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| Moi et mon super-domestique |
Euro cycling is littered with french and italian terms, and wannabes like me love to show off by dropping them into conversation. Probably everyone's heard of the
maillot jaune or yellow jersey, and
peloton (literally "platoon"), the large group of riders that generally forms in a race. Less well-known perhaps are
soigneur, the team dogsbody who does the post-ride massages, arranges the food, applies band-aids to boo-boos and so-on, and
grimpeur, a specialist climber who gets the team leader to the top. A personal favourite of mine is
un arret pipi, one of those moments when (out of camera view) the
peloton agrees to stop and answer the call of nature. But the term I found myself using recently was
super-domestique in connection with my friend and riding buddy Kevin (pilot of the Mexican Truck of song and story). A
domestique (literally, servant) is the equivalent of one of those red-shirted Security grunts in a Star Trek Away Team. His only role in life is to do whatever the team leader needs, so he'll get sent back to the team car for water and snacks, ordered to chase down a dangerous breakaway, or even surrender his bike if the leader has a mechanical and is losing time. Most of the time they end up as the
lanterne rouge or last man in and end up getting disqualified. Each team has several of these willing servants, and the most trusted among them is the
super-domestique.
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| domestique and in-ride photographer |
Kevin, bless his cotton socks, has for the past several weeks driven out of his way (including a section of toll road!) to pick me up for rides, during which he drags me around the course (I stick to his rear wheel like you-know-what to a blanket). He then drives me home, usually unloading my bike and gear for good measure. He truly deserves the title of
super-domestique and could even aspire to the heights of
gregario, pretty much the team leader's BFF.
He showed these sterling qualities last weekend when we trekked out to North Harris County for the Clay Walker Band Against MS ride. We rode 46 miles on a gorgeous morning around mostly familiar countryside and then enjoyed a pretty good post-ride lunch. I realised how much I relied on him into the wind when he left me on a
faux-plat (false flat or very gently sloping road) and I felt the full force. I barely kept my speed in two digits. Chapeau, mon ami! (Chapeau or hat is how you say well done in cycling francais)
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