GC Kuss

 It's hard and cruel to be a professional cyclist. You suffer a lot in preparation, you sacrifice your life, your family, and you do everything you can to be ready. After you get here you realize that everyone is incredibly strong and its hard to follow the wheels sometimes.

Matej Mohorič, after winning Tour de France stage 19

Sepp and Jonas

Sepp Kuss, born 29 years ago in Durango, Colorado, riding for the Jumbo-Visma team, won the Vuelta a Espana's mountain top Stage 6, alone. He high-fived spectators lining the finish line, grinned that very Sepp Kuss grin and took the accolades on the winner's podium. He was within a short drive from the home he shares with his wife in Andorra, and these were his most ardent fans. He also took in a very healthy amount of the Cava (Spanish champagne) magnum the stage winner is handed. It was his moment to shine. Apparently, the last thing on his mind was the leader's jersey.

 Helping others is where Sepp Kuss makes his living as a high-mountain domestique. It is exactly as it sounds - he takes care of others so that, when the time comes, they can ride to glory. Fetches them water bottles, grabs a feed bag and shares its contents, paces someone back when they have something go wrong (or when they've had to make a nature break). As the brutal, steep and unrelenting climbs (that often decide a grand tour) appear, he is among the dwindling riders at the front. Sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, but always within striking distance of his team leader. Everyone is approaching their limit - the pain difficult to bear. Then, Sepp strikes.

 

His riding shatters the small group, leaving... Often, leaving only him and his team leader. Eventually he accedes to the reality of his role. The team leader, having been aided up the mountain, bursts forward to snatch precious second over his rivals. Sepp? Job done, he arrives at the finish spent, as often as not ignored by the cameras. Back to the bus, a shower, dinner. Prepare for the next day, which might be yet another mountaintop finish in the Alps, the Pyrenees, the Apennines. Back to the front, back to supporting the team leader. Back to riding at his limit for as long and as hard as he is able. He's done that for every Grand Tour in which he participated, and whenever one of his teammates wins the overall, it's been with Sepp's help.

A funny thing happened. Fellow Jumbo rider (2023 Tour of Italy winner) Primoz Roglic won Stage 8, but... Math and hard riding put Sepp in the red leader's jersey - first in the "General Classification." GC Kuss, get it? Yay, Sepp. A fitting reward for all of his hard work. Something for his resume, a jersey to hang in his den. In a couple of days there was an individual time trial - the "Race of Truth." Remco Evenepoel (Soudal - Quick-Step), the world time trial champion (the defending Vuelta 2022 winner) would, inevitably, surpass Sepp and that would be that. Back to riding for his team leaders Primoz, and Jonas Vingegaard. 

"That's the first time trial I've ridden where no one passed me," Sepp said later, laughing. Two reasons. He started last - there was no one left to pass him. And, he rode an excellent time trial. He "exceeded expectations." Evenepoel - talented but mercurial Remco - did not ride well enough to take the red jersey. In the world of high stakes cycle racing, barring some kind of disaster (a crash, or horrible legs) that should have been that. Sepp's Jumbo-Visma team shepherds him to the finish, there are wild celebrations, and...

One of the alluring things about cycle racing is the human drama. Not just the competition, not just watching men and women wrest the very last ounces of endurance from their bodies. No - cycle racers are crazy. Let me tell you a story.

I rode for nearly a month, day in and day out, with a guy named Glenn - Oregon, Idaho, Montana and Wyoming. Long climbs, frightening descents ("Hold my wheel and you'll be fine," he said) and long stretches of monotonous flats. He'd "done some racing in California" he said in passing as I gasped for breath. Bicycle racers were assholes, he observed. He showed me the proper way to secure the quick releases on my wheels so no one could flip them as they rode past. He taught me to ride close to the wheel of another cyclist without overlapping, lest that person take you out. "Back in the peloton, guys trying to get position on you will fuck with you."

We were sitting around a fire in Teton National Park - soon after, we parted ways but remained friends for years - and other cyclists asked to join us. It wasn't long, or many beers, later that one of the guys pointed at Glenn and said, "Do you know who that is? He was cycling champion of California." That, I did not know. It had never come up. I turned to my friend... "Asshole."

So, there was always going to be drama. Jumbo seemed to implode with petty jealousies and pointless bickering. Team management seemed content to "Let the riders decide" - cycle racers are assholes - and it seemed that in a sport where fans loving a team makes the sponsors happy they decided on a different course. "Hear me out," said the pointed meme. "Let's see what happens if people hate us." Of the three strongest riders - teammates Sepp, Jonas and Primoz - it was often hard to see who was odd man out. Then, Primoz rode Sepp off his wheel. Social media went nuts.

It must have been an interesting team meeting. I can imagine the phone calls from sponsors - "Get those assholes under control before no one wants to shop in our stores" - which is something to which management is particularly sensitive. Suddenly, it was smiles all around. Of course they were riding for Sepp. Don't be silly. Etcetera.

That's what they did. They protected Sepp, kept him safe. They did for him what he had done for them over thousands of kilometers, all over the world. They made sure he was right where he needed to be. They chased down attacks, they helped him avoid the argy-bargy at the end of sprint stages. Behind the scenes, they made sure he knew how to win a grand tour.

One little moment... On a high mountain late in the Vuelta Jonas led, Primoz on his wheel and Sepp tucked safely behind them. A small group of climbers raced to the top. Suddenly several strong riders attack the group, opening up a gap. Like a shot, Sepp covers it - rides not just onto their wheels but past them. Big grin, fresh legs, he's racing his bike and having the time of his life. He jumps out in front and... Jonas Vingegaard, twice winner of the Tour de France, says something into his race radio. Sepp returns to the fold and the three teammates, with nothing more to prove, ride to the finish.

It's the end of Stage 21 and the team is celebrating Sepp's victory in the small paddock among the trucks and busses of the Vuelta caravan. Sepp's mom has found Jonas, still astride his bike and taking it all in. She embraces him and says "He's learned so much from you."

Sepp Kuss, deserving Vuelta champion, on a team that found their true identity as champions.

A Pirate Looks At Good Bye

 "If we couldn't laugh, we would all go insane."

Jimmy Buffett, "Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes," (1977)

Reflecting on the passing of lifestyle icon Jimmy Buffett.

Seventy-six hard charging years at the helm of sand, sail, and a business empire that the man himself said began with the realization he could sing. It has become a multi-billion dollar concern that is still growing.

It began with "Come Monday," a tune he said paid the bills for a long time as his music career took hold. He and his girlfriend - she became his wife for life - drove their old pickup to the beach so they could film a music video of that song.

Jimmy kept working at his brand, blending an ear for storytelling with a showman's gift of gab. Steeped in the Key West island sound, he played the bar scene until the breakout 1977 mammoth Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes introduced the world to the term "Margaritaville" which, Jimmy said a thousand times, was anywhere you wanted it to be.

The party atmosphere of his concerts promised not just good music and his unique island-style banter, but it stamped one's membership as a "Parrothead." You were part of the scene, no matter the venue. You could have an island lifestyle, whether you were in Fort Myers Beach, Florida, or Fort Lupton, Colorado.

Indeed, all it took was the music, a Hawaiian shirt and a superfood beverage made from distilled blue agave, limes and some kind of orange liquor. Walking into a Margaritaville restaurant in Cozumel, we were greeted by a pirate, who graciously posed for pictures with us...which, I assume, was his job. A seaside veranda table gave us a view of the Yucatan, excellent island drinks in souvenir glasses ("Pour me something tall and strong") and delicious seafood. Pictures of the man hung on the walls, along with seafaring totems - nets, sails... Below us, a swim dock with a slide, an aquatic trampoline and a dozen party-goers enjoying the water. Over the house speakers, of course, the sounds of the man himself.

 How pervasive was the man, and his trademark? He appears in the movie "Jurassic World," just another diner in an outdoor restaurant invaded by flying prehistoric carnivores. His moment in front of the camera? He is fleeing in great haste, but not before snagging a couple of frosted margs for the road.

Margaritaville, it turns out, is about sharing. Sharing an interest, sharing a place, sharing moments stolen from an otherwise hectic life. It is sipping a cold marg out on the back deck on a warm summer evening, in the company of the love of my life and the dogs that give us so much. It is sharing an unlikely island bar with a few dozen brand new Syracuse basketball fans during tournament time. It is a laptop, an array of characters and a passion for writing. It's Ubering to our favorite local restaurant on the day I retired - alive and with my dignity intact - to share a meal and a few margaritas with Pat.

It was a restaurant in downtown Denver, Mexican food and the best house marg in town in the company of an adult daughter. It was in the faces we made as we sampled an Oklahoma wine margarita, and how quickly we broke out her Margaritaville frozen drink maker. It's sitting on her back porch in Edmond on a 95 degree day watching her kids play with their dog.

Where is Margaritaville? With Mr. Jimmy Buffett to guide us, it is in the hearts of everyone who sees paradise as a state of mind, a place in your heart. Fair winds and following seas, sir.