Vuelta Ciclista a Cuba
By Josh Horowitz

35 miles per hour. 3k to go. Mapei lined up at the front. Five of them in a row. Behind them, a German pro. Behind him, a Cuban. And then me.

Shooting through the suburbs of Havana, the 75 rider pack splits around a traffic circle. Then another. Mapei is still at the front, an impassable, precision locomotive. Untiring.

Suddenly, darkness as we shoot into a short tunnel. It’s hard to see, but the sound of spinning gears is deafening as it echoes off the walls and ceiling. Inconspicuously, the Cuban National team makes a move up the left side, pulling their star Pedro Pablo into position for the sprint.

The harsh Caribbean sun is on us again as we pop up out of the tunnel and into the city of Havana. 2k to go. We speed down a straightaway which borders the ocean. Huge waves crash against the ancient stone sea wall, creating a fine spray of saltwater that dampens the road making it as slick as ice. Mapei presses on. The Cubans fall back into the pack.

1k to go. The Cuban and the German in front of me smash shoulders violently trying to take possession of the last wheel in the Mapei train. Amazingly, I’m still sitting comfortably right behind them. This is great! I’ve seen this on TV! It’s just like the end of a Tour stage!

500 meters left. I’m right where I want to be. This could be the big one. Suddenly, the motos in front swing to the right making a sharp unexpected turn. The pack follows, but I take a bad line and am forced to dive to the outside of an island along with a few others. The Mapei train continues to the line, delivering their sprinter Clerc, to victory. Out of contention, I sprint the rest of the way for 19th.

And with that, 13 days and 15 stages of racing comes to a close. I’ve achieved my goal of finishing as well as my goal of being the top American. 42nd overall, four top 20 finishes. Maybe I’m not quite ready for the big time yet, but hopefully soon.

Here are some memories and thoughts from my five weeks of racing and training in Cuba. Later, I will send a daily journal detailing each of the 15 stages for anyone that is interested.

The Teams

MAPEI
First of all, I want to point out that contrary to popular belief, this was not Mapei’s amateur team or U23 squad. These were real live professionals who are paid full salaries to race for perhaps the best team in the world. Most of them returned to Europe immediately after to race the classic, Het Volk.

Team Mapei with both the points jersey and the leaders jersey.

These guys completely dominated the race. Aside from the first stage, where (the eventually winner), Pozzato raised his hands too early and was nipped at the line by a local Cuban, they controlled every single move. Once the lead was established, they decided the pace every day, they decided when to ride temp, when to let attacks go and then again, when to bring them back.

They were by far the best supported team there with six staffers for six riders (compared to our 3 staffers for 10 riders). They had their own chef and of course brought their own pasta and olive oil. Every item they had with them was issued by Mapei including their luggage, their street clothes and their sneakers. Except for one night, they stayed at the same hotels as the other International teams and while cocky as hell, were actually pretty friendly. We’d often hang out at night in each other’s rooms joking and making fun of each other’s accents. By the end, we had gotten to know each other pretty well and exchanged e-mail addresses and various articles of clothing.

WIESENHOF
The Wiesenhof team was a German division 2 team, perhaps the equivalent of Saturn here in the States. They were a bunch of solidly built racers, a little cold at first but good guys once you got to know them. They could also out drink anyone on the Tour. Before one of the stages one of them passed by me and said jokingly, “Are you ready for some pain?” Needless to say, these were six words, I never wanted to hear said to me in a German accent.

CORPUSA
Corpusa is the top ranked Spanish amateur team and we spent a lot of time hanging out with them. We would often go into the local towns and hit the discotecas or street fairs together. Suspiciously, the same guy who would get dropped on one stage, would come back and win the next day. These guys were obsessed with their weight and would often leave half their meals untouched. Some would even go so far as to wrap their legs in cellophane during the bus trips.

In one of our first experience together, we were invited to a welcoming ceremony thrown by the government of CienFuegos. We were treated to a dance recital, some food and of course a little bit of communist propaganda. Afterwards, they brought us to a baseball game (every major city had a large modern stadium) where we were ushered into special box seats. We had been there only a few minutes when the announcer came over the loud speaker to introduce us. The crowd immediately rose to their feet and gave us a standing ovation. The Spaniards ate it up, waving their hats to the crowd and really hamming it up.

USA
We were known as the Eastern Regional Team or Estados Unidos. Our riders came mostly from the East Coast and were either top level Cat 1’s or young up and coming 2’s. We split up into two squads putting our six best riders on the main team and the other four on a mixed international team. I had originally expected to be on the mixed team but after the first two stage races, I was promoted to A team. Our team manager was Mike Fraysee, former president of the USCF and all around super knowledgeable and experienced cycling coach.

Some of these riders were very tough. For instance, my roommate for the two week race, Michael Dietrich broke his handlebars halfway through the first stage. He rode almost 60 miles with only one hand, the other side of his bars dangling by the wires. He lost more than half an hour that day, but went on to finish the Vuelta.

For those of you following the results on the web, you know that some of the guys were doing quite well at the beginning of the race. However, none of us had ever done a race like this and by the second week, many of them got seriously sick and had to drop out.

CUBA
A majority of the teams were Cuban, with the National A and B teams being the strongest. These guys have a real love of the sport and even though none of them have a chance at becoming professionals (because of Castro), they push on. They ride 25 pound bikes with threadbare tires, taped on bottle cages, down tube shifters and clip pedals. Some of them don’t even have bar tape. One of the Cubans on our mixed team crashed one day and bent his wheel. To fix it, their mechanic drilled a whole new set of holes in the rim and re-built it overnight. They don’t throw anything away there. If it breaks, they fix it. If it breaks again, they fix it again.

I’ll be sending an e-mail in a few days with information on how we can help these guys out by donating our old, used equipment.

THE HOTELS
For those of you who were concerned after my last e-mail, the conditions did improve somewhat once the actual Vuelta started. The Cuban Cycling Federation did the best they could for the International teams, but there were times when things were still pretty uncomfortable. Some of the hotels were probably once elegant and glamorous, and it would be easy to imagine them packed with high rollers back in their day, but in the 50 years since the revolution, nothing has been maintained and the once beautiful hotels are now crumbling down. Still, I felt bad about complaining. We learned later on that some of the provincial Cuban teams spent their nights sleeping in schools and on dirt floors.

Despite the fact that the hotels were somewhat modern, there were often blatant reminders that this was not the U.S. One night, the electricity went out just before dinner and never came back on. With no emergency lighting, we literally had to run our hands along the walls and the numbers on the doors to find our way back to the room.

Another night, the bus bringing our stuff to the hotel brokedown. When we arrived after 120 miles of racing, we had to go to lunch still in our cycling clothing. The Spanish team and us spent the next seven hours lounging around the hotel in towels. Eventually, we got creative and fashioned togas out of our bed sheets. (Mapei had their stuff, but since they usually walked around in their sexy Italian briefs anyway, they probably wouldn’t have cared anyway.) When the luggage finally did arrive, it turned out my bag had been left at the previous hotel and I had to quickly wash out my clothing to use in the next morning’s race.

Still, the hardest thing about the hotels was having to pack up day after day after day, moving from place to place. 14 hotels in 13 days (because of the double stage.) You could never really get comfortable or settle in. Welcome to the world of international racing.

THE RACE
Originally, I was under the impression that the Vuelta was 12 stages long. However, just a few days before the start, I found out it was actually 13 days, with two double days for a total of 15 stages. Previously, the longest race I had ever done was 8 stages and by the end of that, I could barely pedal. To make matters worse, we miscalculated the schedule and made the mistake of doing a very hard three day stage race ending just one day before the Vuelta. Therefore, we ended up racing 18 times in 17 days.

18 Races in 17 days!

The total mileage came to about 1,200 for the Vuelta, with most of the days being flat and three including epic mountain climbs. To add to the difficulty of the race, we would ride to the start from the hotel and from the finish back to our new hotel. Because our driver was completely incompetent, he would often get lost and we’d end up riding in circles for half an hour. Needless to say, this is the last thing you want after spending six hours in the saddle!

One day included a 176 km stage in the morning and a 40 km crit in the afternoon. Between the neutral roll outs and transfers, we did about 150 miles of riding and racing, which is more than I’ve ever done before in a day.

The crowds were unbelievable and a rough estimate of the first day’s attendance was between 10,000 and 20,000 people. The end of the race was always difficult since the second you crossed the line, a sea of spectators would crash in making it impossible to find the team car or even move. The novelty of being loved and adored by thousands of people very quickly wore out and became a very big hassle.

Still, one of the most amazing things about a race like this is how routine it all becomes after a while. After 8 or nine days of this, you wake up in the morning and it’s as if you’re going to the office rather than a fast paced, high risk sporting event. I would hate to ever describe this sport as boring, but during the first three hours of a six hour day, things can become rather monotonous. At points, it was all I could do to keep my focus on the race.

The final day of the race started out fairly leisurely and I took the opportunity to snap some photos. One of the Mapei riders was in an especially jolly mood and at one point, rode ahead into one of the towns and jumped into the middle of a crowd of spectators. When we passed by a moment later, he was standing there amongst the crowd cheering us on yelling, “Go Mapei!”. Soon after that though, the fit hit the shan and the real racing began. Once again, Mapei led all the way to the line and took yet another stage victory.

For the rest of us, there wasn’t much of a celebration at the finish. By that point, all we wanted was a hot shower and a good meal. The real celebration wouldn’t begin till a few days later when we were finally returned to our friends and loved ones after a very long trip.

There are probably more stories that I have left out that I’ll have to share with you in person, but thanks again for all your support. As hard as this experience was, it was made all the better to come home to so many great people. See you all soon and look forward to some reports from Redlands next week.