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Snerf's slant: The 2004 Nicole Freedman Diary
Sprinter, 2000 Olympian and a founder of the Basis women's team, Nicole Freedman - known as Snerf to her friends - is one of the US circuit's great characters. Her goal for 2004 is to make the Olympic team for Israel and failing that "to see one of my developmental teammates win their first NRC race and subsequently take all their prize money."
Been everywhere, seen nothing
April 15: A side trip to Israel
With 10 days separating the Novilon Damesronde van Drenthe and the Fleche Wallonne World Cup, I decide, why not to take a jaunt to Israel? I have seen a bit of light travel in my last eight weeks: New Mexico, Arizona, Australia, San Francisco, Italy, France, Spain, Belgium, Netherlands. Why not another trip? And, what better time to go to Israel now that Bush is announcing his unilateral support for Sharon, enraging every Palestinian man, woman, child and pet?
The purpose of my trip is to meet with the Israeli Cycling Federation, to ride with some of the Israeli women racers and to register to receive a sports scholarship through the government. The year-long scholarship, apparently, will provide more financial support in three months than I received from the US in 10 years. Fulfilling a life-long dream, I immediately purchase an around-the-world ticket to follow Britney Spears as she performs live in every continent.
My mom suggests enthusiastically, "Israel, wow, you must visit (insert name of some internationally famous historic site, probably 50 meters from where I will stay, that I will never see)."
"Corey, don't be ridiculous, you know SHE," my dad responds using his favorite pet name for me, "GOES EVERYWHERE AND SEES NOTHING!"
Prior to arriving, I call ahead to Danny and Laurie, my hosts for the week in Israel. Laurie was born in Vermont and immigrated to Israel 11 years ago. She is Israel's top mountain biker and made a valiant attempt at an Olympic mountain bike spot. Danny volunteers for the federation. Both are perfectly bilingual, as are their two dogs, whom understand both English and Hebrew commands, making me wonder how after spending $100,000 on college I am linguistically inferior to a dog.
I ask Danny, "So, where do you live?"
"On the outskirts of The West Bank," he responds.
"Hmmm, that sounds soo familiar," I think to myself, "Well, see you soon."
Israel is a gorgeous country. It has a strong Mediterranean flair -- lush desert, colorful mountains, brilliant water with distinctive Mediterranean architecture. In an ironic way, it feels like a peaceful, un-congested version of the Los Angeles mountains.
Most importantly, Israel is a desert, which sounds tempting after five weeks of spring rain in Europe. Upon my arrival, all the stereotypical pictures I am so anxiously awaiting -- sweating Middle Easterners pulling camels through suffocating heat with dry sand flying around (translation: warm riding) -- are erased. The 100 or something year drought ends and I ride again in the rain.
Israel's cycling program is still in its infancy. Israel has just 600 registered racing cyclists. The ten-year goal is to build this to 601 cyclists. Unlike many federations, the Israeli Cycling Federation is comprised of just five or six volunteers and one paid employee.
The daunting questions at hand are "How do you build a strong program from the ground up?" and "Should the goal be to build a top elite program or to introduce cycling to as many Israelis as possible?" These are incredibly difficult questions. Fortunately, I provided absolutely no help with answers.
While small, the Israeli Cycling Federation is off to what I believe is the right start - the program's underlying philosophy is on target. The Israeli Federation is unwavering in its support, encouragement and trust of athletes of all abilities. After a good race, congratulatory emails come in. After a poor race, consolatory emails flood the inbox. "Sorry about the race. Have you considered curling?" More than anything else, this positive and welcoming attitude will encourage the sport's growth at all levels.
On my final day I ride with some of the top Israeli women cyclists. While I have coached many high caliber athletes, I am impressed how advanced these riders seem; none wear underwear beneath their cycling shorts. We ride then finish with coffee.
In a strange way, I feel like I have known these riders a long time. I have this same feeling with most of the people I meet in Israel. It is a very comforting feeling and reassures me that I will return soon.
Five days after I arrive, I return to Belgium.
April 19: Getting to Soumagne for the Fleche Wallone
Having diverged from my team, it is my responsibility to find my way to Soumagne, Belgium, where the team is staying prior to the Fleche Wallone World Cup.
I am excited for this adventure - is it possible to get from Israel to Soumagne alone, on public transportation, carrying a bike bag stuffed to the point that when travelers ask me "What is in the bag?" and I respond "My grandmother (before shrinkage)", nobody gives this a second thought?
Studying my options, I choose the most direct route: two airplane legs, one metro train, and one national train, two buses and a llama.
Departing the Brussels airport I see a Quick Step rider heading to meet his team for the Amstel Gold race. He is striking to look at. Not quite as macho looking as the typical American superstar athlete, he is the size of a toothpick. Cycling, I determine, is just never going to make it in the United States.
I hop on the elevator to descend to the train station. I press the "-1" button. A man enters next. The "-1" button already alight, he presses the same button anyway. I roll my eyes, "What a controlling jerk," I mumble, well aware that I too am a 'double pusher.' I make a mental note to create an elevator that gives an electric shock to double pushers.
My final bus slows as promised giving me a view of my future home, the 'Domaine de Wegimont' on the left. The bus picks up speed and stops a mile later.
I wisely stop in the nearest bar for help. "People wouldn't possibly be drunk before noon," I think to myself.
"Your hotel is only 500 meters up the road," the owner tells me in French.
"Yes I saw that, but my grandmother can't possibly make it that far, " I respond in a combination of sign language and pig Latin.
As I had hoped, an overly kind bar patron takes pity and offers me a ride. Reality flashes through my mind. Only someone with a severe drinking problem is in a bar before noon.
We do make it to the hotel. In the European way, I am treated to a few goodbye kisses. Isn't it normally just three kisses in Europe?
The final five hours from Brussels to Soumagne cost just $12, barely $2.2 dollars per hour. We have gone a total of 36 miles. A quick recalculation reveals that dollars per mile, (or more appropriately miles per dollar) is a more telling statistic.
Our latest team hotel is a gem; an historic 16th century castle renovated with rooms for groups. Breaking our team one-star hotel tradition, this hotel is equipped with all the latest modern amenities, circa an age when people rode around on horses wearing shiny metal and stabbing people with swords. The walk from the bedroom to the nearest bathroom take approximately 3 train transfers; the management laughs when you ask where the phone is; shoes are really a "good idea" in the shower.
I am just counting the days (now eight) until I can go home and live off my parents again.
Till after the Fleche,
Nicole
