No Such Thing as Too Much Cow Bell

I can't believe how lucky Richmond is to have gotten the UCI bike races.

Despite the bellyaching, fear-mongering and general trash-talking that's been going on for the past four days, the fact is that we've got an athletic event of global proportions happening on our front doorstep and it's nothing short of amazing.

Anticipating that having a bike-savvy buddy with me to answer my questions would enhance my experience, I invited a favorite cyclist to join me for an afternoon of race-watching. We met at my place and then began our adventure by walking over to the starting line at Third and Broad Streets just before everything got underway for the afternoon.

On the way, I positively glowed seeing the crowd dining and drinking al fresco in front of Max's. Back when I'd been part of the Ephemeral Plan: Brook Road, one of our suggestions had been to close off that stretch for outdoor dining. It was incredibly gratifying seeing it happening.

My biking ignorance was immediately on view since I'd had no clue that the racers came down a ramp to start their ride. It was particularly cool watching the camera on a crane follow them out of the gate and onto Third Street.

What I quickly figured out was that the spectators' role was to make as much noise as possible. Since we'd brought neither cowbells nor noisemakers, we resorted to clapping and shouting every time a cyclist went by.

And here's where my lack of knowledge reared its ugly head again. Who knew that each cyclist was preceded by a motorcycle cop and followed by a car (s) with extra bikes and bike parts?

But easily the coolest job, assuming you have nerves of steel, an adrenaline addiction and a core of sheer muscle, was the cameraman standing on a motorcycle behind the driver, filming the individual bike rider. Kids, you, too, can grow up to do this!

After watching a half dozen cyclists roll down the starting line, we made tracks for another vantage point: the corner of Belvidere and Broad where they had to make a wide left turn. But the best left turn was the one from Laurel onto Main, where they whizzed by the Altria Theater and almost took the paint of the fencing barricades where we were standing.

A woman nearby had been steadily taking pictures of them doing this sharp left and my companion began doing the same. Me, I just watched, fascinated, as these women took the turn, their bikes barely a foot and a half from the barricades. So close.

From there, we made our way down to Belvidere and Main to watch the riders begin the windy sweep over the Lee Bridge. It was here I first noticed the serious leg sweat on the cyclists. Despite the cloud cover, steady wind and cooler temperatures, these women were working it. Hard.

Next we started toward Broad on our way to watch the last leg of the course which includes bombing Main Street (and against the street's usual westward direction), climbing a steep hill on Governor's Street behind the executive mansion, a "false flat" once they turned onto Broad Street ('cause you're still coming up the last of the ascent from the Bottom) and the finish line at Fifth.

Along the way, cops smiled and said hello, friendly blue-shirted volunteers helped us cross streets like elementary school safety patrols and friends - the scuba diver, the urban planner, the gallerist, the vintage store owner -said hello.

It was like one big city-wide party.

Occasionally we passed people carrying on with the business of life, like the construction worker telling his buddies about how dehydrated his friend got after a night of drinking. "He put a Tums in his mouth before he went to bed and when he woke up, it was still there."

You don't say?

Watching the riders come down Main Street was thrilling for my biking companion and terrifying for me. They had to be going 40 mph, yet they had to brake for the sharp left onto Governor's Street and then work it up that hill.

As I was walking up it, a man with a microphone and press credentials pointed at my shirt - "Virginia is for Wine Lovers" - and said, "My wife would kill for that shirt." Luckily she wasn't around.

Everywhere, we saw people holding flags of other countries, waving them as riders went by. Cheering was mostly in English, despite the fact that so many cyclists spoke other languages. We even overheard some guys discussing whether or not the cyclists wanted people to make noise or be silent so they could concentrate.

"Are you kidding?" one said incredulously. "They want us to make noise!" Duh. Come on, the flippin' ABC was giving away cow bells to help the noise-making effort.

By the time they got up that hill and turned onto the "false flat," you could tell they were tired, or, at least, not as fresh as they'd been at the starting line. The crowds were much bigger near the finish line than any we'd seen, with spectators in the elevated VIP section and others comfortably ensconced at the usually empty T. Miller's patio in front of the Marriott.

We stopped to cheer on some of the cyclists reaching the end, but, let's face it, that's probably the least interesting part of the time trials to watch as a spectator.

In front of Eureka Workshop, we chatted with one of its staffers, who said she'd been interviewed by one of the TV stations about how the businesses along Broad were being affected by the race. Refusing to agree that the race was ruining business, she made a point to be upbeat about it all.

Of course, the reporter did her best to bait her - was it chaos? impossible to navigate?- and when she responded incredulously, they'd done a hatchet job in editing that made her sound far more negative than she'd actually been.

Likewise, when we got back from the races after walking nearly five miles and spending four hours watching the best cyclists I've ever seen, I was greeted by screeds from local media outlets bemoaning the low local attendance at area restaurants this week.

Seems all the business lately has been thanks to foreign visitors while the locals are staying away in droves. How idiotic of them.

The fact is, the city isn't hard to navigate, even with some road closures and there's a surprising abundance of parking spaces all over town. Some of us - gasp - are even walking the city to catch the races and it's been a blast.

Some cities would kill for an influx of cosmopolitan tourists and world-class athletes. Friends, if you're not taking advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, the loss is yours.

We're talking half-empty restaurants and world-class leg sweat here. It's our moment in the sun, Richmond. Why on earth wouldn't we enjoy every minute of it?

You know I am.