The e-Bike Revolution

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My name is Sam.  And I ride an e-bike.  There.  I said it out loud.  Don’t shame me or look down your nose at my very un-bike rider body style and shape.  I like to ride my bike, and my e-bike has kept me in the sport.

Technically, the bike I ride is actually called an e-assist.  It has a 750w electric motor in it that “assists” you when you’re pedaling. You don’t pedal, it doesn’t go anywhere.  HOA’s, your neighbors and the local sheriff’s department are talking about “e-bikes” a lot and those are something totally different.  If it has a throttle on the handlebars, that’s not an e-assist.   That’s either a moped (with pedals) or a mini-bike.  They can be a menace.  Anybody would be hard pressed to differentiate an “e-assist” bike from a regular road or gravel bike. But in the bicycle industry, the bike I ride is generally referred to as an “e-bike.”

Apparently I’m not alone in my trepidation to admit I’m riding an “e-bike.”

“Europe was a little late to the scene as culturally e-Bikes were seen as ‘giving up’ on riding,” Clive Marshall, the owner and operator of Italy Bike Tours, a cycling touring company based in Northern Italy, explained. “The game changer was the aesthetics of the e-bike. It’s become less obvious and people feel more comfortable riding them and no longer feel odd.”

I started riding in the early ‘80’s thanks to my friend Rick, a photographer at the TV station I worked for.  Like everybody, I was on a steel bike for a while, Schwinn’s, Treks, Giants, and others. I started to make a little more money, which meant I could look beyond the bikes I’d been riding and into the top brands and all the toys that go with them. Once I sampled the different manufacturers and models my friend Phil had in the shop (www.championcycling.net) there was no question that I’d own a Pinarello.

Quintessentially Italian in design and function, I never feel like I get “on” my bike but rather I feel like I get “in” it.  There is something about the geometry of the Dogma 2 that fits me, so much so that I haven’t upgraded the frame in years but rather put SRAM Red electronic on it, Zipp 303’s and an EVO integrated handlebar that changed the feel of the whole bike. I know, I’m still the guy  with outdated rim brakes, and I’m sure sometime soon I’ll find another Pinarello that fits me.

Which brings me to e-bikes.  After two hip and two knee replacements and turning seventy years old, I still wanted to ride.  My surgeon, John Redmond, assured me I’d be able to do that and through a lot of rehab, physical therapy and time, I’ve proved him right.  I just completed the “Last 12 days of the Giro” with Italy Bike Tours covering about 450 miles and 20,000 of climbing in ten days of riding.

All on an e-bike.

When my friend Alex and I started discussing riding along with the Giro this year, I mentioned that an e-bike might be in my future.  “Thank God,” he said with a laugh and joined in. (When Alex told his cycling buddies he’d be on an e-Bike, one of his friends chided him for not riding under his own power.  Alex’s response?  “Hey, it’s my trip, not yours”.)

I’ll admit, having climbed Mt. Ventoux on a steel bike with a triple (the hardest thing I’ve ever done), finishing Alpe d’huez, and taking on numerous other climbs in Europe and the US, it was a leap to swallow my pride and get some help.

“An e-bike gives the rider a greater ability to continue riding,” Phil, my friend and still co-owner of Champion Cycling here in North Florida explained.  “When they have otherwise quit riding because of ailments or injuries, riding a conventional bike would have been difficult to maintain the same level of riding.  An e-bike can help with that.”

Watching professional cyclists compete and take on some of the iconic routes around the world is different than doing it as an everyday amateur. But that’s one of the attractive things about the sport, your ability to ride the same roads with the same equipment, take on the same challenges and in some cases, measure yourself against the best.  Few of us will ever serve at Centre Court at Wimbledon, stand in the batter’s box at Camden Yards, tap in a goal at Old Trafford or throw a pass from the 50-yard line at EverBank Field.  Golf gives you a chance to see how the professionals take on the best courses in the world (albeit under elevated conditions that are reversed as soon as a tournament ends).  Cycling offers that same experience.

“You see so much more when you’re on your bike,” Alex said of the experience chasing the Giro around Northern Italy. “Towns, vineyards, lakes, rivers.  It’s all the stuff you see on TV that you get to experience.  There’s no substitute for that.”

Riding through the finish line on a few stages of the Giro was fun with people six-deep along the last kilometer or so. Italy Bike Tours offered that as part of their package and while it wasn’t an overriding factor in choosing to go with them, it was a nice perk along the way.  I’ll admit though, “How many of those people recognize I’m on an e-bike?” did go through my head a couple of times.

But I got over it.

Two factors played into my ignoring I was on an e-bike from an athletic standpoint:  First, the bike doesn’t go anywhere unless you pedal it. There’s a torque meter in the crank that signals the small electric motor to kick in and help.  And second, in Europe they limit the help only up to 25 Kilometers per hour (about 15.5 MPH).  I had a Guerciotti Navir I.ON, a traditional Milanese Italian bike, painted the colors of the Italian Flag. Gorgeous machine. It had five levels of assist, disc brakes and handled beautifully.  But it was heavy. Twenty-two kilos. If the group decided they wanted to push the pace a bit, I was providing all the power above 15 MPH.  There were some other riders in our group on e-bikes made by Ridley, lighter, and easier to pedal above where the assist stopped.  They didn’t have any problem staying with the main group.

“I decided to do one climb without any assist,” Alex said, with a bit of wistfulness in his voice. “But I only did that once.  Learned my lesson.  On the flats, no problem.  On the climbs, a little assist goes a long way. E-Bikes are like metal woods. They’re a new tech that benefits everybody.”

I did fall behind on the flats, which I didn’t mind, especially since the IBT guides, Julio, Nicolai and Nicola all kept an eye on me, dropping back to check that I was doing fine.

“Tutto bene,” I’d say when they asked.  Eventually they figured out that I was biding my time until the next climb or hill in the Italian countryside.  That’s when the assist really makes a difference.

Holding onto a little bit of pride, I kept my bike on level three of five, partially conserving battery and partially because I wanted to get some work in.  Three (of five levels of assist) was great for me, I know Alex turned his off occasionally and used two generally, but three was the right number for me.  As the road would tick up, my level of work would also increase but it was a great feeling having the bike helping me along.  I imagine that’s what the great climbers feel like all the time!  I still had to get on the right chainring and in the right gear to take on some of the steeps, but finding a rhythm and a line on the hill was the focus instead of, “Am I going to make it?”

“When you’re on a bike tour, it’s about the riding, the scenery, the camaraderie and the wine, the whole experience.  But how you feel the moment you put your foot down and that day’s ride is over might be the most important thing,” Marshall explained.  “Are you exhausted? Miserable?  Happy?  Joyous?  That’s what you’ll remember.  And for some people, the e-bike provides that moment.”

I burned plenty of calories, I saw beautiful vistas and I didn’t feel like I might collapse when I finished the climbs on this trip.  Just what I was looking for.

Living in Florida, most of my riding is flat, but I do own an e-bike.  It’s a Pinarello Nytro Gravel with a single chainring on the front.  It has three levels of assist, and I usually ride it with none or one.  The first level of assist negates the weight of the bike.  If it’s super windy, I’ll use some assist riding into the wind. And if I’m in a group ride, I can keep up with the riders who occasionally want to hammer at the front with just the touch of a button.

“About fifty percent of our customers are buying e-bikes,” Phil explained. “The popularity has been very rapid.  They’re bringing in a very wide range of customers, a lot of customers we wouldn’t have seen in the past.”

This is where Europe is still a bit behind the curve. You could say the riding standard of fitness is higher in Europe than it is in the US but the riding population as a whole in the US is far larger than it is in Europe. So it’s caught on in the States with a more casual cycling crowd more quickly.

But it’s growing worldwide.  The Giro d’Italia has sanctioned an event called the “Giro-E.”  Italy Bike Tours has started a whole new brand that just caters to e-bikers.

“We created Mamma Mia E-Bike Tours because guests want to ride with fellow e-bikers,” Marshall explained. (https://www.mammamiaebiketours.com) “About fifteen percent of our riders are on e-bikes but I feel there is a space that just caters to e-bikers.”

Marshall has also seen an increase in “multi-generational” holidays where whole families can ride together to explore cultures and countries.

My Dogma 2 still gets plenty of use, especially when I’m specifically working on fitness.  And I just like to be on it.  But when it comes to hills, or keeping up with my friends, I’m grabbing my e-bike.

And I won’t feel bad about it either.

Back On My Bike: Two Weeks in Italy Following the Giro

Back On My Bike: Two Weeks in Italy Following the Giro

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After four joint replacements and other physical ailments over the past 7 years, I wanted to go on a bike trip this year to see how my body reacted.  As some of you know, I’ve ridden my bike around the US and in several countries in Europe, sometimes just going on a trip with friends or family and others involving the big international races.  Riding in Italy has always been one of my favorites, so I asked the guys at the bike shop and my friend Dirk if they’d like to come along.  The guys at the shop all seemed to be busy (and they went to Belgium last year) and Dirk didn’t see much hope in going as a fairly newlywed, buying a new house, added responsibilities at work and his wife taking a new job.

But clearly, he married the right woman because the conversation apparently went like this:

“I was talking to Sam about going to the Giro this year at the end of May and …” he opened with.

“You have to go,” his wife immediately responded. “You know you guys are not getting any younger.”

That was a kind thing to say, considering Dirk is a better rider and younger enough than me to make a difference.  He did have an ankle issue earlier this year that kept him off his bike, but he’s still plenty proficient.

So, when his call to me started with, “I guess we’re going to the Giro,” our research began.  Dirk is good at ferreting out potential companies, and we settled on Italy Bike Tours.

They have an alliance with the Giro (www.italybiketours.com) and while parts of the three-week Giro-adjacent trips were sold out, we got in on the “Last 12 Days of the Giro” starting in Milan and finishing in Rome.

We opted not to go to Rome, so our riding would all be in Northern Italy, around the famous lakes and in some famous wine regions, including Piedmonte and Veneto.  That part of the Giro was scheduled to go through some of the most iconic scenery, climbs and routes most cyclists know about in Italy and Switzerland.  The trip seemed to be a good value with Italy Bike Tours offering transfers, riding, hotels, hospitality and a bunch of meals throughout the twelve days.

It would be a good test for me.  I was cleared to work out and ride my bike at whatever level I wanted just five months ago, so my fitness level has suffered a drop-off in the last decade and honestly, I’m carrying a little more weight than I’d like. (Cleared, I’m working on that!  I can tell you at seventy, it’s harder to shed pounds than it was at sixty and a fifty and … well if you have any years on you, you know what I mean.)

I’ve never been a particularly fast rider, although I can keep up in a Florida peloton on flat roads, and I’ve always been too big (usually 6’3” 235) to be a climber.  But I do like to ride my bike and the culture in the cycling community. Before my first joint replacement, I told my surgeon, John Redmond (who is the best btw), that I’d give up all the rest of the crazy physical stuff, but when the rehab was over, I wanted to still play golf and ride my bike with my friends.  He promised I’d be able to do both.  I am getting back to better golf, and this trip would test his theory.  Over the years, I have found the one thing I’m good at on my bike: stamina.  I can pretty much go all day.

Knowing these limitations, I decided for this trip (and maybe in the future) I’d rent an e-bike to help me along.  I’ve thought that development in cycling technology would keep me in the sport longer when it first came out.  I know it sounds wimpy, but I’m on vacation and wanted to enjoy myself! Besides, e-bikes don’t go anywhere unless you pedal them, most with a torque meter in the crank, giving you an assist based on how hard you’re working.

Funny thing, Dirk agreed immediately.  “Thank God,” he said with a laugh.

Choosing Italy Bike Tours turned out to be a master stroke of luck.  I’ll start by saying, they’re fabulous. (I paid full price for this trip, so my endorsement is genuine.)  I’m sure it’s hard to be a tour operator to begin with, but designing a bike tour around one of the Grand Tours involves a lot of logistics and a lot of unknowns.  The route of the Giro changes every year, so they have to wait for it to come out, usually in November, to start their planning.  This year, the Giro was negotiating with Bulgaria about the price the country would pay for hosting the start and the first three stages, and that dragged on until nearly Christmas.  So IBT, and everybody else, was scrambling to get things planned and offered to the public.

The twelve day trip turned into fourteen trying to deal with the airlines and with an expected day in Milan to visit with Dirk’s friend Lucca.  Delta Airlines (www.Delta.com)  was unreliable as ever, getting me to New York late. Exactly why I decided to go a day early.  The following day we inventoried our gear, had a pastrami sandwich for lunch and headed to JFK.  The transformation of LaGuardia from the worst to possibly the best airport in the US can only give us hope that the same authority is going to do the same at Kennedy.  The new Delta One lounge there is fabulous, but otherwise, I don’t like flying out of there.  After an hour and forty minutes in a $125 Uber, we walked the normal mile to get to the Emirates check-in for our nonstop to Milan.

From everything I heard about Emirates, (www.Emirates.com) I was excited to fly in one of their flagship Airbus 380’s.  I have to say the check-in process at their counter was less than what their standard proclaims.  True to form, JFK TSA walked us out of the line and downstairs to another line.  Only amusing because it was just as long as the first line.  I have Clear (www.clearme.com) that I never use and it actually came in handy.  A stop at the AMEX Centurion lounge was pleasant, despite the lengthy QR code on your phone sign-in process and a wait.

When I bought my ticket and booked my seat, it showed a bunch of open space in front, much like an exit row.  In reality, there was a bulkhead, so I spent the overnight flight trying to get comfortable.  The seat itself in Premium Economy was better than that class in any other airline I’ve flown, but so far, Emirates is in line with everybody else.  Perhaps I’ll book a business class seat next time to compare.

After looking at a million hotels in Milan, we had reservations at the Marriott property Duo Porta Nuova, a Tribute Portfolio Hotel (www.marriott.com). I was surprised at how much I liked the whole place.  Outside dining, fun vibe.  We headed down to the center of town to see the Duomo and just started walking to look for a place to eat.  Most times in Italy that works out, and it did again on this night.

Italy Bike Tours sent their van and Stefano to pick us up the next day. We picked up another couple from New Zealand on the way out of town.  When I asked Stefano if he rode, he said, “A bit.  I’m the photographer.”  Over the next few days, I came to realize, he might be the person charged with chronicling the trip, but, like everybody we’ve met, he can really ride.

Our lead guide for our group, Nicola, (nicknamed “Gaffu,” part of his last name) was excellent in every category.  He laid out what the next day would be like, he was respectful and helpful in every way, and as a logistician, he was on top of it, a real pro.  Clearly, he was also respected by the young guys working for him.  His leadership was on display every day by the way they responded to him regarding every task:  handling the bikes, the luggage, the riding, whatever was necessary.  The two primary guides working for him, Julio and Nikolai were fabulous riders, charged with either leading or trailing the group, checking on how you were doing, pacing you up a climb or back to the group and just generally were good guys to be around. We had some experience with some of the other guides and felt like we drew the right guys for us. Add young Pietro to the group, learning the business, and Mirco handling the bikes and the vans, the coordination between all of them was impressive. Anita was part of the group working with us, but she was mainly in charge of the non-riders, so we didn’t interact with her much.  But when we did, she was organized and helpful.  And they all were cheery, as if they had been trained to be in the service business! It’s what I hope all people who get to ride bikes and travel around the country for half the year would act like.

Our first hotel was a farmhouse “resort” outside of Milan (villaraggi.it).  On arrival the guides were already working on bikes with the mechanics and getting everybody settled.  We saddled up for the first time and rode out to pick up the finish of the day’s Giro stage near the hotel.  It was fun to see the riders go by, standing right on the side of the road.   An easy ride back finished the day with a nice dinner included at the hotel.  Gaffu laid out the week and gave us the schedule for the next day.  IBT also uses the WhatsApp platform to let everybody in the group know what’s going on.

There are eighteen of us in the “Last 12 Days” group, evenly split between some Americans and Australians, with some New Zealanders and Canadians involved as well.  We’ve overlapped with the group that’s already been there for week two, and we’ll get to know the week three people next Monday.

On Day Two we had a two-part ride.  We rode to Alessandria to see the start of the Giro stage, then hung around there before going to a winery/vineyard for a wine tasting and a tour.  Very nice.  The break between rides was too long and I got comfortable, and stiff, so it took me a while to get into a rhythm in the afternoon.  As I mentioned, Dirk and I made a pact to go with an e-assist bike on this trip.  We’ve done all the hard stuff, so we were giving ourselves a break.  Funny thing is though, there’s a law in Italy and throughout Europe that at 25 KPH, (about 15 mph) the assist cuts off.  So, if you’re going to try and go any faster, you’re dragging this heavy (22 kilos) bike along.  With the first two days just being flat rides, it was a lesson learned.

In Italy, they were way ahead in the “Farm to Table” restaurant culture.  That’s always been an option for dining throughout the country in places called an Agriturismo, a farmhouse for dinner.  IBT set one up for us that night and sitting at tables for ten, we were all in a large barn where the sides had been taken out and replaced by floor to ceiling windows.  Chandeliers and white tablecloths set the place off as an interesting juxtaposition of a dining experience.  The food was great, but something must have happened in the kitchen as the first three appetizers came out in short order, but it took nearly an hour for the main course to be served.  But it wasn’t like it sat there on a warming tray.  It was hot and delicious, but it took a while.

We transferred to Lake Como on Day Three, a two hour morning drive.  I’ve actually ridden around Lake Como before, so I was looking forward to the day.

We immediately got on our bikes, and this is why we went for the e-assist. Heading out of the parking lot of our new hotel as a group, the route immediately headed up the hill toward a ridge on the east side of the lake.  Riding through village streets, and competing with the regular traffic took some concentration, and it was uphill.  Not much, but definitely uphill.  A left turn took us over the top of the ridge and suddenly the lake spread out before us.  I was riding with one of the young guides, Julio, who told me it was his first time riding there. “Wow, beautiful,” he said in English as we chatted about how lucky we were to be there that day.

We worked our way around the outskirts of the lake and eventually climbed up over a second ridge and started a descent toward the shoreline.  I’ve tried to describe what Como looks like the first time you see it and the best I’ve come up with is “like a fairytale.”  And it doesn’t disappoint every time you see it. A sweeping left hand turn revealed a wide, magnificent vista of the lake that is literally breathtaking.

We stopped on the side of the road to take in the view and while some in the group continued down the hill to the town of Bellagio, some of us turned left and headed up the climb.  Having done this before, not with any assist, I didn’t remember it being as difficult and steep as it was. My bike battery quit more than 1K from the top so rather than choose the option of 1) crying or 2) turning around, I just turned it off and stomped on the pedals to the top.  Luckily, I remembered that I was close and knew it was worth the effort.

Surprise, surprise, Dirk and I had a coffee at the top, then walked over to the museum.  IBT had set up a nice reception area in the garden with snacks and drinks, so we hung out there for a while before joining a private, group tour.  The tour guide really knew the museum and the lilt of her Italian accent while she spoke English made it even more authentic.  Is that the best bike museum in the world?  I don’t know, but if you like bikes and bike racing, they have it all.

Since it was Saturday night, Gaffu encouraged us to take the vans into Como for dinner on our own.  He was right.  While you could say it’s been overrun like a lot of tourist spots in Italy, you really got the whole vibe of the place on a Saturday night with all of the locals making their way into town as well.  We ran into some of our riding mates while strolling and laughed when we realized we had randomly picked the same restaurant (La Storia), but we were sitting around the corner from each other outside.  The owner came out and explained that the building had been there since 1200, and the restaurant had been in business since 1901. Our server spoke English like an American, (“I learned watching TV.”) and as usual, the food was fabulous.  It looked like the kitchen was in the weeds, so the main course took a while.  But again, hat and delicious.

An earlier start on Day 4 than originally promised but we were in the vans at 8:45 for a 45 minute drive toward Milan.  The “long” ride of about 50 miles left at 8:30 with the intention of joining up with us for a parade across the finish line of the stage in the middle of the city.  Just before 10, the rest of us saddled up and headed down some steep switchbacks from the parking lot we were in toward the river.  Along the banks of the Adda, it was a dirt path that turned into a tooth chattering section of gravel, concrete and washed away bare sections.  At least it cleared the wax out of my ears.  I was glad to finally hit some paved sections, only to be greeted with a beautiful Sunday afternoon crowd also using the path for cycling, roller blading, walks with the friends and families and everything else.  In both directions.  So, you had to stay sharp on your bike.  After a short coffee stop (that’s one other great thing about Italy, they’ll serve you great coffee at a moment’s notice) we made it into the center of town ahead of the stage finish of the Giro.

The two groups met up about 200 meters from the finish line and cruised down the barricaded section to the cheers of the crowd.  We also were invited to the podium where we took group and individual pictures. Italy Bike Tours (IBT) has been associated with the Giro since 2018, so this was one of the nice perks.

We were instructed to bring a change of clothes, and this is one funny thing about bike trips.  While you wouldn’t think of doing this on almost any other day, we all took turns changing into street clothes from our cycling kits in the back of the van.  I at least brought some deodorant, but I’m not sure it mattered.  The whole city was packed with people in town to see the race.  The final 25K or so is three long laps around the city with the final 500 meters a long straightaway. Again, IBT used their relationship to give us VIP hospitality access at the finish line, so we all took advantage of that.  Dirk and I walked down the street and had an unexpectedly delicious lunch at an art museum cafeteria and were back to the finish line for the end of the race.

Somebody miscalculated how early the peloton needed to gear up to catch the breakaway, so the excitement of them closing the gap, only to be held off by under a half minute kept the crowd guessing.

A group dinner awaited back at our hotel at Lake Como.  We bid farewell to the people we overlapped with from the week two Giro trip and our dinner table was filled with about a third of the group staying, as well as a couple of our guides.  The food was fabulous (again), and it was great to talk to fellow riders from Australia and the guides from Italy about how we all got here together.  Our group is dropping down to about 18 and we’ll co-mingle with the third week group on the roads the rest of the week.

There are some challenging days of riding and transfers that are always a part of any extended bike trip. Our next day was one of them as we left our luggage in the vans and rode out of the hotel on our way north.  The fun part was the ride back into Como, for a coffee stop of course, and then up and around the west side of the lake toward Switzerland.  While you’re riding along, you have to keep reminding yourself that just to your right is one of the most beautiful sights on Earth.  I won’t call it routine, that’s for sure.  We stopped in Lugano for lunch, one of those towns that is just beautiful no matter where you look, with Dirk and I grabbing a sandwich, unexpectedly fabulous, just beside the town square.

We knew we’d be on our bikes for a while, and the end of the ride included a climb up an over the mountain toward the Swiss town of Bellinzona.  The last 7K was downhill and “Italian flat” with some of our riders just letting their bikes go on the downhill.

(Just a note here, “Italian flat” means a bunch of hills.  Not actual climbs, but ups and downs.  The Italian riders consider this flat, but as a Floridian I can tell you it’s anything but.)

“I hit 93K,” one of the Australians told me.  That’s almost 60MPH.  I won’t do that any longer, and it’s not because I’m not confident on my bike or I’m afraid.  I just worry my bike might break!  So, I took my time, getting to about 35MPH and catching up with the group.  After seven and a half hours in the saddle, I was ready to get off my bike, and the battery quit so I was glad to just ride the 4K to the new hotel.

Since we were in Switzerland, the hotel was neat and organized, very efficient and everything worked.  The group had a dinner in the hotel’s underground meeting/dining room that was very unique.  Built in 1200, the room had a rounded ceiling, covered with rock.  Whether it was a wine cellar, a place to store meat, a defensive hideaway or just a place to go in the summer to stay cool, it was something different.

And again, (I know this is boring) the food was fabulous.

The next morning, we had a little bit of a schedule because we had a reservation at a restaurant along the route of the Giro for lunch.  We started from the hotel on a long, flat procession that split the group as usually long, flat sections do.  That changes when the climbing starts.  You can almost look at somebody and figure out their “power to weight” ratio, which is what climbing is about, as a gauge on how fast they’ll get up the hill.  You’d think smaller people are the better climbers, and while generally that’s the case, it’s not always true.  Fitness, aerobic ability and technique factor in as well.  Some days you have it, and some you don’t.  A good rhythm is important and finding the right gear usually lets you settle in for the long haul. Even though I had the e-assist on my bike, all of those things factored into me getting to the lunch spot on time.

As we all gathered up the mountain, it turned out to be a great spot to watch the race.  Two different times the leaders, the peloton and the grupetto (the last group of riders) came by right below the railing of the restaurant.  Seeing these guys in person and recognizing their fitness and skill is amazing.  I don’t know if they can dribble a basketball or throw a spiral or a strike, but man can they ride. We ate dinner that night on the patio at the hotel, excellent as usual.

We started early the next day, checking out of the hotel, loading the luggage and heading out for the two hour drive south and east to the Veneto region where the Giro was headed.  The traffic was New York/Washington/LA terrible, so it took longer to get there than expected.  We saddled up immediately and headed out on a long and flat ride.  I imagined this is what it must be like to actually be IN the Giro or any stage race.  We were just hammering away, apparently anxious to get up the mountain in front of the race because of our delay. Lake Iseo was the star of the ride, one of those unexpected things you have no idea is coming up but is just fantastic. No coffee stop, just get on your bike and go.  That flat gave way to the Passo dei Tre Termini climb, and we weren’t the only ones there.  It was fun seeing spectators along the road, some even offered us water like we were real riders!  We crossed a bridge into a small town that was packed six deep on either side with spectators waiting for the race.

I felt a little feeling of guilt as I passed dozens of riders going up the Passo, using my gears and e-assist to glide past with ease.  That feeling left quickly!  What a joy to not have to struggle to get up some of the switchbacks and changing steep elevation as the route climbed the mountain.  I got on Nikolai’s wheel, a young guide who was a professional rider in Belarus now living in Italy and followed him up.  It was amazing to see him tactically take on the hill, and the riders on it as we cruised up the switchbacks and the changing gradient.  Changing gears and positions on the bike, Nikolai delivered me to the iBT hospitality tent right on the side of the road.  Realizing the top with the King of the Mountain designation was only 3 1/2K further, I got back on my bike and headed up there.  I took Julio with me, and Nikolai met me at the top where a policeman stepped into the road and extended his hand, palm facing me yelling something in Italian.  I stopped, and he said it again, so I said to him, in Italian, “I’m learning Italian, sorry. (In English)  Does that mean turn around and go back?”  Without cracking a smile, he dropped his hand and said in perfect English, “Yes, that means turn around and go back!”

A change of clothes, snacks, liquids and a lunch awaited us back at the IBT hospitality.  The stage is near their headquarters, so they call this their “host” stage.  It was nice meeting people from the office, and they were as gracious as expected.  Clive and Lucy own IBT, and we found out Lucy does all the cooking at home and brings it to the race! She’s a fabulous cook and a wonderful baker and it was impressive in every way.

The hospitality was located on two turns in the road so watching the race go by was exciting, seeing different riders attacking, holding on, or just cruising to the top.  The fans being right there on the roadside is part of the sport of professional cycling, and as close as we were, it’s a wonder guys on their bikes aren’t knocked down at every stage.

A two hour transfer to our hotel gave us a chance to shower and change for a group dinner on a hillside restaurant that looked like it could have been a monastery 500 years ago.  Unbelievable view and, yes, the food was fabulous.

One of the fun things about going on a bike trip is the other people you’re thrown in with for the duration.  IBT must market in a lot of different places, with our “12 days” group drawing from all over the world.  There were eight Americans in our group.  Whenever I get paired up with other riders from the US, I know we have two things in common:  We like to ride, and we like to travel.  And this group was no different.  There’s a couple from the Pacific Northwest who live half the year in Mexico riding. We talked a lot about our mutual love of dogs!  Another couple from Augusta had already been riding for over a week when we joined up.  Both are very strong riders, taking on every challenge.  She’s a PICU nurse and he’s an orthopedic surgeon, (I know, I could have bent his ear about my joint replacements) but since they’ve lived in Augusta for nearly thirty years, we talked a lot about Augusta National, my involvement with the tournament and they’re experiences going to the Masters over the last three decades. Really nice people.

One solo rider was from Dallas, and he was perhaps the most digitally connected athlete I’ve been around.  What a great resource!  If we needed to know about yesterday’s ride, today’s or tomorrow’s, he had it on his phone and outlined the peaks and valleys, the ups and downs and everything in between.  A very consistent rider who had ridden everywhere, even across Italy, I ended up on his wheel a lot. If you’ve ridden at all, you know you’ve got to be confident in the rider in front of you, and I never wavered sitting behind him.

Another solo American was a track athlete in college, so he’s continued his fitness journey through cycling. He’s now ridden at all three Grand Tours and when he wanted to, he could get up and go.  I ran out of hydration powder the last day and he just reached in his bag and handed me one.  I really appreciated that.

I felt fortunate that most of the group was a little older and established, had ridden a bit (or a lot) and understood the dynamics of how this group of people has to coexist for nearly two weeks.  There was a couple there from New Zealand.  She was a non-rider, but a hoot every time we saw her at meals and around the hotel. I sat next to her at dinner one night and she gave me a full tutorial on traveling in New Zealand.  I hope to use that knowledge soon.  He was in the main pack all the time. Very sturdy, having completed more than thirty Ironman competitions.  He proudly attached the Kiwi flag to his bike seat post, so he was easy to spot.

The group of Australians were interesting.  While they hung together, they were from all over the country: Adelaide, Sydney, Melbourne, Canberra and perhaps other places.  Maybe they were friends in a different time of life, or maybe they met on a bike trip, but they were fun loving, good riders and opinionated.  One was a restaurateur and wine salesman; another was a recently retired sports medicine physician.  We hung with them a few nights and had plenty of laughs. Apparently when the folks from “Down Under” go on holiday, they go for a while.  Seven weeks, nine weeks, one rider was meeting his wife and not going back home until the end of July!

The Canadian couple were a bit on their own, with a different idea than I have when I’m on vacation.  Always wanting to sit in the front of the van, and be in the front of the riding group, they rode the maximum every day, hammered the tempo when they could and wondered aloud more than once why weren’t leaving earlier.  One fellow rider called them, “Intense.” Another, more kindly, said, “They’re certainly full of energy.”  Not my cup of tea, but a little give and adaptability from both ends usually makes things work.  At least that’s what we think as Americans.  The Aussie’s had a very different reaction.  Perhaps you should read their blog for details!

Our ride through Veneto on Thursday is one of the best rides of my life.  While I woke up tired, once I was on my bike I actually felt stronger than the day before.  As the cycling commentator Phil Liggett sometimes says, “He’s riding into form!”  And that’s what I felt like.  Understanding my bike a little better, the ride along streams and through towns, beside vineyards growing grapes for Prosecco and Pinot Grigio went by like a movie.  Climbing up through lush green fields through small towns, the ensuing ridge provided one awe-inspiring view after another.  Looking up onto the hillside, or down into the valley, I really had a sense of inspiration artists have drawn from living in places like this over the centuries. One rider said to me that night, “It was so beautiful, I almost cried.” I felt the same way, grateful to be there.

All of that gratitude and warm feeling came to a crashing halt as we made a hard right turn to climb the Murr Ca’ del Poggio or the Wall and the House on the Hill.  It’s the sister climb to the Muur that’s part of the Tour of Flanders. On our Belgium trips we’ve done that climb several times. Hard, steep, skinny and abrupt, it gets your attention right away. I’ve done that climb in Belgium and can tell you it is similar, but in Belgium it’s steeper and skinnier, the weather is terrible and the road is cobbled and rutted. So, “similar” is correct.  “Alike” would not be!

Some guy had stopped his car right at the bottom in a restricted zone and was either trying to leave or arguing with officials but either way, he was blocking part of the entrance, which meant I was concentrating on getting around him rather than prepping to go up the hill.  At some points the climb is apparently 15%, so you need to be in the right gear and the right frame of mind.  I thought I had the right frame of mind, leaning on my “assist” to help me up there, but without moving to the small chainring on my bike, I pretty much had no chance.  When you’re climbing that steep and you’re clipped into the pedals, there’s a strategy to stopping and putting your foot down.  I’m not sure I’ve ever figured it out (based on the number of falls I’ve taken) but I know when you decide to stop, your forward momentum comes to an immediate halt, and you only have a split second to get out of your pedal and get your foot on the ground.  Mind you, the climb is full of people doing the same thing, as well as people who have climbed it already and are staking out a spot to watch the race.  Add in those already cooking on a grill, drinking since sunup, and you get the picture.

I was fading, trying to get my chainring to change and knew I was in trouble.  I spotted a small patch of grass that looked semi-flat, so I stuck my front tire in there and somehow yanked my left foot out without falling.  Trying to lift my bike and spin my back wheel to get the chainring to move, I spotted Gaffu coming up the hill, confidently, and looking at me to see if I needed help.  When I gave him that universal, “I don’t know!” hands-up shoulder shrug, he smoothly glided across the path and jumped off his bike.  What a pro.

In a flash he had my bike on the small chainring, reminding me that “cross chaining” sometimes doesn’t allow it to move.  “Get on, I’ll push you,” he said with a smile. Having already admitted I’m heavier than I’d like, I wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that.  Gaffu might be 5’6 135lbs, but he seemed confident, so I made sure I was in the right gear, had some assist going, clipped in on one side and shoved one pedal around to the ground to get some momentum.  I don’t know how long Gaffu pushed me, but I luckily immediately clipped in on the other side and just shot up the next portion of the hill in a flash.  The bike I’m riding has five levels of assist, and just trying to save a little face, I don’t put it above three.  So, with a little work, I weaved my way toward the top.

About halfway up, I went by Dirk, just standing there with a “What’s going on?” look on his face.  I found out later the guy’s grilling had trundled out to the middle of the road, and he was stopped by a giant stuffed teddy bear radio station mascot.  I found another flat spot and waited for him and as he went by, he said, “You good?” so I got back on my bike and followed him to the top.  We both agreed it was plenty of work getting there, assist or not.

The rest of the ride was either “Italian flat” or downhill, so for the first time on this trip, I went to the front and just started pedaling.  A few guys came with me, and it was pretty thrilling putting some real effort into the last 9K knowing the best riders in the world would be soon traversing this same road, only a lot faster!

We stopped about 1K from the finish line and organized another parade through the crowd that didn’t happen for about an hour.  A quick picture on the podium, a change of clothes in the van (again) and we were off to the Giro hospitality named “Rafaello,” right on the run-up to the finish.

We watched the race unfold on the big screen (I sat next to racing legend Ivan Basso for a while) and when the peloton was 5K from us, we stood along the barriers to see them go by.  The cacophony of sound was overwhelming standing there.  Thousands of people screaming and the radio station blaring ‘80’s rock music is usually the background noise of any stage finish.  Add in the announcer yelling over the loudspeakers in Italian and the church bells in the adjoining block ringing for ten minutes and it’s an experience I won’t soon forget.

Much like watching car racing, the riders go by so fast as they’re sprinting to the top, it’s hard to process quickly that they’re moving at that high rate of speed, on their bicycle!  Pink smoke bombs going off celebrating the end of the stage only add to the atmosphere that’s not like anything else.

My ears needed a rest, so the van was a haven on the ride back to the hotel.  It was a quick turnaround for a group dinner in town at a pizza place.  And yes, the pizza was fabulous.

Another glorious day greeted us on Friday.  A majority of our group left early to ride in the Pyrenees and up the famous climb Passo Giau that’s part of the Giro. It was a long van trip from the hotel, followed by a long ride, culminated by the climb, averaging 10% for as long as you could hang on or nearly the full 10k up the mountain.  The finish is at the highest point the Giro this year, through nearly 7,500 feet above sea level. Having done that kind of climb before, Dirk and I opted to go see the start of the race in the town of Feltre.  Our ride was ideal for the first two thirds, up and down through Veneto with lush vineyards sprawling through the valleys and up the hillsides.  We climbed over several mountains, cruising down the backside more confidently than before.  I’m a decent bike handler but a mechanical breakdown is something you don’t have any control over, so while my bike with me on it would fly down those descents, I try to keep the speed somewhat in check.

Our “coffee stop” was very pleasant and Dirk even commented on how good the coffee was.  I’ve always read that coffee shops in Northern Italy are different than the ones in the South.  Meeting there is a big part of the culture in the North, so the shops are generally beautiful, well decorated, comfortable and independent. And the people working there take great pride in what they’re doing, easily welcoming us in despite being dressed in our bike kits and cleats.  Even for a quick espresso, it’s always a warm, “Buon Girorno,” from behind the counter.

Anytime I travel I try and speak some of the local language. I’ve developed a pretty good ear for languages and accents, probably from all the time I spent with my Greek grandparents as a child.  But It’s pretty impossible for me in Northern Europe.  I can’t pick out “yes” or “no” in Flemish despite numerous trips to Belgium to ride.  I took four years of French in High School so I can get along there.  In Paris they look at you with disdain when you speak their language but anywhere else in France, they welcome your effort.  Italy is the same.  I’ve found the most important phrase is, “Sto imperando Italiano.” Which means, “I’m learning Italian.”  “Bravo,” is usually the answer.  From the little bit of Greek I speak, I can similarly roll the Italian words together to sound somewhat authentic.  So, “Aveti caffe?” (Do you have coffee?) or “Due doppio macchiato” (two double macchiato’s) comes easily.  Many Italians are proud of their English and want to practice when you speak to them.  So, it’s often a lesson for both of us when we have a conversation.

The last third of the ride was actually somewhat flat into Feltre along the valley floor and along a rushing river.  The mountains on either side were steep and jagged but covered with forests and dramatic. Feltre is a small town, but it was packed for the beginning of the race.  We watched the parade of riders and the start, then just tooled around town looking for a place to eat lunch.  Dirk spotted a bistro on the edge of an indoor/outdoor shopping mall.  We got there just as they were starting lunch, so their case was full of beautiful lunch items and pastries.  A couple of sandwiches (yes, fabulous again) led to “coffee crema” and a couple of espressos followed by a stop at the nearby gelato shop.

“Ho Bisogno di un pisolino.” (I need a nap)

Saturday’s sunrise was glorious.  I know because I pretty much saw it as it pierced through my window sometime right before 5:30. Having worked nights my whole career, I don’t see many sunrises, (at least on this end) and I looked out the window because I was sure some farm equipment was already plowing up the nearest field.  Actually, it was just the electronic air conditioner in the corner of the room on the fritz, thumping away.  I put a pillow over my head and dozed off a few times before getting going.

We left as a group from the hotel for our final ride of the trip through Veneto and Treviso to the slopes of Piancavello in the Dolomites.  The first 40K or so was actual flat and although that 25KPH cutoff puts some drag on the 45 pound bike, since it was the last day, I kicked up my effort and stuck with the group. I’m trying to figure out a plan to ride my regular bike along the flats and somehow grab the e-assist for the climbs!  Probably not going to happen but fun to fantasize about.  Gaffu did a great job keeping the group together.

“The ride seems a little lighter today doesn’t it,” one of the Aussie’s quipped as we refilled our water bottles about an hour in. It was that, both physically and emotionally because our Canadian couple decided to go on their own after an apparent slight disagreement with the group the day before. Credit them for reading the room. They did join us for our final group dinner and seemed to enjoy the evening.

We rode by the beginning of the big climb of the day for a coffee stop about a kilometer away.  As we went by, we saw the beginning of the climb and the chaos that was there as people were staking out their viewing spots for the two times the race would come through there.  Walking, biking, and on it seemed every other form of personal mobility was being used to move up the mountain and claim a spot.  A great cup of coffee and a few minutes out of the sun gave everybody a chance to regroup and start the challenge.

Having done some of the iconic climbs in Europe before, this one seemed all too familiar.  It’s steep, it’s relentless and you feel like it just never gives up. In the States, switchbacks usually have a little flat spot in the middle of the turn that might give you two or three pedal strokes of respite. In Europe, they just turn right back on themselves.  I had saved battery getting here specifically to use it on the climb and that worked.  Despite the assist (set on three) I switched into the small chainring.

And it was still hard.  I didn’t look at the percentages before the ride because I already knew it was going to be steep and hard.  It seemed every part of the tarmac was covered with somebody going up, or at least trying to, at different speeds, solo and in groups.  It’s tricky, and you’ve got to pick a line well in advance.  Since the race hadn’t started, there were also vehicles going in both directions.  You kind of get used to this chaos when you done this a few times but as Americans, when you first encounter it, your reaction is “What is going on here?!!”

Again, somebody was blocking the entrance to the climb, so I weaved my way over to the side and unclipped, looking for Dirk and some fellow riders to begin the ascent.  Dirk went by and gave me the “You good?” so I waited for a slight break, (When it’s that steep it’s almost impossible, at least for me, to get started going up the hill) shot across the road, clipped in and got in behind a small group. I was in the right chainring and in the middle of the cassette, so I felt pretty good.

Just then the road turned back on itself and ticked up and everything in front of us ground to a much slower pace.  I still had a handful of gears, so, leaving the assist on three, grabbed another gear, darted to the left and headed up the hill.  I’m sure there was a bunch of dirty looks and cussing going on as I went by, but as I’ve said, I’ve done all that and was working to get up the hill.

Friends who don’t ride ask me all the time, “How do you sit on that seat for so long.”  Admittedly, the seat or “saddle” looks uncomfortable, and you have to shop around to find one that fits you.  You actually have two sit bones on either side of your glutes and getting them, and the rest of you in the right position is paramount. Finding a good pair of riding shorts with a pad you like is part of the process.  Getting fitted on your bike is very important.  In this situation, no matter.  It’s uncomfortable and tiring and hot and you’re generally miserable looking too far up the road as it rises above you.  To add to my situation, the riding bibs I wore that day I’ve had for a while, and on the way up, the pad came unstitched and bunched up in all the wrong places!  Again, you have a couple of options in that situation: 1) cry 2) stop or 3) keep going!  At least those were the ones I was considering and I picked number three.  I have always rode on a neutral, flat saddle with a channel in the middle (www.fizik.com) so in this case I was moving all over it to find a comfortable position.  Let’s just say I was actually looking for something less miserable.

I did find two guys who were going up the hill at my speed, unassisted, so I hooked on with them and put my head down.  Again, the road ticked up a couple of percentages and when both of them looked back at me, I got the message that I was going to the front to set the pace.  I grabbed more gear and fell into a rhythm at the front.  They seemed grateful to sit in and just drone on.  As the road turned back on itself and ticked up again, I went to grab more gear, and, as every cyclist has experienced, had that sinking feeling, knowing I had already reached the limit.  Of course I hit it again thinking, “There has to be more gear here!” but to no avail.

So, I just doused my head with the rest of the water in my bottle and kept pedaling.  Around the next bend I decided I was going to stop for a minute.  Out of water and out of options on my saddle, I needed a break.  But when I looked up, I saw some tents on the side of the road about three-hundred meters ahead.  Was that us? I didn’t know but decided to keep going.  It actually felt like a mirage as the four tents extended up the side of the road. I spotted Gaffu standing in the road encouraging me to get up there.

Looking for a flat spot to stop, I turned my wheel to the right and unclipped.  In a flash, Gaffu grabbed my bike and slapped me on the back saying, “Way to go!! You made it!”  I thought that was very kind, especially since the assist was almost drained.  But I was glad to get my foot down and step on the bike.

Lucy came over and refilled my water bottle immediately saying, “Keep hydrating, don’t stop.”  Good advice since the temp had climbed over ninety Fahrenheit.  Again, Lucy had laid out a spread of snacks and baked goods, enough to feed the army of riders, spouses and staff expected on the side of the mountain that afternoon.

Shortly thereafter, Dirk and a cadre of my fellow riders arrived, all glad to stop right there.  A few decided to make the trip to the top, and one of the Aussies, a very solid rider, told me later that the gradient from the IBT tents to the top was actually easier than the bottom.  After a flash of regret, I remembered how glad I was to get off my bike.  And my broken bibs. I changed clothes in the van.

After about an hour, the race came through and it was amazing to see the professionals literally race up the hill.  At least in the front group. The climbers had their game faces on, while everybody else was just doing what they could to get up the hill.  It’s pretty amazing to see one guy standing and struggling while the guy next to him, the same size, is just sitting there spinning and gliding uphill.

Once the last rider went through for the first time, Lucy and the IBT staff put out a lunch spread, again impressive, and I texted Dirk that there was food at the tents.  He had walked up to the bar and restaurant and was standing in line for a sandwich and a beer when he looked at his phone and walked away.  “Glad I saw that,” he told me.  “I was still fifteenth in line!”

IBT broke out the prosecco and there were numerous toasts and exclamations of being finished. The staff continued to circle and hand out water and cola, keeping an eye on everybody.  The race came through again, this time with the leader in the pink jersey (La Maglie Rosa) Jonas Vingegaard out in front by a minute.  That was impressive.  We also witnessed the Italian emergency services helicopter drop two EMT’s from a cable just up the road from us to treat somebody’s injury.  They can’t get an ambulance up the road because of the race, so they brought the helicopter.  We heard later they put ice on some guy’s knee!

Once the Grupetto and the “Fine Machina” (last car) came through a cascade of people further up the mountain started with a few walkers, some cars and eventually hundreds, maybe thousands of cyclists flying down the road.  It looked dangerous and it was.  Once we filled the vans and headed home, just a few switchbacks in we saw several people being tended to on the ground.  Even in the van the descent looked steep, and I remembered we had climbed up there!

Our final group dinner was at a traditional Italian trattoria, so traditional in fact, the owner chided me for not speaking better Italian.  We had a laugh about that later. Gaffu made a nice speech about the trip, and I remembered Julio telling me on one of our descents, “If all groups were like this, I’d feel like I was never working.” A nice compliment toward the whole group.

I went back to the hotel to pack, and the next morning, IBT sent a car to take me to the Venice airport for the flight home.  In regular form, American Airlines was late arriving from the States, so our flight was pushed back three hours as we refiled our flight plan. Took off 2 ½ hours late from Venice so I rebooked through the American app to try and get the last flight out of Dallas home.

——–`

In retrospect, I can tell you this was a great trip.  I’ll go with Italy Bike Tours again and hopefully I can convince some of the guys from the shop to come along and get my family to join in as well.  I’m always complaining about going to Belgium when, “The riding in Italy is great, the food is fabulous and the weather is nice!” Maybe that’s why they didn’t invite me last year! The safety aspect from IBT was impressive as we rode with up to forty different riders over the twelve days without incident.  Dirk’s handlebars broke during the ride thorough Como and the IBT folks were mortified.  They got him another bike right away, luckily there was one in the van that was a replica of his.  Even with the same pedals!  IBT has a relationship with Ridley, so most of the people in our group rode the rental bike.  A few brought theirs from home, and Mirco treated them as if they were his own. Although my Garmin quit working the second day we were there and Dirk’s Hammerhead was sporadic, a couple of other riders estimated we rode nearly 450 miles and climbed somewhere around 20,000 feet over the eleven days of being on our bikes.

When I asked IBT if I could leave from Venice instead of going to Rome for the final day when I was originally booking the trip, they were immediately accommodating, trimming the price accordingly.  That matched the single supplement add-on, so it worked out perfectly. There are a few tweaks I’d suggest if they ask me, but they’ve been in business long enough to get almost everything right.  And they’re nice people having a good time hosting us in their new home country.

Hard to beat that.

 

Invested in Rory

Dispatches from Augusta National: Invested in Rory, Part Two

/in /by

After moving into a tie for the lead at The Masters with a third round 65, Cam Young looked to be poised to win his first Major.  After an opening 40 on the front nine of the first round, The Players champion righted himself with a stretch of forty-five holes played in -15.  A two-time winner on the PGA Tour, a Sunday Mass going, American Ryder Cup Hero, you’d think Young was going to be a crowd favorite in the final round.

He didn’t expect that.

“I don’t get the sense I’ll be the fan favorite,” he explained.  But yeah, I feel like the support, some fans that cheer for me have gotten louder over the last year. It will still be lopsided, I think. Rory’s kind of a world favorite in the golf world.”

Really?

The trunk slamming, ‘I’m divorcing my wife,’ sometimes petulant and whiny Northern Irishman, a favorite in Georgia over the latest version of Captain America?

If you frame it like that, it seems impossible, but Young was right, Rory McIlroy is the dominant fan favorite that the golf world is still invested in after winning the Masters last year and completed the sport’s “Grand Slam.”

“I grew up with Rory,” one late-twenty-something golfer and Masters patron told me Sunday after McIlroy claimed his second Green Jacket.

“He’s got crazy game, and sometimes hits it off the world, like I do,” he finished with a laugh.

While this post-millennial says he grew up with Rory, perhaps it’s as true to say Rory grew up with him. It was a bit of a shock to hear McIlroy say it was his eighteenth Masters and he thought, “I’ve got probably ten more years around this.”

Wait, what?

That’s right, Rory McIlroy isn’t that jaunty-walking, goofy teenager who just kills it and crushes the field anymore. At 36-years old, McIlroy is a seasoned, experienced, full of scar tissue, six-time Major champion with a family.

And it all happened right before our eyes.

Look back at pictures of McIlroy holding the US Open trophy at Congressional.  He was twenty-one!  At twenty-two he had collected his first PGA Championship.  Remember when his dad placed that big bet that Rory would win The Open before he was 25 — and he did it?  While that seems like a completely different person and even a lifetime ago, we’re the ones who have seen it all.

Not to say that Rory is universally loved.  He has his detractors and a segment of the sporting world that’s ambivalent, but his ups and downs, the missed putts and errant drives have all happened right there in public.  A star, not only in golf, but on the world stage, his personal life is an open book.  His engagement and last-second called off marriage to tennis player Caroline Wozniacki made headlines. His subsequent relationship with Erica Stoll was Page Six fodder.  His hasty announcement that he was divorcing Stoll and quick turn-around only fueled the gossip mongers. The PGA Tour leaned on McIlroy as their “face” during the heat of the LIV Tour split.

Add all of that together, and sprinkle in his life’s story as a child prodigy, his parents sacrifice, and him fulfilling the promise his talent portended, and you get a superstar.  But again, it happened right in front of us.

Rory’s always been available and relatable.  Golf as a sport grew on the shoulders of Tiger Woods.  But Woods has always tried to be intensely private., Although unsuccessful, Tiger wanted everything hidden. He was curt, sullen, easy to respect but also easy not to like.

Rory, on the other hand, has been right there.  Accessible and polite.  You get the feeling that if you said, “Hey Rors, how about a pint?”  He’d probably say yes and come along just to hang out.

There have been multiple comparisons to Arnold Palmer and the charisma he brought to the game. And there are similarities. Arnold was magnetic, you wanted to go with him.  Rory’s similar but in a way that you want him to come with you.  If Arnold was the movie star you just wanted to be near who might date your sister, Rory’s the guy you wanted to come along who might end up marrying your sister.

We’re invested in Rory, and that’s not going to change.  Prodigious talent that grew up next door.  We know him and we like him.

“t took me 10 years to win my fifth major,” McIlroy said Sunday night. “And then my sixth one’s come pretty soon after it. I don’t want to put a number on it, but I certainly don’t want to stop here.”

We hope not.

The Masters, Augusta National

Dispatches from Augusta National: How Did You Watch The Masters?

/in /by

There have been numerous iterations to accommodate the media covering The Masters at Augusta National.  Bobby Jones considered the media an integral part of The Masters tournament, once saying that the competition owes much of its notoriety to the writing of his confidant and chronicler O.B. Keeler.

When the Augusta Invitational first started in 1934, Jones and club Chairman Clifford Roberts scheduled the tournament in the first few weeks of April, encouraging sportswriters making the train trip back from baseball spring training in Florida to stop and report on the golf.

As a young reporter in my second or third Masters, somewhere around 1980 or ’81 I saw legendary sportswriter and author Herbert Warren Wind standing with my friend Pat Summerall under the oak tree by the clubhouse.  Pat lived in Ponte Vedra Beach, and we had gotten to know each other playing golf and through mutual friends.  Emboldened by our friendship, I walked up and said hi, and as he was wont to do, Pat politely introduced me to Wind, who’s work, legend and personality were well known.   I mean he was famous in those circles.  He had coined the phrase, “Amen Corner” writing about the Eleventh, Twelfth and Thirteenth holes, taking the phrase from a 1930’s famous jazz tune, “Shoutin’ in the Amen Corner.”

Being young and new, I didn’t know much, and as I shook his hand, I introduced myself and blurted out, “Mr. Wind, I work at Channel 2 in Charleston, and I was wondering if you might have a minute for an interview to talk about the story behind Amen Corner.”   Again, I was feeling my way through the whole reporting gig, and as a kid from the streets of Baltimore, I had a lot to learn about golf and the niceties and etiquette of the game.

Wind was a proper New Englander and wrote for The New Yorker and Sports Illustrated.  Incredulous is the only word I can think of to describe his reaction.  “Of course not!” he replied, a bit stunned by my request. Part of the “new media” of local television, I’m sure he was also confused that I would even ask him that.   Properly chastised for my impertinence, Summerall chuckled under his breath.

But it’s that kind of reverence for the game, the golf course and the competition that helped make The Masters what it is today.  There is a bit of mythology that’s entwined in the history of the Masters, created by Keeler, Wind, Dave Anderson, Ron Green, Sr., Dan Jenkins, Edwin Pope, Furman Bisher and others.

Sportswriters created the narrative, with reports going back to major media centers in the Northeast, Chicago and the far west, The Masters wasn’t just a golf tournament, it was a sporting event that defined a part of the calendar.  The official start of spring for those digging out of snow, a signal to the country to expect better weather ahead.

As the press corps grew, the club needed a place to house them on the property as they worked.  Down the hill from the clubhouse and to the right of the first fairway they built a Quonset hut in 1953, defined as “a lightweight, prefabricated structure with a distinct half-cylindrical shape, featuring curved steel ribs and a corrugated metal shell. Developed during World War II for rapid assembly by unskilled labor, it is durable, with a “clear span” (no interior support beams).”

Writers from around the country, and eventually around the world occupied the floor space facing a large scoreboard which followed the lines of the front of the curved structure. Radio and television reports occupied a makeshift second floor constructed around the outside walls.  It was loud as portable Smith-Corona typewriters banged out the day’s stores and updates.  Associated Press, United Press International and Reuters all had teletype machines in the back, hammering out the day’s news.

With a nod to new technology and the need for more space, in 1990, the club built a permanent press building on the same space and behind in the style of an amphitheater for the writers and radio and television from around the world upstairs.

With a complete reimagination of that part of the property, twenty-seven years late,r the press building was moved to make way for a larger, permanent merchandise building built by the club’s main patron entrance. A new practice facility opened, and the new (and current) press building was built at the far end. A bit of an amphitheater for workspace faces the practice area with floor to ceiling windows creating a view of every practice swing taken. It’s state of the art in every way, accommodating traditional print media, radio, television and the latest digital and social media information delivery systems.

Where did you get your Masters information?  Their web site is the best I’ve ever seen.  Live video of every shot, commentary, leaderboards and personalized options not seen anywhere else. The televised times have been increased including Prime, ESPN, Paramount+ and the traditional CBS broadcast.  Golf Channel is there all week as are numerous other sports networks from all over the world.

I did an interview with former Augusta National and Masters Tournament Chairman Billy Payne in 2019, the year he was inducted into the World Golf Hall of Fame.  The National’s Communications Director Glenn Greenspan was a nearly four decade friend and colleague and had told me that every time he presented a situation to “The Chairman” he always gave him three options: Good, Better and Best.  “Billy always chose best,” Glenn said.  “Never wavered.”  I asked Billy about that, and he was resolute in his answer.  “It needs to be the best at The Masters, always.  We have the capability to do something the best way we can, so we should.”

If you spend any time around Augusta National and The Masters as a player, a member of the media, a volunteer or a patron, you know that’s exactly what they do.

The Masters

Dispatches From The Masters: Augusta National and The Masters

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Every competitor who’s ever played in the Masters will tell you; no matter how much you practice, no matter how early you get to Augusta National, the golf course is completely different when you tee it up in the first tournament round on Thursday. Part of it is how the golf course it set up for competition.  The greens are a bit faster; the fairways are cut a bit shorter and the wind always seems to change.  The other part is now it counts.  Playing Augusta National is one thing, playing in the Masters is completely different.

Nobody is making a nine on the fifteenth hole in a practice round.  But that number popped up on a few scorecards in Thursday’s round.  A putt off the green would elicit generous laughter from your fellow competitors Monday through Wednesday.  A sympathetic “Ooooh,” from the patrons attending the first round is what you’d hear.

Those patrons know it’s possible, and they have genuine empathy for players difficulties all over the course.  As much as the roars from Amen Corner are a part of being at The Masters, knowledgeable golf observers and their reactions to successes and failures are also part of the soundtrack of the tournament.

While the golf course changes from practice rounds to tournament rounds, the patrons change as well.  On Thursday, those in attendance are a little older (thus, I fit in) but not too old.  In fact, this year it seemed there was an influx of the next generation of Masters Patrons.  Those on the golf course are quieter, more respectful, more knowledgeable, a little better dressed, and not weighed down with bags of merchandise.  While the club and the course are still the stars, the patrons in attendance are there for the golf.

There are many different ways to watch play at Augusta National.  There are no hospitality tents on the golf course. The focus is on the golf.  There are concession stands, tucked away in the Georgia pines, easily accessible but not visible. You can grab a beer and a sandwich, at legendary low prices, and walk right up to the ropes to see the best players in the world right at arm’s length.  There are some tournaments that bring the fans close to the action, but at the Masters every time you look around, some player is right in front of you trying to execute a shot that would seem impossible for mere mortals.  Sitting on a hillside in front of the 6th tee, the players tee off over your head.  To the side of sixteen, there are chairs that overlook action on the par three and the scoring shots on fifteen.

There’s a tradition at the Masters where patrons bring their official green tournament chair early in the day and even early in the week, place it in a nice viewing spot and leave it.  Nobody bothers it, nobody moves it, the chair just stays there.  You can come and go, other people can sit there while you’re not there, but it’s part of the landscape of the week.

We’ve seen golf courses built with “spectator mounds” and “viewing areas” but while Augusta National was built with hosting a tournament in mind, the natural elevations and mounds that were part of the design of the course provide viewing spots on every tee, fairway and green complex.

Playing golf, or watching golf at Augusta National, like Jim Nantz says, is a tradition like no other.

 

 

Dispatches From Augusta National: The “Feel” of The Masters

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It always drives me crazy and now it kind of makes me laugh when some reporter asks, “How does it feel? “Every athlete says, “It feels amazing! Unbelievable!” Or if I’m in a press conference and somebody says, “Tell us about such and such?” That’s not a question. That’s either uninformed or lazy.

At Augusta though, it is a little different. Bobby Jones once said, “Competitive golf is played mainly on a five and a half inch course … the space between your ears” So, how it feels is important. If you play golf, you know that depending on the situation, what pressure you might be under, what’s on the line, all count as part of executing the next shot. You never know how you’re going to feel when the shot presents itself. That’s part of the game at the highest level as well. Getting into contention, having a shot that really counts all goes into how you’re going to react. The best players know, and learn how to be, “Comfortable being uncomfortable.” It’s one of the reasons they say that the Masters at Augusta National doesn’t start until the leaders reach the 10th tee on Sunday.

With the history and tradition and the legends of the game enshrined as winners, there is a different feel to The Masters, and it starts, at least for the professionals, when they drive down Magnolia Lane.

“I think growing up as an American golfer, I think Augusta is the place you always want to get to,” two time Masters Champion Scottie Sheffler said on Tuesday. “Whether or not it’s to play in the tournament or just to get to see the golf course. For me, I truly feel that once you drive down Magnolia Lane, everything else melts away, and you get to be here and be focused.”

To give the players a chance to be focused, Augusta National has smoothed out every process the players seem to endure at other tournaments. They’ve built underground parking under the member’s practice area.

That’s connected to the new Players Services building that houses the locker room, a gym, a physio space for stretching and massage and every other thing you can think of a player would need to get ready to play. Even the teeing ground at the practice facility is heated in case there’s a frost delay. Players will still be able to warm up and be ready to go when the weather allows.

Some players have said they don’t want to attend the Masters until they’re playing in the tournament. Not Tommy Fleetwood. He says he “managed to get a ticket” in 2014 and he just came to watch, thinking it would be motivation.

“I would get to see it before I came,” he explained. “It was more I remember walking around, and you get to the back of the 12th tee, and that’s as far as you can go as a patron, can’t go any further. And I’m watching these players go play and walk over the bridge to 13 and then teeing off on 13, and I was like, I want to go there. That’s where I want to be.”

And when Fleetwood played his way into the tournament, that’s what he was thinking about. “I think that became my thing about playing in the Masters. When I play, I get to go and get to the 12th green and the 13th tee. So that was like my — sort of my biggest motivation in a way. I never even contemplated at the time winning it.”

That spot around Amen Corner is unique in tournament golf. The patrons at the tournament can see every shot back there, but the players are away from everything but the golf itself.

“It’s serene, it’s peaceful. It’s an opportunity to gather yourself amidst the buzz of the tournament.” Bryson DeChambeau opined when asked about how removed that part of the golf course becomes. “I think it allows us to take a mini break. It kind of settles you in for the rest of the round. It’s a nice space. It’s a really fun space to go back to and be around all the azaleas, and I think there’s a couple dogwoods back there. It’s fun. I’m a nature guy. I like knowing what’s back there.”

It’s no surprise that the rarest of winners are those who have donned the Green Jacket in their first attempt at Augusta National. Horton Smith, who won the first one in 1934, Gene Sarazen in his first the following year, and Fuzzy Zoeller in 1979 are the only players to accomplish that feat.

Knowing the golf course counts.

“I think the experience is the biggest thing here,” said former U.S. Open Champion Matt Fitzpatrick. “I think the more you can learn about the golf course, the better. There’s obviously so many different things that you need to learn, I feel like, for the golf course and the more experience you have, the better chance you have of succeeding here.”

Defending Champion Rory McIlroy agreed. “You come back — the other major venues, we don’t go back to the same place every year. So, I think that is something I feel like I’m still young, but I’m very experienced. I’ve been doing this for a long time. This is my 18th start.
I just think that everything here is a little more predictable. You know the golf course pretty much. There’s subtle changes year after year, but the hole locations are always in similar spots. I just think the more experience you have around this golf course, the better it is.”

Winning it has changed how McIlroy approaches the week. He noted that would have never gotten to Augusta National so early, preferring to wait until sometime Monday evening or Tuesday to be on the grounds.

“I think for the past 17 years I just could not wait for the tournament to start, and this year I wouldn’t care if the tournament never started,” McIlroy said in his press conference Tuesday to much laughter among the press corps.

Wearing his Green Jacket, Rory related that it’s all a new experience for him. “Yeah, it’s completely different. I feel so much more relaxed. I know that I’m going to be coming back here for a lot of years, going to enjoy the perks that the champions get here. It doesn’t make me any less motivated to go out there and play well and try to win the tournament,”

Dispatches From The Masters

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I’ve made this drive a hundred times.  Maybe two hundred.  From my first trip in 1979 from Charleston to this year from Ponte Vedra Beach, it never gets old.  Driving to Atlanta is all about interstates and traffic.  Driving to Augusta is about savoring the countryside, the anticipation of what the week might bring,  and how the golf course has changed and how it looks.  Azaleas in bloom?  Green as ever?  With the tournament being scheduled the first full week of April when that Monday isn’t the 1st, just a few days and perhaps a cold snap or thunderstorm can alter the appearance of Augusta National.

From Charleston, the drive is a combination of backroads and working towns, farms and warehouses.  You could take I-26 up towards Columbia and cut over on 301 and 4 to I-20 and come in that way from the north. But you’d miss stopping for gas in Ridgeland and having the clerk ask, “How are you today?  Headed to the toonament?”

According to Google Maps, the Interstate route is 2 Hours and 46 minutes.  I always preferred going through Summerville on 78 and heading northwest through Ridgeville, St. George, Reevesville, Branchville, and the aptly named town of Midway before crossing over 301.  From there you hooked up with 278, which took you right to Augusta.  I learned a lot about farming on those drives.

Two or three times during my tenure in Charleston, the General Manager of the TV station I was working at would rent a plane and fly us up there and come back the same day, home in time to be on the six o’clock news. You could still just walk up and buy a ticket to the practice rounds.  I’m not sure if he just wanted to go to the Masters or go flying, or both.  I understand either motivation.

I was very happy in January of1982 when my credential followed me to the station in Jacksonville, my next professional stop.  I was told when I took the job that the station had lost its credential in the past and I figured my covering the Masters was over.  But the letter on my desk from Martha Wallace inviting me to apply for a credential in late January was a welcome sight.

But I didn’t attend the Masters that year.

My wife, Linda, was due with our first child that week and I didn’t want to chance being nearly three hours away (before cell phones, which wouldn’t have been allowed on the grounds anyway) and not being able to get back in time.  So, I let Martha know I wouldn’t be coming that year, and why, and she graciously said, “Well good luck, and we’ll see you next year!”  True to form, our daughter Austin was born on her due date, April 10, 1982.  (That night the New York Cosmos of the NASL were making their only appearance against the Tea Men in Jacksonville and I missed that too.  It rained like crazy.  The Cosmos won 2-0).  Craig Stadler won the Green Jacket that year, and now that he’s a neighbor of mine in Florida, I’ll have to mention that to him the next time I see him.

The drive from Jacksonville was different but no less enlightening.  Also just over four hours, I used to take I-95 to just north of Savanah and go up 21 through Rincon, Springfield, Newington, Hiltonia, Sylvania and Sardis (home of Cale Yarborough) and straight into Augusta.  I altered that sometime in the early ‘90’s when they finally finished the construction on 25 going to and through Statesboro.  It’s still just over four hours, but up 95 and west on 16 before jumping off on 25 and heading north is now the regular route.  It takes you through Millen and Waynesboro, right through the intersection where Sam Snead had an accident driving to the tournament in 1992 from his home in Ft. Pierce.  Snead, a three time champion and 78 years old that year, missed being the honorary starter because of the accident and was cited for running a stop sign and driving too fast.  The driver he hit was left paralyzed.

Once, I took a commercial flight into Augusta.  I don’t know where I was coming from, maybe covering the NCAA basketball tournament somewhere, but it seemed kind of silly laying over in Atlanta for the short hop to Augusta Regional.

Since becoming a pilot more than two decades ago, I’ve flown into Augusta Regional plenty during the tournament but most recently they’ve moved small planes over to Daniel Field, not far from “The National.”  On Wednesday night of the Masters, it’s always been said that Augusta Regional hosts the largest collection of private aircraft in the world in that calendar year.   Hard to say, but they do close one runway to make room for the jets that fly in from all over.  N1AP (Arnold Palmer’s Citation X) was always parked in spot one, with N1JN (Jack Nicklaus’ G5) right next to him.

This drive happens to be at lunchtime on Monday, with my brother and my nephew. although I’ve made the trip Sunday before the tournament and almost every day after that.  Anytime we can get tickets, my brother and I make it a point to meet at The Masters.

The 2020 trip was unique, because the competition was delayed until November that year due to the Covid-19 outbreak.  I never knew how many cotton fields there were in that part of Georgia until I drove it in November. The growing season.  If you didn’t know better, you’d swear it snowed on that plot of land!  The red clay and the white cotton balls make quite a contrast.  Arriving at The National, I was directed to the large Patron Parking lot down Berkman’s Road to the Covid testing tent.

Pulling my car into tent, as I went to get out, I was greeted with a sign instructing me to stay in my car. Two nurses in Hazmat suits came out of a temporary building with a piece of paper and held it up to my window with instructions.  “Roll your window down a few inches to begin the test,” I read.  They slid another piece of paper into the car, with instructions on how to take the test.  Two long q-tips and a holding tube followed.  I took the test and handed it back to them saying, “I’ll just park over here to use the bathroom.” “Pull over there and stay in your car,” were the firm instructions.  Having driven four and a half hours, perhaps a bathroom stop earlier would have been in order.  As I pulled to the right, although I had no indication that I might have Covid, it occurred to me that they might just send me home if the test came back positive.

I was given the green light to attend the tournament, but others weren’t so lucky.  Former Players Champion, Jacksonville native and Former #1 in the world David Duval had made the more than twenty hour drive from Denver to continue to serve as one of the lead analysts on The Golf Channel coverage.  A negative test sent him back to Denver for the week.

Monday is usually a day to get organized, although there are a few press conference opportunities in the afternoon.  I’m looking forward to what Justin Rose has to say  Easy guy to like and he’s been close here, in playoffs, a couple of times.

 

The Players Championship

The Players: Everything, Everywhere, All at Once

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It started off with a few guys sitting at Silver’s Drug Store talking about having a golf tournament.  It’s been called the Greater Jacksonville Open, the GJO, the Tournament Players Championship, TPC, The Players Championship and The Players.  It’s been known as a destination, a reunion spot, and for the Swingers Tent.  And I once called it a love story.  Whatever you call it, and however you view the golf tournament played here in town every year, when you attend you realize it’s everything, everywhere, all at once.

When then-PGA Tour Commissioner Deane Beman was looking for a permanent home for the Tour’s flagship event, Jacksonville’s volunteer force impressed him and after a failed attempt to buy Sawgrass Country Club (along with Marriott) the Fletcher Brothers offered the land for a golf course and headquarters across the street for one dollar and the opportunity to develop the property around it in the future.

All of that is well documented in articles, TV stories and books over the past forty-five years since the tournament found its permanent home.  And while Beman was looking for a spot for a premier and perhaps a major golf tournament, people in North Florida had a whole different idea.

With the tournament in Pensacola going out of business, the founding group here of the GJO, (John Tucker, Wesley Paxon and others) recruited the guy running the event in the Panhandle to handle some of the nuts and bolts of the competition.  The Tour wasn’t fully formed at the time, but the standard stop was played at a country club somewhere, with the members of that club running the show.  The group here though, had other ideas.  While they chose Selva Marina as the initial venue, (with stops at Deerwood and Hidden Hills along the way) they decided to get clubs and golfers from all over North Florida involved.  Most were members at San Jose Country Club, but they invited some of the players at Timinquana (a big rival at the time) to join the process.  They recruited the golf associations at Sawgrass and other clubs in the area to be a part of it, truly a GREATER Jacksonville Open.

Soon a car dealer donated vehicles for the week for the players.  Steel posts and rope were donated for crowd control.  They built hospitality tents, unheard of at the time, to entertain clients and friends.

And word got out.

Much like the Florida/Georgia game, the competition on the course bred a cultural happening.

While the initial stops of the GJO have their share of stories (a well-known, contending golf professional with a late tee time on Thursday emerging from the bushes at Deerwood for his early tee time on Friday wearing the same clothes) and Sawgrass Country Club earning a reputation for its difficulty the first week of March, it wasn’t until the tournament moved to its permanent home in 1982 that things started to change.  Tucker, held over by Beman to oversee the transition from GJO to TPC, had big ideas and the tournament started to expand.

Using the PGA Tour’s leverage, instead of a local car dealer providing vehicles, it was the major manufacturers who jumped on board. Priding itself as the “strongest field in golf,” it didn’t hurt that Jack Nicklaus was a three-time winner of the event and the best players in the world showed up year after year. The seventeenth hole gained an international reputation.  Test or gimmick?  The tour didn’t care; people were talking about it.  CBS had the most recognizable golf coverage with Pat Summerall and Ken Venturi anchoring, giving the tournament even a higher stature.

Beman didn’t like the competition for TV space with the NCAA’s March Madness, so when the TV contracts came up, NBC offered to showcase the event as one of their biggest. More hospitality tents popped up around seventeen and eighteen.  Then sixteen and beyond.

There was a conscious push to make The Players a “Major”, but the golf establishment balked.  So being the first “significant” tournament seemed to be enough for a while.  Tucker was replaced by Henry Hughes, a PGA Tour insider from the Northeast, and you could feel the tournament becoming less local and more a part of the Tour’s “Championship Management.”  While the city of Jacksonville was engaged for a while (a replica of the seventeenth hole was erected at the Landing) eventually the new Commissioner Tim Finchem wanted to raise the TPC’s stature internationally.  Ads for attending next year’s Players dotted the NBC broadcast.  There was no mention of Jacksonville and little coverage of the beaches and surrounding area.  The focus was on the golf tournament. PGA Tour Blue covered every tower and structure you could see, mimicking Augusta Green at the Masters.

But Jacksonville and North Florida sports fans wouldn’t stay away.  People who had never watched golf and certainly had never been on a golf course found their way to Ponte Vedra for a day or two.  Friday afternoons became a “must attend” for single men and women gathering behind the seventeenth and eighteenth greens.  Outfits and sun dresses were picked out, the right logo on the golf shirt was part of the decision making, and no work was getting done in town on Friday of TPC.

Grounds tickets were fine, and available, but all of the sudden, “Benefactor” tickets were all the rage.  More hospitality tents surrounded the amphitheater at sixteen and seventeen, even changing how the seventeenth hole was played.  The wind was still there, but you couldn’t feel or see it unless you looked at the flags on top of the tents surrounding play.

Tuesday became a hot day at the Tournament.  Originally billed as Military Appreciation Day, President George H.W. Bush attended once, followed by a concert.  Top artists like Toby Keith were recruited and the event shifted from the clubhouse lawn to a barge in the lake at seventeen.  Throngs of people started showing up for the concerts and the acts became the Tuesday focus.  Darius Rucker, having left Hootie and the Blowfish and turned country, was a headliner.  Looking to broaden their audience, the Chain Smokers were booked and this year Ludacris cleaned up some of his songs and expanded the fan base even more.

The Tour came to its senses and re-engaged with the city, realizing that local ticket sales were the lifeblood of the tournament.  Local vendors were asked to join the party. Fun names like “Wine and Dine on Nine” and “Tacos on Twelve” became tournament buzzwords.   Vodka brands competed for a spot on the grounds as the “official” vodka of The Players.  Commissioner Jay Monahan help fold The Players back into the community.

It doesn’t matter where you go on the TPC’s Stadium Course during the tournament, something’s happening there.  From the first tee to the ninth green, from the tenth tee to behind eighteen, there’s a buzz, sometimes audible, but always with an undercurrent of just being there.  They’re keeping the actual number under wraps, but about 50,000 fans fill the grounds hole after hole.  Perhaps they’re limiting the ticket sales, but for the first time, the Tour declared Friday, Saturday and Sunday sell outs in 2026.

New PGA Tour CEO Brian Rolapp, a veteran of the NFL’s ‘nothing but the best’ culture, has been impressed with the whole operation of The Players according to Tour insiders.

Maybe somebody should tell him about the GJO, the TPC, the history of the tournament and how Jacksonville and North Florida works

He wouldn’t be surprised.