The Beauty of the Cycling Fan's Pursuit

We may not all dress like the devil, but other cycling fans feel the same way when they see the peloton

As an announcer and reporter of cycling, I find many opportunities to observe the sport of cycling through the eyes of the fans. In these moments, whether it is a small child seeing the fleeting peloton pass by for the first time or the die hard fan rooting on their favorite team or rider, I remember the true beauty and simplicity of the sport.

I have always believed that you either love cycling or you don't care about it either way. Some people look at a bike race and see only a big group of people riding close to each other. But to the cycling aficianado, the true fan, therein lies much more. Instead, the cycling fan sees a game within a game, an ebbing and flowing, a fluid organism capable of various appearances at any given time. In short, a cycling fan sees life.

It is this 'life' that attracts one to the sport. It is in watching a sprinter like Tom Boonen battle over the huge climbs of the Tour de France in order to get to Paris. It is in seeing Tyler Hamilton, waaaay past his prime, soldier on for the love of the sport. It is in George Hincapie and Chris Horner, a desire to ride until no one wants them, until they can no longer derive a living from the activity. Few sports exhibit such passion, such perserverance, such grit.

And surrounding all this 'life' are the fans, the followers of the sport that support their favorite rider year in and year out. At the prologue in San Francisco at the 2007 Tour of California, while setting up for the race early in the morning, I saw a man sitting by himself on a news paper vending machine. He had a bag draped over his shoulder, and was wearing a Colnago world champion cycling hat. It was chilly outside, and he patiently sipped a hot coffee as I approached him.

I nodded hello and we started talking. Salvatore was his name, he was from Italy, and had been living in America for over 15 years. After telling me to call him "Sal," he explained that he was here for one reason and one reason only: Paolo Bettini. He had a "Squadra Azzura" jersey in his bag, along with a matching Italia cycling cap and a magazine with Bettini on the cover. As he showed me each treasure, he smiled a little bigger and became more animated as he described his hero. He was there four hours before the prologue to secure a spot at the front of the crowd for when Bettini arrived. Observing him, I could see the underlying concentration on his face not to miss his moment. I wished him luck and walked away.

A few hours later, I returned to the area where the team busses were to be parked. Some of the teams had already arrived, including the Discovery and CSC teams. They had run some yellow police tape around their campers, so as to keep the fans at a safe distance from the riders. I looked around for the man I had seen that morning, but he was nowhere to be found. I began walking back toward where I had seen him earlier that day.

As I approached the spot, I realized that I was arriving at the perfect moment to see the man's plan fulfilled. He was looking purposefully up the road, scanning the roadway ahead for any sign of his hero. Just then, a car approached carrying the world champion in the front seat. Springing into action, the man positioned himself in front of the passenger side door as the car came to a stop.

It was a beautiful thing to watch. Bettini non-chalantly stepped out of the team car, resplendant in his world champion's rainbow jersey. Meanwhile, in one fluid motion, Sal had the Italia jersey and hat in one hand, and a black sharpie in the other. He quickly presented both to Bettini, who signed first the hat and then the jersey. As Bettini signed the hat, the man carefully reached into his bag for the magazine. By the time Bettini finished signing the jersey, the magazine appeared just beneath as the final article to sign. After scribbling his name a third time, this time on a magazine, Bettini nodded at Sal and strode toward the team camper.

Sal meanwhile tucked the magazine and jersey back into the bag along with the cap, and scurried out of the way of the crowd toward a nearby bench. He was spent. Taking in a deep breath, he exhaled and looked up at the sky before carefully unfurling the jersey, cap and magazine from his bag. I walked over to him just as he was purveying his newly signed merchandise. Looking up at me, he smiled a mile-wide and held out his hand. With the conviction of someone that has accomplished exactly what they set out to do, he said to me, "I really got him to sign all three!" He was completely in his element, and completely satisfied.

I think back on Sal often as an example of what it means to be a true cycling fan. We're a strange lot, capable of patience and precision when searching out a given rider. Some people only want a handshake, others to ask a question, and others an autograph. Sal waited for about five hours just to interact briefly with Bettini for just under a minute. Yet to him it was completely worth it. I know how he feels. A year later, I would wait six hours in the pouring rain to see Toyota United's Dominique Rollin take the cold, rainy queen stage of the 2008 Tour of California. I gladly would have waited seven.