ESCONDIDO, Calif. (VN) — With all the time we domestic professional cyclists spend in airports, hotels and team vans, toeing the line at events week-in and week-out all over the country, it is not uncommon for us to amalgamate some of the races in our heads into one, or for some complacency to sneak into our routines. Not this week.

The Amgen Tour of California is the domestic professionals’ glimpse into the WorldTour professionals’ amalgamation of big-time bike racing. Before we get too deep into the race, I wanted to convey to you here the impact of the importance of this week’s event to UCI Continental teams like mine, Jamis-Hagens Berman.

Throughout the year, we Continental teams reprise the role of Goliath in the peloton across the National Racing Calendar, normally dictating the race narratives and winning the lion’s share of the events over our amateur counterparts. This week in California, however, our collective role is reversed as we play that of David, mounting daily, cunning attempts with our best men to conquer the powerful and confident WorldTour riders.

We domestic teams will slightly bridle our inter-Continental rivalries for the week, tenuously united in a common goal of significantly impacting one of our country’s most prestigious cycling races. Competing athletes will more freely divulge race information and tactics. Rival directors will be a little more willing and eager to provide bottles and pacing when we need them. Soigneurs and mechanics from opposing teams will be more united and cooperative. All of this will happen because an Amgen Tour of California stage victory for any Continental team benefits and emboldens us all — the famous biblical tale epitomized.

I fully expect this week to see my domestic peers wholly focused and riding a step above their normal abilities. I also anticipate some of our European competition to be suffering from jetlag or California Dreamin’ — the plush, spacious hotel rooms and abundant, tasty race buffets are a far cry from typical European race accommodations. It’s that intersection of desperate domestic opportunism and potential WorldTour vulnerability where magical tales of the underdog triumphing can unfold. We’ve seen it here before. It’s my aim to be on the winning side of that juncture for myself or for a Jamis teammate, then to convey the inside story here afterwards.

This week, a portion of the elite domestic mountain bike community, led by sponsor Sho-Air, demonstrated the effectiveness of collective action and civil disobedience in the cycling world when they voiced an intention to attend the Whiskey 50 — characterized by the UCI as a “forbidden event” — and thereby caused the UCI and USAC to postpone until 2014 their planned enforcement of a UCI rule barring its licensees from racing such unsanctioned events.

While the road cycling community lacks a similar lucrative unifying race outside of USAC sanctioning, the protest and its outcome bear relevance to the entire domestic peloton, hinting at our ability to affect the design of our sport’s rules through a unified stance.

Rules in sport are essential. Regulations remove gray areas and provide assurance of a level playing field. But selective enforcement weakens the authority and effectiveness of the entire set of rules.

Remember those once-ubiquitous rain capes made of clear PVC? Though the UCI requires racers to wear rain jackets that are either transparent or resemble their jerseys, this rule is largely ignored. Precedent, however, is not reasonable justification for the UCI’s recent encouragement of widespread disregard for rule 1.2.019, the one that threatens licensees with fines and suspensions of they take part in unsanctioned events. I want our rules to make sense and to be enforced in full. Rule 1.2.019 should be abolished, not temporarily ignored.

In practice, rule 1.2.019 directly contradicts portions of both the UCI and USAC mission statements: “to develop and promote cycling,” and “to grow competitive cycling in America,” respectively. If the long-ignored rule starts being enforced, it will soon bar me from competing in my favorite race, Burke Swindlehurst’s Crusher in the Tushar, an innovative event suitable for many types of bicycles that represents a healthy direction for mass-appeal bicycle racing.

I spoke with Burke at length during his planning of the event as he considered whether to sanction it through USAC. Ultimately he decided it was not appropriate given the unique nature of his event.

As a member of Jamis-Hagens Berman, a UCI Continental team, I am not guaranteed a minimum salary by either the UCI or USAC, and therefore I should be free to use my skillset to represent my sponsors and seek prizes at bicycle races outside of their sanction, like the Crusher.

Further, simply possessing a UCI license should not bar me from being a cycling enthusiast and supporting my good friend’s endeavor.

Promoters and racers should be able to make these decisions without hindrance.

While domestic cycling and the mountain bikers’ unified stand are far cries from the NFL and its players’ association, it’s worth discussing more popular sports’ use of collective bargaining and thinking about how it might affect our sport.

In all four of the United States’ premier sports — football, basketball, baseball, and hockey — players’ unions formed as the sports grew in popularity and profitability. The unions legally represent the athletes’ interests and negotiate with teams and leagues on their behalf, including petitioning the rulebook. Similarly, in the European professional peloton the International Association of Professional Cycling (AIGCP) lobbies the UCI on behalf of the major cycling teams.

The domestic peloton lacks such a collective voice. Sho-Air’s foray into civil resistance revealed the strength and potential of such an approach to representing cyclists’ interests with respect to our governing rules. My goal with this essay is to point out the potential of this approach and encourage discussion on the topic.

TUCSON, Arizona (VN) — Most cyclists here in the States have experienced some level of aggressive behavior from motorists. It usually comes in the form of taunts about our spandex, a belch of exhaust accompanying a startling downshift, or an uncomfortably close buzz. But on Friday morning during our team training camp in Tucson, Arizona, the Jamis-Hagens Berman team experienced something much worse. A driver, who police later identified as Rodney Kinkade Jr. of Tucson, came up from behind on our large group, took aim, and used his car as a battering ram. Fortunately, none of us were gravely injured, but the incident highlighted the growing senseless friction between cyclists and motorists.

The Jamis team chose Tucson for its camp location because of its favorable weather and training terrain. Tucson is generally regarded as a bike-friendly city and indeed has long been somewhat of a domestic cycling mecca.

We departed for our ill-fated training ride on Friday at 10:00 a.m., headed out of town on Valencia Road, a common thoroughfare with a generous shoulder bounded by a white line. The 15-rider group was riding two-abreast in a long line, as far to the right as possible, in full accordance with Arizona traffic law. Our team’s strength and conditioning coach Todd Herriott and I were on the front, he on my left, closest to the passing traffic. Kinkade’s tan Oldsmobile Aurora suddenly and violently impacted Todd’s left side. He and I crashed hard on the front of the group as Mr. Kinkade sped away. My teammates also reported that Mr. Kinkade was shouting obscenities at us during the attack through his open car window.

As Todd and I lay on the ground struggling to comprehend what had happened, my unscathed teammate Ben Jacques-Maynes sprinted past us in an impressive pursuit of the fleeing car. Ben did not manage to catch the perpetrator, but he swiftly came upon our team car, which was waiting for us at our next turn and breathlessly explained the situation to our sport director, Sebastian Alexandre. Sebastian quickly resumed the pursuit along with his serendipitous passenger, John Segesta, a professional photographer in possession of a DSLR camera with a telephoto lens. John photographed numerous cars and license plates before the pair returned to the scene of the crime for the team members to positively identify the driver and vehicle.

John nailed him — crystal clear in high-definition on his camera was a shot of Kinkade’s car and Arizona license plate. Mr. Kinkade underestimated the cohesiveness and capability of the Jamis squad. Ben and various teammates spread the word and the license plate number through social media, and within a couple hours an article appeared in the cycling press.

The Tucson Police Department arrived quickly, responding with nearly a dozen officers and two detectives. Aware of the burgeoning attention towards the incident, Tucson police ran the plates and found Mr. Kinkade in his home. According to one of the detectives, Kinkade had washed his car in an apparent attempt to remove the evidence of the attack, but a large scratch remained from the collision. He admitted to yelling at us as he passed, but denied making physical contact. In spite of this denial, he was taken into custody and will appear before the Pima County Court on March 14 on charges of felony aggravated assault. In my opinion, he deserves 15 counts of this charge, as all of us in the group were endangered by his reckless criminal behavior.

In addition to damaged bikes and shredded apparel, Todd and I were among the wreckage of the attack, bruised and battered, but fortunately without any broken bones. The fall-out could have been much worse, but the unprovoked attack by Mr. Kinkade was wholly unnecessary. I understand that cyclists sometimes slow traffic, which can annoy motorists, but we share just as much right to the use of roadway, and no amount of annoyance or delay could justify an assault with a 4,000-pound weapon like his Oldsmobile.

I want to thank the Tucson Police Department for taking the attack so seriously. The city truly lived up to its bike-friendly reputation with its thorough and effective response, and I believe that this incident should not deter cyclists from visiting the city. Rodney Kinkade does not represent the general attitude of Tucson drivers towards cyclists. I am also thankful to all of my Jamis teammates for skipping some training and remaining at the scene of the crime for four hours in order to give the police their statements on the incident.

I’ll be back on my bike and doing my best in 2013, but the close call was a sobering reminder of the danger of cycling on the open roads. My hope is that some good can come of this situation if Mr. Kinkade is prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law, thereby raising the general awareness of the consequences of recklessly endangering cyclists.

When I look at a world map or the international section of a newspaper, I often read it in terms of relevance to cycling.

For example, it is because of monuments like the Tour of Flanders and Liège-Bastogne-Liège that I know that Belgium is divided into two distinct halves, Flanders and Wallonia. Reading of Basque nationalism in the news makes me think of the ProTeam Euskaltel-Euskadi’s policy of hiring nearly exclusively Basque riders.

And the common summertime destination for Argentine tourism of San Luis will forever stand out to me from the rest of the broad Argentine Pampas region after racing here with Jamis-Hagens Berman in the Tour de San Luis. My time in Argentina this week has me pondering how being a member of the peloton brings tangibility to the rich cultures and histories that the sport highlights.

Our week in San Luis began with the tour’s team presentation at the province’s replica of the Buenos Aires Cabildo, an edifice commemorating the May Revolution of 1810, which began the Argentine war of independence from Spain. It was a chance for me to learn a bit of the country’s history and enjoy the poignancy of the local public voicing its strongest welcome to a Spaniard, Alberto Contador, who was marshaling his troops ahead of a much less significant Argentine battle.

During quiet moments in the stages, usually after the breakaway has departed for the day, the peloton is jumbled and we get a chance to chat with some of the riders around us. It is a time to catch up with friends on rival teams, and also an opportunity to make introductions.

To me, a fun part of being a cyclist and world traveler is learning greetings in many different languages. This week alone I have found occasion to say, “Hi,” “Hola,” “Ciao,” “Bonjour,” “Oi,” “Guten tag,” and even “Konnichiwa,” an indication of the worldliness of the Tour de San Luis peloton.

The daily shuffling of the bunch has given me a few chances to speak with members of the Cuban national team. We have an easy ice-breaker, as they all know my two Cuban teammates on Jamis, Luis Amarán and Ruben Companiono, and are eager to hear how their expatriates are getting along in the U.S.

From these discussions, I have learned that the monthly salary for a professional cyclist in their country is room, board, bike maintenance and $15, which has given me more perspective into Amarán’s claim that “there is no future” in Cuba and his decision to defect. The consequences of our trade embargo became palpable when I learned that the Cubanos purchase replacement motorcycle and car parts whenever they travel abroad, and that they always have authentic Cuban cigars for sale.

Time in the peloton is not all small talk and waxing cosmopolitan, however. The reason we all came to Argentina was competition, and when we do resume the racing, the friendliness is most certainly set aside until the next day.

The suffering I will forget, but a lot of what I will remember from San Luis is the experience inside the peloton, and I hope I was able to share some of that here.

SAN LUIS, Argentina (VN) — The Latin influence on my Jamis-Hagens Berman team has given me many opportunities to race in South America and the strongest common thread that I have observed is that rarely is there a race down here without incident.

I can recall encountering an undocumented stream crossing (nearly hub-deep) inside a stage’s final kilometer, witnessing an ESPN race helicopter crash, a stray dog sauntering onto the course during a stage’s final sprint finish, and one day’s main breakaway forming through the lead motor brigade during neutral roll-out. From slick, diesel-covered roads to uniquely dangerous road furniture like soccer ball-sized Botts’ dots, it seems that every potential source of danger or chaos is ratcheted up a bit here. Racing down south feels like being in the Wild West.

After a two-year hiatus, Jamis and I are back in Argentina this week at the UCI 2.1 Tour de San Luis, a race that has become South America’s premier cycling event and a major ProTeam season kickoff. There has been much discussion recently of the UCI’s goal of globalizing cycling, and the Tour de San Luis is a prime example of its successful implementation. The locals come out in droves to this town’s chief annual sporting event. As someone who is somewhat familiar with the wild racing style down here, I wanted to comment on how the ProTeam attendance has affected the competition and calmed some of the usual chaos.

When I raced San Luis in 2008, 2009 and 2010, before there was such a strong ProTeam presence, the racing was the typical, disorderly South American style, and a few of my above example incidents were from those editions. This year, it feels more formal, as cycling’s curious code of etiquette and respect to the patrón is clearly evident. With heads of state like Alberto Contador and Mark Cavendish comes a sense of order to the day that seems in stark contrast to my previous experience.

I think the normally intensely aggressive South American teams have confidence that the ProTeams can control the outcome and they feel less able to significantly impact the narrative. The stages now follow a familiar pattern: attacks from the gun until a breakaway is established; a decision from ProTeams that said breakaway is acceptable; an enforced timeout in the peloton; and the inevitable chase and intense ramping up for the final sprint or climb to the finish.

The ProTeam presence creates respect for this plot whereas the smaller events that I have attended down here have been much less predictable. It is similar to differences that I have perceived between National Racing Calendar events and the major U.S. UCI events like the Tours of California and Utah, but to a greater degree.

A certain amount of chaos in a South American race, however, is inevitable. In the first two stages this week, we have experienced strong tailwinds and predominately downhill final kilometers. Vague signage on Tuesday even caused Thor Hushovd, my Jamis teammate J.J. Haedo, and various other sprinters to mistakenly deviate with the police motorbikes inside the last kilometer. As I am sure the ProTeam riders will agree, the adventure most certainly remains.