Nice

Nice

The UK 70.3 was a wrap. Issues, always issues, always challenges, always something out of the immediate (or long tern) control of the intrepid RCVman, but a wrap none-the-less. The Saturday hook up with Simon and Fiona went without a hitch, as was to be expected as this was an official FBI (Fun Boys International) manouver. I simply say that I will be in the smallest hamlet in all of Southern England (Dulverton-Southern gateway to the moors), and Agent Ward is there, with a map, a tent and a wonderful bottle of expensive wine (my favorite varietal) , compliments of his Dad. We braved the treacherously narrow and winding roads (now I know where the bus drivers of Almafi get their training) to Wimbleball Lake, found race directors Ali and Chris, checked in, got credentialed, made camp, met up with Catherine and promptly went to dinner at The George's Pub. And had a delightful supper.

With 4-am as a wake up time, we hit the bags early, a mere 100 meters from the muster area. The plan was coming together as nice as one could expect. I had met my driver, Martin (not Darren) Saturday night and we set up the camera mount configuration and shoot protocols. The sky was full of stars and the predicted rains were nowhere to be found. Nice.

The 0600 swim start was into a fog bank into which the 1,200 athletes swam, made the turn and swam out of, and back to the park. We waited as long as possible, leaving at 7, roughly half way into the pack. We were atop Martin's fire engine red Triumph, a fast looking and surprisingly comfortable ride. I had previously switched the vest attachment to the left side to accommodate the UK driving custom, but decided to hand hold the Fig Rig at the last moment to try to get a little more extension to the left for a better POV. This is an issue that we need to correct, he mentally noted several times during the long ride. There was a bit off mirror the entire day at the lower left of the frame, keeping him from fully capturing left turns and enough of the ((stunning) scenery on the left side of the road. We need to get the camera up front to see both sides of the road, balances and all the way through turns, he again chided himself, knowing that it was too late for UK, and IM France as well.

Almost two complete laps, three hours of footage, and it starts to rain. And then hail. And then rain and hail. I swabbed the lens about four times and kept the camera body protected from the heavy downpours, but the footage from that point is questionable. And he had checked the camera into a locker this morning at the hostel, so he wouldn't have access to review until tomorrow, now Wednesday of race week for Ironman France. Sunday would have to be from another bike, right side con-fig, with the vest. That's at least five hours of holding the camera no less than three feet from his center of gravity. His back hurt just thinking about it.

Yesterday was a day at the airport. He left Catherine's charming, cozy and comfortable little cottage in Exeter at 10, got the the airport at noon, met the charming writer Annaliza Davis, and then hit Brest, Lyon and finally Nice at 2200. A 29 Euro cab ride and he was hauling luggage up two flights of stairs to his dorm bunk none the worse for wear. A Neapolitan pizza and a couple of Heinekens at a sidewalk cafe in Nice at Midnight wrapped up another International travel day.

The first re-con mission through the streets of Nice was this morning, and proved successful as the race venue, expo and swim was less than a mile from the hostel. He had stopped and bought another power converter, customized it to fit with his trusty swiss army knife and now sat pounding keys on the old iBook G4, as the iPhone charged and his spirits rose with each passing moment. Nice.

He did however, wish he could start editing video.