bad in any way and the tarmac was near perfect, with the McDonald’s and KFC on the highway reminding us we were in India’s silicon valley. These good roads were finally making up for the late start, however the joy was short-lived.

We had planned to drive through Sathyamangalam Tiger reserve, and that meant diverting from the traditional route for Wellington. Ideally we should have driven past Mysore and approached Wellington via Ooty. Instead we diverted south from Maddur towards Malavalli and were to hit Wellington via Conoor. Well that was the plan at least (and looked decent on the map). The prob started with a gadget misconfiguration as our GPS guided us to take the “shortest” route and not the “fastest”.

Therefore it made us turn south before Maddur into some atrocious village roads. Now we always knew the diversion towards Malavalli was a state highway and hence roads would be precarious, but this was well below our expectations. Though the route passed through some breathtaking ethnic India landscape, however the dirt road was more suited to tractors than a relatively sophisticated urban vehicle.

After a couple of hours of battling we did hit NH 948 toward Tamil Nadu, heading to Sathyamangalam. The roads though nothing extraordinary, were a big relief – just goes on to show how significant “perspective” can be. After the past two hours, we could have accepted anything that had tar to drive on. As we approached the much awaited Tiger reserve, temperature dropped dramatically and by sunset it was quite chilly.

The forest unfortunately turned out to be overly populated and hence a disappointment. Not for a moment (apart from the chill) did we feel away from a highway or civilization, and this meant we were far away from appreciating any significant fauna enroute. Eventually we had to take a break to meet our hunger for food and were fed with near perfection.

We happened to hit upon a small state transport run eatery and the place served some traditional South Indian food to kill for. As an added surprise, the staff were some of the most amiable sarkari mulazim I’ve ever interacted with, and their smiles made all tiredness fade away. With traditional rural simplicity and genuineness (of both food and behaviour), this was something we are so far removed in our metropolises and I can say confidently, it was one of the best experience we had in our entire trip.

The approach to Conoor had us tackle 38 hair pin bends, 24 going down and the remaining 14 ascending. Though it was dark by now, the roads were superb and driving experience exhilarating. The chill only added to the pleasure and lifted our spirits close to nirvana. For once I did not want the road to end and wished we reached our destination as late as possible.

Eventually though we reached Madras Regimental Centre Officer’s Mess, which has the honour of being the oldest regiment in the Indian Army; having been raised in 1704 as the personal bodyguards to the Maharaja of Travancore. We were now in the hands of the gallant service and god knows very few can host like them. I have stayed in a few popular hotels and even in those I’ve not enjoyed such hospitality. Even the very top end hotels am sure would struggle to match the grace, elegance – and above all – human touch of the fauj.

Right from the moment we arrived, till we were comfortably settled with our drinks, the mess saab was there to make sure we felt as close to home as possible. To be frank, this really cannot be put in words and has to be experienced in person. Hence a good day’s drive came to a perfect ending. Day 4 was to be spent in the scintillating environs of the Nilgiris, exploring the areas around Wellington and Ooty and indulge in the serene climate. So while no long drives, but many things planned and being our first break, it would help us soak in the place, people and food.

I will continue this travelogue on Day 5, when we start our journey to Goa with a totally different experience awaiting us. The peace of the mountains would soon be replaced with the chaos of boisterous beaches. But that’s still more than 48 hours away. So till then to enjoy the crisp air and wonderful environs. Till tomorrow…

Wolfpack Roadtrip Day 2: Belgaum to Bangalore

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Yesterday’s late night “brainstorming” session meant that none of us could leave the bed at our agreed upon hour of 6am. The cold weather and late night Premiership matches also were partly to blame for our extended resting sessions, but even after waking up no one seemed to be in a hurry. Harsha went for a run, Bibin was staring at the TV – which was off, and I was writing yesterday’s post. Oh and Joe didn’t bother to leave the cozy confines of his blanket at all.

Finally when we did manage to leave the hotel, sun was high in the sky and the watches were just past that classic Titan advertisement figure of 10:10 am. We had 520 kms (approx) ahead of us, though by all indications the roads were supposed to be a treat. To make best of our freshened up state, we decided to postpone breakfast for later and immediately hit the road with renewed zest.

A big advantage of staying close to the highway meant we were out of the city traffic in a jiffy and nipping close to 100 km/hr within minutes. The roads were indeed as good as suggested and therefore spirits were high to aim for an early dinner at Bangalore. Before dinner though, our tummies were calling out for breakfast and we  stopped at a little hotel off the road. The place was almost out of breakfast but we were fortunate to get some rather simple idli, dosa and uthapam. I feel it’s the best breakfast before driving being light enough not to make one feel dozy.

I took the wheel for the first part of the day and as we started the GPS unit displayed ETA (Estimated Time of Arrival) as 2315 hrs. But with the near perfect roads and minimal traffic, by 1315 hrs the ETA suggestion had come down to 2202 hrs. For once the GPS unit could not keep up pace with Indian highways!

Rest three of my companions were blissfully hanging their heads supported by their window mirrors, sleeping as if there were no tomorrow. It’s both funny and a little irritating when someone deep in sleep suddenly wakes up for a moment and gives you “suggestions” as if he was awake all along. “Abe thoda right mein rakh/ brake aaram se maar, mein dekh raha hu kuch time se, not sleeping.” And immediately after this pearl of wisdom the great man is back into “meditation mode.”

The roads were absolutely flawless, and as I wrote earlier, traffic minimal. It was a rolling landscape though, devoid of any natural treats worth photographing. Surrounded by mounds of red sand and boulders aka Sholey, one could almost feel a dacoits jumping out on a horse. If that would have happened, the poor guy would have been in a fix what with the traffic zipping at 120 km/hr and even more. Best part of the route though, was the absence of diversions/ towns to interrupt the flow of speed. Service roads were well clear and all u-turns were in the form of under passes.

When everyone did wake up it was time to change drivers and my turn to meditate. However as I took back seat there started a heated debated whether the snoring of one of us (I shall not name him here for fear of being showered by abuses) was the reason behind everyone’s lack of sleep. It was hotly refuted by the accused and even hours later there was no final decision, deferred for tonight with video evidence coming into play.

We stopped at 1600 hrs for lunch, which was the simple affair called meals, ubiquitous in this part of the country. It consisted of simple dry vegetable, chatni, pickle, dal and extra-large rotis. Simple yet effective. From here we passed through a windmill farm, though except for the huge towers, there were no flushing meadows with lazy cows that one pictureises by default. There were lots of sugeracane and banana farms along the road, but they quite don’t make vistas like the paddy fields in Kerala.

Again though, what Karnataka countryside could not offer in visual appeal, they’ve more than made up with their roads which are eons ahead of anything found in Kerala. I am mentioning this for the third time in this post because they are that good. And all this when on most part of the road there is widening (to six lane from the existing four lanes) work under progress. Yet not a single diversion/ blocking of the existing tarmac. By the time we hit outskirts of Bangalore, with 20 kms remaining to our destination we were looking at reaching home by 1900 hrs!

And then Murphy struck. I always thought that Ahmedabad had the worst traffic anywhere…till yesterday. Yes I had heard horror stories about Bangalore traffic, but not till I witnessed it first hand yesterday did I realise how mind numbingly bad it is. The roads are super narrow, traffic endless, add to it Metro construction works and you have a perfect dish of chaos garnished with lots of fumes.

Bangalorians are supposed to be gentle and law-abiding people – and while I have no doubts they are – someone certainly forgot to tell them this while on road. It was raving war out there. Two wheelers zipping from every direction, buses and rickshaws squeezing into non-existent spaces. It all reminded me of Aryton Senna’s famous quote after he rammed into Alain Prost at Suzuka in 1990, “ If you no longer go for a gap, you no longer a racing driver.” Timeshift to Bangalore in 2011, and it seems, “If you no longer go for a gap, you no longer fit to drive in Bangalore.”

Thankfully after much frustration and swearing we managed to reach our destination with all parts of my beloved car intact. We were staying at cousin’s place at the Air Force officer’s colony behind the old airport, and it was a welcome delight to walk into a quiet, warm and clean home after the past two hours of madness. God only knows what would have happened to us if we had to hotel hunt in this craziness.

Being a fauji’s house, there was another welcome delight – Old Monk, and we sated our thirsts discussing all and sundry with our hostess. No one seemed to be particularly hungry but when my sister-in-law ordered two huge chicken Biryanis, all of it was devoured in a flash. I don’t want to contemplate the situation had the boys been hungry!

So came to end a successful second day on a positive note again. Tomorrow we head to the Nilgiris through Sathyamangalam Tiger reserve. It promises some scintillating scenery and an engaging drive in the mountains, with hair pin turns galore. It’s going to be cold though, and a nice filter coffee at a little roadside place should be just what the doctor ordered. This was our main focus while planning the trip and naturally excitement levels are high. Hence the next post should finally be accompanied with some nice pictures. Till tomorrow then…

Wolfpack Roadtrip Day 1: Bombay to Belgaum

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Four best bros, one car, ten days. It might sound like a movie script, but this was a little dream of ours that was realised today as we cast off from Bombay, albeit much later than planned. Having witnessed and been part of a scintillating President’s Fleet Review on 19 and 20 Oct, this was a much awaited and relieving break.

Our focus areas for this trip were a drive in the Nilgiris with a stay at the revered ‘Defense Services Staff College’, Welington and the annual pilgrimage to Goa (hopefully with a couple of days at the Sunburn festival). En-route we were to halt at Belgaum, Bangalore and Chikmagalur before returning in time to Bombay for the New Years.

Get, set, go....

...uh oh, wait for lunch first :P

As is always the case with a gang of reckless boys, our start was delayed. Well that maybe an understatement considering we were still in Bombay when we had lunch at 1330hrs. But with enough drivers aboard and good roads expected ahead of us, we were not too worried. Our vehicle of choice was my humble yet comfortable Hyundai i20. It took four and their luggage in comfort, and at least after day 1 I can say with confidence that it stays stable on the highway with ABS providing an enormous peace of mind (I believe it came in use more than a couple of times).

Till Pune was the familiar terrain of Lonavla, driving on the Mumbai-Pune Expressway. Thereafter we joined NH-4 which heads towards Bangalore (to all those who would have noticed my usage of the ‘older’ names for cities, I strongly despise this renaming-for-cheap-publicity epidemic). The next 50 kms were a mixed bag of roads, from smooth to jarred, but what really slowed the pace was the incessant local traffic and commercial spaces along the highway.

I had stayed at Lonavla from 2000-04, and since then the changes to the exterior of Pune were dramatic. It has become far more chaotic and the construction is seemingly endless with hardly any break in the prosaic cement structures. Even the once famous “Pancard Clubs” logo, which many quoted as a landmark, was now hidden from view, pushed into insignificance by the grotesque blocks of concrete.

Sadly there was nothing of mention to write about along the entire route except that the roads are a pleasure to drive on. We could safely sustain speeds in excess of 100 km/hr, except for stretches where errant two-wheeler traffic with their unpredictable changes of directions made the smooth roads a bit pointless. However even the good roads in Mahrashtra were better the moment we crossed over into Karnataka, with the tarmac status upgraded to ‘super-smooth.’

Despite our late start, all these positive factors contributed in us reaching Belgaum just a shade before 2100 hrs. Now started hunt for accommodation and while our first choice would have been the army detachment, however it was at the other end of the town, hence we decided to avoid the extra time that we would have to spend driving through city traffic. We found the PWD guest house right next to the highway, which seemed comfy and clean. Sadly it was booked for the night, and the amiable staff directed us to a decent hotel.

Redirected from there too, we were shown to Hotel Keerthi which had an AC room for us for Rs 1,500/- (with extra mattresses for the two additional occupants). The room itself turned out to be huge, clean and surprisingly comfortable for its cost. But the pleasant surprises did not end here, and the hotel’s bar served an array of drinks, with a 60ml peg of Old Monk available for a princely sum of Rs 60!!!

Nothing could have ensured a better end to the day than couple of drinks with great friends reminiscing old days and making plans for the future. Plans that ranged from the absurd to crazy, yet plans only we could manifest. Detailed strategies were also discussed for the modus operandi at Goa, and wingmen were designated with an oath to help their respective bros find a pretty new friend. On those hopeful (and utterly hopeless) thoughts we called it a day and hence shall I end this recount of events. Till tomorrow then…

Shopaholic!!!

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I’ve never been as addicted to twitter as on 31 Aug 11. I enjoy the social networking portal but have always used it sparingly and never from the confines of my BlackBerry smart phone. But such was my desperation or excitement (choose as you deem fit) that me and my phone became one on this crucial day.

I did not have access to internet on my laptop, so was switching between several live blogs on my phone to the annoyance of my parents, but nothing on this day could make me leave the confines of the digital web. To anyone who has still not grasped the hallowed event (or is surprised finding me writing about shopping), I’m talking about the “Transfer Deadline Day” of European football.

At the cost of repetition, this is the last day clubs may offload or (more importantly) contract new players in their teams. And this year it was almost the season decider for Arsenal – or so the media made it out to be. Not surprising, considering the club had on the previous weekend been subjected to a humiliating 8-2 defeat by their title rivals Manchester United. The score line alone shouts disaster, that it has never occurred in the 115 years preceding last sunday made it one of humongous proportions.

So there I sat in a little town in northern India reading with bated breath the transfer rumours as if am reading my probable b’day gift list. Korean captain Chu Young Park had already moved in the previous day, and all was set for the Brazilian Andre Santos and German Per Mertasacker to join him any moment. But the latter two were still to be confirmed “officially” and there was the desperate issue of quality midfielders.

While my prayers were directed towards an unlikely move of Edin Hazard, there were rumours about M’Ville, Mikel Arteta, Gary Cahill and Yossi Benyaoun. My heartbeats danced with every rise and dip in hopes as shouted by @SkySportsMobile tweets and several others.

I cursed when it became clear we are not chasing the French club’s players and that turned to bitterness as Arteta’s bid seemed to die down too. Finally though sanity prevailed and we notched both Arteta and Yossi to make the agony of the hours seemingly worthwhile.

Today as I look back I find it almost childish to have risked the health of my body’s engine on events out of my reach and of which, frankly I do not have a deep enough understanding as compared to the men in charge of the club. But I was not alone, with me were millions who ran twitter’s trends crazy with #deadlineday running tops both worldwide and in India.

The answer then is simple – this is football, this is sport, this is human nature. It is the connect we feel for the club, its well-being somewhere intricately connected to our moods. Hence it was crucial for me not to feel gutted and frustrated for the next six months that a couple of defenders and mid field generals be added to the team. It was crucial for sanity to prevail over the season that I see through this tumultuous day.

This is the call of sport, which in its grandiose entirety surpasses the moment of glory. It’s built on a base of emotions running every single day – with or without on field action. It is also the ruthless nature of the sport that we nonchalantly bade goodbye (sometimes even that courtesy is forsaken) to heroes of yore and conveniently replace them with new demi-gods.

Many say it is a display of selfish and tribal emotions without a sense of logic and humanity. Well firstly where did love ever speak the language of logic! And selfish of course we are. That’s the reason we many a times pray for a neutral team’s defeat more than we pray for our victory. That is the instigator for a chorus of boos to unsettle a weak and under fire opponent.

Call it tribal, but few other aspects of human life can claim to churn such emotions in us. In a matter of minutes we go from plucking our scalp off, to crying hoarse with delight (and in the case of Arsenal lately, the other way round). This unknown connect is what makes me wait with bated breath for a Hazard to sign for our club.

Humans have always been addicted to hero worshipping. It was the warlords in the old days, which moved on to an ephemeral “god” (which sadly continues) and today has moved on to sports. These “heroes” offer a benchmark for a mortal like me to emulate. He/she gives me the joy of achievement which in my capability I never can. And once the connect is established – like faith – its mighty tough to break.

Football clubs therefore enjoy the kind of brand loyalty, business houses would kill for. Imagine a band of followers who stick with your product despite having better options elsewhere. A following that in many cases is passed down generations. And a product, which sells without much guarantee or advertisement. Yes fans do revolt and demand a certain level of performance, but deep within they have chosen the club with its inherent imperfections. I would go as far as to say that on many a occassions it’s these imperfections that hold the bond.

I know Barcelona is the best there is now, but nothing could make me shift allegiances despite the obvious fact. I enjoy Arsenal not only because they win (and yes they do win a lot). I follow them because somewhere inside me I find myself in the club. I connect to their austere ways of doing business, I favour their talent nurturing policy, I revere the traditions of a 125 years.

So while we still could not land Hazard, I am happy with what Arsene Wenger has achieved. A healthy pack of talented and proven players for less than an Andy Carroll or a Fernando Torres. That is so Arsenal, and that is good enough for me to stay ever faithful and ever honest. Victoria Concordia Crescit is our motto and I believe in that to the hilt. Now to cheer a string of victories, bring ‘em on!!!

Tour de France 2011 – Stage 21

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‘Cuddles’ may be the epithet given to Cadel Evans by the international community, but it certainly does not seem to describe a 35 year old winner (oldest since the war) of arguably the most gruelling sporting event in the world. Evans described yesterday as the culmination of “20 years of hard work,” and nothing could be nearer to the truth.

His struggles started at birth, as he was born 34 days past the due date, with a broken nose. Then at the tender age of eight he got kicked in the head by his mother’s horse. It left him in coma for a week as doctors struggled to pull fragments of the skull from his brain. Evans displayed his resilience even at such young age, surprising everyone by returning to school within a month of the accident.

Now after endless hours of toil and 8 broken collar bones later he stands tallest in his sport, at the winner’s podium of the  Tour de France 2011.  I admit it might not sound as impressive as Armstrong’s seven victories, but it does not make the Australian’s achievement any less either. To understand that, look beyond the glitz of the Champs-Élysées, at the two painful second places, the crashes, travelling and multiple surgeries and you might start to get the point.

The last stage though was never a challenge for him or any other rider, except Mark Cavendish and José Joaquín Rojas. The duo were separated by a mere 15 points in the green jersey classification, with Rojas the clear outsider here. Cav in the form he is and the incredible HTC-Express to steam him towards the finish, it would have to a mistake from the Manxman and not a powerful sprint that would win the Movistart rider his first jersey.

This year the route was shortened as the organisers realised there is only so long a procession can entice spectators. For most of the last stage in the Tour the atmosphere is amiable with riders holding arms, sipping champagne and joking around. I think the pic below best encapsulates the casual nature of the 21st day of any Tour de France:

Evan’s team BMC had the honour of leading the Tour into Paris and a traditional ride up the world’s most famous boulevard. Thereafter followed six laps down the Louvre, up Rue de Rivoli and around Place de la Concarde, turning these impressive landmarks into a battleground. Team Sky instigated two breakaways through Juan Antonia Flecha and Ben Swift, but they were eventually gobbled up by the peloton.

In a nutshell the HTC lead out men launched Cav to perfection YET again, who then easily held off a hard charging Basson Hagen to claim his fifth victory this year and an impressive third consecutive win at the Champs-Élysées. Cavendish also becomes the first British rider to win the green jersey on Le Tour and has raised his overall stage win tally to 20 from just 5 appearances!

Then it was time for the ceremonies for the awardees, against one of the best backdrop imaginable – Le Arc de Triomphe. Apart from the four jersey winners, Jérémy Roy was declared the super combative rider for this year and Garmin-Cervélo won the overall team honours.

This is a brutal event – more so this year considering the spate of crashes which led to only 167 riders making it to the finish line in Paris compared to the 198 that started at Passage du Gois. This fact has never slipped on the organisers and hence every finisher in the Tour gets a medal and the lifelong right to be known as géant de la route.

Most experts – and all French fans – have tacitly voted Team Europcar as the soul of the 98th Tour de France. Indeed a team that was without a main sponsor and had to undergo a strict cost cutting regime has performed beyond dreams. Ten days in yellow for Voeckler, stage win on the iconic Alpe d’Huez and the white jersey for the best young rider for Pierre Rolland is an impressive record, which beats some of the big name teams.

The great Lance Armstrong himself called Rolland a “rockstar” for his untiring efforts in supporting Veoeckler to stay in the lead - and praise does not come much higher than that. Europcar have laid their hands on a goldmine as the PR and digital attention they received would have far outstripped their investment. The car rental company acknowledged the fantastic work done by the team in this touching and beautiful advert in Sunday’s L’Equipe.

But the story of this Tour for me has to be Johnny Hoogerland. The rider who cartwheeled into a barbed wire fence on stage 9, rode for twelve days through mountains and rain with more than 30 stitches and multiple lacerations. That he managed to finish is commendable enough, but the fact he made it 74th overall is pure legendary! I am out of words here, maybe the organisers should have felicitated him with a special award or something.

Pain and suffering are a sad but inseparable part of cycling in general, and the Tour in particular. This episode saw big names like Bradley Wiggins and Alexandre Vinokourov succumb to horrific injuries. Thank god they have made out of it relatively unscathed. It pains everyone if in today’s age an athlete is lost to the world participating in a sporting event – like the young and  talented Wouter Weylandt sadly did on the Giro this year. Hopefully we shall never have to see such a black day ever again.

It’s a sad feeling every year once the Tour finishes, and now starts a long 11 month wait. These riders ofcourse don’t rest and most would be setting their eyes on the London Olympics before the next Tour. Andy Schleck has yet to meet his destiny, and I strongly belive it is only a matter of ‘when’ not ‘if’ he will win the Tour. For now, I bow to Cadel Evans who has proved he can not only fight, but also win against the best. In fact I salute all 198 participants who had the courage to start in the first place.

Each of the 98 Tours till date have stories of their own, stories of pain, stories of glory, stories of courage, but above all stories the likes of Armstrong have narrated. The message I take out of them is we do not know our own limits, and we never shall till we challenge ourselves. So if you have been reading this space, you do not need to cycle 3400kms across France to prove anything, go out run a marathon, ride a race, swim in a triathlon, do anything, cause (again as Armstrong says) ‘it will make you feel alive, and that should be a good enough reason to do just about anything.’ So till next year then :)

Jersey holders:                                                                 General Classification:

Maillot Jaune –  Cadel Evans                                             Cadel Evans – 86h 12’ 22”           Maillot Vert –  Mark Cavendish                                        Andy Schleck – 86h 13’ 56”         Maillot à Pois Rouges –  Samuel Sánchez                       Frank Schleck – 86h 14’ 52”         Maillot Blanc –  Pierre Rolland

ps: I’ll leave you with probably the best image of this year’s Tour (well atleast for the boys) ;)

Tour de France 2011 – Stage 20

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Tears were in abundance in the eyes of Cadel Evans after his monumental performance in yesterday’s individual time trial. For the records Saturday’s dash against the clock was the penultimate stage this year, however it was the last opportunity to fight for overall supremacy. Final stage of the Tour is always a procession, time for the peloton to soak in the atmosphere and for a sprinter to shine.

Evans hit the road today aiming to turn around the 57 seconds deficit to Andy Schleck, and by the time he was done riding he had minutes in hand, comfortable to do a “Bolt moment” approaching the finish if he wished to. Ofcourse show-boating is not in the nature of the Australian who is often criticized for his introvert nature, but the emotions started flowing soon after Andy had finished his run.

Schleck Jr’s time might not have told the entire story, because he did give it his all. Maybe that audacious break on stage 18, followed by the toil a day later did have something to do with his relative lack of pace today. Such was the attack of Cadel Evans however, that mid way through it was clear that Andy was now racing for second.

He finished and collapsed in the arms of elder brother Frank, after all it cannot be easy to take in a third consecutive “second” place finish in Le Tour. In his own words, Andy had admitted of Friday “I’ve never come this close to winning the Tour.” Evans ensured it would not be a case of so near, yet so far, cause his lead is a very respectable 1min 34sec.

Despite his scorching pace, Evans was second on the day, HTC’s Tony Martin winning the stage in an incredible time of 55′ 33″ (avg speed of 45.9km/h).  Not all that surprising considering the German had won the Critérium du Dauphiné last month on this very route in an comparable time of 55′ 28″. Pre-stage favourite Fabian Cancellara’s run was spoilt by a wet route following early showers (which dried by the time later riders had a go) and he could only finish eighth on the day.

Team Sky’s Edvald Boasson Hagen seemed to be on his way to earn his third, and Norway’s fifth victory of the Tour, until loose handlebars forced him to change his bike after the third time check, wiping his hopes of a competitive time. Philippe Gilbert too hit mechanical woes in his attempt, though the Belgian was never going to match the top times.

Probably the most aggressive rider on the day – apart from Evans – was Alberto Contador. The defending champion knew before starting that his two-year reign was over, but went for broke nevertheless. Fuelled by pride, he matched Martin’s splits in all time checks and finished third on the stage leapfrogging to fifth overall, a place ahead of compatriot Samuel Sánchez.

His tenacity though could not overhaul that enigma Thomas Voeckler. The man who stayed in yellow for the longest period this year had struggled in the past two days, and yesterday was no different. But as he has done all through the Tour’s three weeks (and maybe his career), he kept suffering and pushing to save his fourth place in the standings, a result surpassing all expectations.

Compatriot and team-mate Pierre Rolland also managed to hold on to the maillot blanc with an impressive performance to ensuring there would be French presence on the podium in Paris. His gutsy ride could not earn a place in the top ten (he finished eleventh overall), but the man from Gien has marked himself as a future prospect if nurtured well. Who knows, a couple of Tours later we might see Voeckler guiding him to yellow, and what a turn around that would be.

Talking of turn arounds, Evans is only the fifth man since World War II to overturn a deficit in the final time trial. Today he will have the honour of becoming the first Australian to win the Tour de France, the most impressive addition to his already long list of firsts for a cyclist from down under. He termed his performance today as ‘the ride of his life’ and it would go a long way in silencing his critics who often point to his lack of aggression.

In his moment of triumph Evans had one name to thank above everyone, his Italian mentor, the late Aldo Sassi. “Aldo said to me last year, ‘now that you’ve won the worlds (road race) you’ve made yourself a complete rider. You can win a Grand Tour, and hopefully it will be the Tour de France. For him today, to see me now, it would be quite something.” said Evans, adding, “We went through both good and bad. I had some bad moments in the last 10 years, but this makes the good moments even better.”

As for the Schlecks, they made history too, being the first brothers to finish together on the podium. It might be scant consolation – at least for Andy – but a proud moment for the family nonetheless. He has trained in wind tunnels in San Diego, taken special stretching exercises to improve his aerodynamic efficiency, but all that has failed to improve him in a dash against the clock.

History has taught us that to be the overall winner in the Tour de France, you have to be an overall cyclist. There is no doubt Andy is a champion climber, maybe comparable only to Contador, but if only he could time trial, he would have won the Tour. The bitter truth is that he can’t – and so he hasn’t.

There is nothing much to preview for the final stage of Le Tour. It’s a flat 95km ride to Paris in which all riders will congratulate the maillot jaune, as they enjoy sipping champagne on the road. Later Evans’ team BMC will have the honour to lead the peloton to the Champs-Élysées, and action will resume for a brief six laps of a circuit around the famous landmarks of the city.

The green jersey classification is still mathematically open, though barring a disaster Cavendish should sail through. However there is the matter of the stage finish, and every sprinter worth his salt would love to win in the shadow of the iconic Arc de Triomphe. For the leaders of the Tour it won’t matter. It will be a case of waiting for the finish for one, while the other will yet again be thinking what if…. So till tomorrow then…

Jersey holders:                                                           General Classification:              Maillot Jaune –  Cadel Evans                                       Cadel Evans – 83h 45’ 20” Maillot Vert –  Mark Cavendish                                                Andy Schleck – 83h 46’ 54”        Maillot à Pois Rouges –  Samuel Sánchez                  Frank Schleck – 83h 47’ 50”       Maillot Blanc –  Pierre Rolland

Tour de France 2011 – Stage 19

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Stage 19 was to be all about that dreaded name – L’Alpe d’Huez. 13.8 km of asphalt spaghetti draped across an alpine mountain, it was celebrating its 100th year of terrorising the peloton. A 100 years of making grown men cry, most with agony, but a very select few with sheer joy.

Pierre Rolland was the latest to join that élite latter group, as he claimed the most famous victory of his career. Attacking late on the climb, he pumped big gears, leaving three-time winner Alberto Contador and Olympic champion Samuel Sánchez in his wake. At the finish line waited not only a white jersey, but also membership into a revered club of riders to have mastered the 21 steps of “the devil’s staircase”.

That euphemism comes from the leg sapping 21 hairpin bends that make up the climb to the ski-resort at the summit, and Rolland knew it all too well, “I knew at turn one, I could push the big chainring early on this climb at such a pace because I did it many times in training. This is a stage that I’ve watched dozens of times on video, with Armstrong, Pantani… I studied their cadence. And now it’s me who has won! It will take me a little time before I realize what I’ve done.”

Pierre also brought joy and glory to his nation, with the first home victory in this year’s Tour. His team has already done France proud with Thomas Voeckler holding to yellow against all odds, and a lot of credit for that goes to young Rolland. Today’s winner has been the super-domestique for Voeckler all Tour long, guiding the maillot jaune up slopes that not many had expected him to survive.

Today though Voeckler had realised by the second climb of the day that the show was over for him. Unable to keep pace with Contador and Andy Schleck, he set Rolland free, ““I said I wanted to do everything possible to defend the yellow jersey of Thomas but on the climb of the Galibier, he told me, ‘Seize your chance, don’t worry about me’. This is also where I see that he is a great champion, one who was able to tell me to go at the right time,” said Pierre.

Voeckler fought valiantly, screaming, grimacing, dancing over the handle bars, doing his best as he has all of the ten days in yellow. But today even his indefatigable spirit and immense will power were not enough to protect the maillot jaune. Maybe he panicked and made a mistake when he tried to chase the leaders solo up the Galibier. Common sense would have suggested for him to hold back and wait for his team, and let then nurture him back to the leading pack.

Some are commenting he did not have that confidence in his team, but I for one don’t buy that. It is the nature of the man, he has always been a fighter. In fact its this very virtue of his that has made him dodge the favourites for 10 days each in 2004 and this year. He is an all or nothing person, when thrown a challenge he goes all guns blazing, no thinking and tactics for him, just pure guts.

Another gutsy rider on the day was defending champion Alberto Contador. The Spaniard blew up all calculations as he attacked within 15km of the start, early on the climb of Col du Télégraphe. Among the top contenders only Evans and Andy Schleck could match Contador’s multiple accelerations. Voeckler, Schleck Sr and Ivan Basso, were all dropped once Alberto began his trademark dance on the pedals.

And then disaster struck for Cadel Evans. He had to dismount thrice due to mechanical troubles, and eventually changed to a new bike from his team car, losing over a minute to the Contador group in the process. It took him one and a half mountains of effort to catch up with the lead group and save his Tour, as he had chased Andy Schleck only a day before.

At the front of the race Alberto seemed to be a man on a mission. He had cracked on the climb of the Galibier on thursday, and had himself declared the challenge for yellow all but finished. Today was then about redemption, to show everyone that the Spanish bull had not laid arms. He was doing most of the hard work ahead as Andy was content to stay in his slipstream, knowing all too well Contador was not his main rival now.

But once they knew Evans was pulling back, Andy did share the workload, though that was not to be enough. The Australian caught up with the leaders near the 25km banner, and though his team were instrumental in the chase, it was mostly a solo effort by the BMC leader. Once the favourites were all together, the group called truce for a while.

That peace was short-lived, broken by Pierre Rolland right on the foot of last climb. He pumped ahead knowing all too well the leaders would not be bothered to chase him back, Contador though had other plans. As on the Télégraphe he surged ahead viciously and this time no one responded. Alberto was too far behind in time to bother the Schlecks or Evans and all he sought was a victory on the hallowed summit.

He seemed to be going well as he overtook Pierre, with his form of yore that even the best find hard to challenge, nevertheless compatriot Sánchez set on a chase with Rolland. The Frenchman was being the tactician, using Sánchez to pull him up the slopes towards Contador. Despite furious gestures from Sánchez, Rolland refused to share the workload, till they caught up with the defending champion.

Once they did, Rolland almost immediately jumped on to a big gear and being relatively fresher of three, raced ahead to the stage victory. It was a justified reward, as Rolland has been a revelation all Tour long. He also moved into the lead of the best young rider classification and is being seen as probably the next French winner of the Tour since Bernard Hinault in 1985.

Sánchez also did not go empty-handed for all his effort up the Alpe d’Huez and finished second on the day between Rolland and Conatador. His biggest reward was earning the polka dot jersey for the king of the mountains. With no mountain points on offer in the last two stages, he will carry that till Paris, a remarkable achievement for a small team like Eukaltel-Easkadi.

Behind them Evans tried a few attacks, and a final dash to the line but was unable to shake off the two Schleck brothers. That means he heads for the Individual Time Trial of Saturday in third place, 57 seconds behind Andy Schleck who inherited yellow from Voeckler (who eventually finished 3’22″ behind) at the end of the day.

Stage 20 is a 42km solo race against the clock in Grenoble. No team mates, no shields behind attackers, just pure man and machine against the wind. The route is rolling and will not suit a pure specialist, especially as it comes after three gruelling days in the mountains. Evans is the clear favourite here compared to the Schlecks, but so was he in 2008 against Sastre, and was not able to turn the tables on that day.

Nerves, luck, crowd support and pure motivation are among the several factors that will come into play today in addition to personal ability of course. Deciding a three-week, 3400km long Tour in a short 42kms on the penultimate day is like deciding a marathon with a 100m sprint, but that is the unpredictability of sport. 57 seconds is the magical figure separating the two challengers, and as the great Eddy Merckx would say, ” It’s a lot and it is nothing.” So till tomorrow then…

Jersey holders:                                                           General Classification:              Maillot Jaune –  Andy Schleck                                                 Andy Schleck – 82h 48’ 43” Maillot Vert –  Mark Cavendish                                                Frank Schleck – 82h 49’ 36”       Maillot à Pois Rouges –  Samuel Sánchez                               Cadel Evans – 82h 49’ 40”         Maillot Blanc –  Pierre Rolland