My Quest for a Gravel World Championship

It was 5 years ago when I started thinking about this fastest growing segment of cycling called “Gravel Riding.” I wondered at 75 after having some success in both mountain and road bike careers, am I too old? Is it too late to take up a new form of racing? I had given up mountain biking about 10 years earlier, because the top riders I rode with took hard falls way out on the trails where nobody could find them. Going out alone was just too risky, and I put my focus back on road riding, where I had competed internationally, but I missed the low-key ambiance and the adventure of exploring trails.

The thought of getting back out in the woods on dirt roads away from traffic was enticing and safe, so I thought.

For my 75th birthday Raleigh Bicycles, who sponsored me years ago, gave me a mid-level gravel bike. On my very first ride I found myself deep in the woods on gnarly single-track, I was lost, and nobody knew where I was. This was why I had quit mountain biking, but I still had the skills, it was fun, and I was hooked.

Flash forward 5 years and I had upgraded to an Ultimate Gravel Litespeed Titanium Bike and participated in some tough races such as Jeremy Power’s Gran Fundo and The Vermont Overland. The climbing involved was leg and lung punishing, with 5000 ft of elevation change and several miles of single-track trails more suitable for a mountain bike. The distance covered 50 miles, taking me 6 hours to complete. 

Then, last year at this time Flanders, Belgium, a mecca for cycling, announced they would be hosting the third Gravel World Championships. Belgium’s number one pastime is competitive cycling with as many as one million fans showing up for a recent Road World Championships held in this same area. If I was ever going to race in another World Championships, this was the place to do it. My wife supported my decision and gave me the OK, knowing that it was the chance of a lifetime. That and the fact that there were no long steep climbs in that area of Belgium.

When my adult son, Ian, heard I was entering the race, he jumped on the opportunity to go with me.

I had made my decision, without thinking through every detail of how this would come about, but I knew there would be signs along the way that would let me know if it was the right decision.

That first sign that I was on the right track occurred about 3 weeks before the Worlds Championship qualifying race in Arkansas. I still work full-time in sales and I was telling my sales manager that I would be taking a day or 2 off for that weekend trip to Fayetteville to qualify and he said the company had a client in Fayetteville that needed some service. I could fly down there for the week at the company expense and then qualify, which is exactly what happened. This would save me vacation days, not to mention, airfare, rental car and hotel expenses, which would cost me more than I could afford. Not many corporations would support an employee’s hobby, and I am still grateful for their cooperation.

I was the only one registered in the 80+ group, so all I had to do was finish to qualify. It was a beautiful but difficult course with 5000ft of climbing and descending dirt roads in 50 miles, where the worlds course would only have 2800ft of climbing in the same number of miles. I finished in 5.5 hours and was totally exhausted but now I am officially qualified to compete in the World Championships.

Spending a week in the Bentonville/Fayetteville area riding the amazing miles of bike paths, was like a mini vacation, even though I was working 8 hours a day. Who knew there was such a bike culture in Arkansas?

One night in the motel parking lot I came across an older rider working out of the trunk of his car putting his bike together, As I got closer, I noticed he was old enough to be a master rider and the bike was a Gravel Bike. As we felt each other out with questions about the Qualifying race, he somehow figured out that I was who I am and he shouted out my name and said, “You’re The Bike Guy, You are Famous” but I had already figured out who he was, and replied, “Yeah but you’re Rich and Famous.” I knew he was Jim Gentes and had invented or patented the first hard shell helmet, that made it into the European Peleton on Greg LeMond’s head. He had a good run with Giro Helmets and had been just traveling around riding mountain bikes and cyclo-cross races for the past 25 years. An authentic Northern California hippie type that reminded me of myself years ago. We hit it off and went out to dinner almost every night that week. Jim had tried to qualify for the Worlds last year at a race up in Ontario Canada and now he was trying again in a very competitive 65+ category. He missed out again in Arkansas and was contemplating going back to Canada again but told me if I was serious about going to Belgium, he would write me a check to help with my expenses. This was such a genuine offer it really choked me up. He couldn’t go but he wasn’t all down and out about it. He was such a positive guy appreciating life he had no time to feel sorry for himself and wanted to help me. We exchanged email and phone numbers while packing up our bikes and 4 weeks later his check arrived at my mailbox.

What were the chances that some 80-year-old aging domestique, (support rider) from the 1970’s could gather enough sponsorship and donations to assure his presence on the starting line of what would be his third cycling World Championships over the course of the past 50 years? I rode the Road World Championships for the USA in 1973 and the Master’s Mountain Bike World Championships in 1999.

The odds against, the resistance, the rejection, the uphill battle never showed up. One door opened when Shimano came on board, and then key sponsors began stepping up without any hesitation. Then old and new friends from a variety of my past lives heard about my dream and began writing personal checks so fast there was no backing off I had to move forward. 

They say, “It’s all about the journey,” and for me this quest has been all about the good people I’ve met and the good fortune that goes with that.

When people are this genuine and sincere in backing my dream it instills confidence, gratitude and a positive attitude that all but eliminates negative distractions.

By the time I got back home, my son was saying things like, “When are we leaving, and have you bought our tickets yet?” He was serious about making the trip with me, and now I knew everything else would fall in place.

I was trying to re-acquaint myself with the guys at Litespeed Titanium Bicycles, when my phone rang, and it was two guys who I used to work for at Litespeed over 20 years earlier. They had heard a rumor that I was coming out of moth balls and wanted to know if they could help. 

This call resulted in my being connected to the right person at Shimano, a premier cycling accessory company, and a generous sponsorship offer from a new German Gravel Bike Brand even though I was in negotiations with Litespeed at the time.

So, this venture’s momentum was energized by people just wanting to help. There was no sideways agenda on anyone’s part.

When I was introduced to Meredeth Miller who handles a large part of Shimano’s sponsorships, she wanted to hear how I first got started with Shimano, and I told her my story of using Shimano parts for the first time back in 1976.

I had won a beautiful orange Colnago frame at a road race down in Macon, Georgia right after the Junior Worlds trials in Stone Mountain. By taking all the Campagnolo parts off my Raleigh and putting them on the Colnago I ended up with a complete Italian road bike, maybe the best bike I’d ever owned. I was coaching a Hearts/Clean Machine cycling club in Chapel Hill while driving a city bus part time, when an old racing buddy, Jeff Leslie called to say he was overseeing the new Japanese accessory company Shimano in the USA. He asked if I would consider replacing all my Italian Campagnolo parts with free Shimano parts. I had always had Campagnolo parts on my bikes, and it would be sacrilege for me to put Japanese parts on such a fine Italian bike. Kind of like putting a chevy engine into a Ferrari.

But like all racing cyclists, I was a little light on spending money, and knew I could make some serious cash selling the Campagnolo parts to local riders, so I told Jeff to go ahead and ship the Shimano to me.

Meredeth’s reaction was pretty much, “Wow, Wow, Wow! I don’t think she had ever heard a story even close to that one. She said, “We must take care of you. What do you need or want?” Shimano ended up supplying me with whatever parts I needed for competing in the World Championships.

I had no idea, the impact that story would have when I wrote her, but it sure as hell made this old roadies spirits skyrocket. My next move was to leverage this in my negotiations with Litespeed which was critical in their decision to move ahead and get me on their latest model gravel bike, the Toscano.

Meanwhile my old friend Tim Maloney in Italy was making me custom “Bike Guy 80th birthday socks with sponsors names to help me with promotion. More checks are coming in and I haven’t even set up my GoFundMe page yet.

So yeah, I’m waking up each morning, being grateful, humble and saying “Thank you,” about a hundred times a day. Reading books that new and old friends are giving me like, Truthfulness, Zen, The Sermon on the Mount, and Yoga’s Ethical Practice. There is no way I am going to get angry, defensive, reactive or take offense, at anything when I am surrounded by supportive energy like this. 

During this time, Victoria, the Italian tire company has sent me tires, Wahoo has sent me an Element and heart monitor, a helmet arrived from Lazer, and great ADDRA protein recovery bars from Eric Zaltas. I have found a great coach in Aidan Hammond of Bike Fitting Ireland who will suffer my incapacity to learn this new coaching technology measured using wattage, power, heart rate.

The night before my 80th birthday ride with guys coming from New Mexico, New Hampshire and North Carolina, my wife, Sara gets blood clots in her lungs and must go to the hospital. We visit her that night and the doctor says although she will stay in the hospital for three more nights she doesn’t require surgery.

Local friends, Murray and Cyndi stepped up to handle the party after the ride, Sara’s sister, Abi, does bedside duty at the hospital. My son helps me and the ride comes off without a hitch. Oh and a few substantial checks were written for the trip at the ride. 

Now it is August, and I have 9 weeks until race day in Belgium. My coach starts to give me more specific intense workouts combined with the right amount of rest days. We had both studied the racecourse profile and it has very little climbing compared to all the New England events, so there is no point in my tuning up at a local gravel event with 5000 ft of climbing when the Worlds will have only 2,800 ft of climbing. There is still time to lose a couple of pounds and develop some above-threshold fitness, while I am still working full time and arranging travel and hotel plans.

As much as I need to join in some good tempo group rides to develop my leg speed, I am still not fit enough to stay in contact during the local group rides and it is a bit demoralizing, so I am better off training alone. When I express the fact that some of these group rides have guys close to or equal to my age and women in their 60’s who are dropping me.  Aidan reminds me that they did not take the years between 65 to 73 off to drive a truck for a living. This news hit me hard, because I never factored in just how much damage those years had done to my health. I had developed high blood pressure and A-fib while sitting behind the wheel of an 18-wheeler during that time.  This was just another challenge for me to stay mentally positive, because I could not change the past. I began putting all the reading and meditation into practice, which became a bit easier each week. I was getting better at catching the never-ending negative thoughts and judgments streaming through my head and switching them to more positive aphorisms.

Thanks to all the love, energy, checks and sponsorship, with not one person saying even in jest, “You better Win Bike Guy!” my son and I are going back to Europe for the first time since he was 11, and he will watch his dad ride a World Championships for a second time since he was one year old at the Masters World Mountain Bike Championships in Quebec.

I want to win and to be on the top step of the podium. I don’t want to hear some other countries’ national anthem, and I am checking with the organizers to see if there are any other 80-year-olds registered. I know of 3 that have qualified, so I am thinking there could be 4 or 5 of us, which will make for a real race with tactics which I have never had a chance to use in any of my previous gravel events. Being the oldest rider by far at any gravel event, my challenge has always been to survive the climbs and descents, eat and drink properly, keep my focus and finish without crashing. The high points and satisfaction took place while feathering the brakes on a washed-out downhill section of dirt road at 30 miles per hour and still having the skills to handle the single track after 4 or 5 hours on the bike.

When the UCI sends me an email that another 80-year-old from Belgium born in 1944 has registered, I am pleased that it is a Belgian because they represent the true essence of hard-nosed European racing. I then find out from another Belgian, Adri, who is part of the Litespeed Owners Group, on Face Book, that Roger Landeloos, was born in a house on the racecourse, rides the course all the time and was 2nd in the European Gravel Championships on a similar local course last year.

I email some close friends to say, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” But deep down inside, I know, I have some major mental and physical adjustments to make. I must increase my envisioning to include a variety of situations and tactics and never let the second step on the podium creep into my thoughts.

My list of contributors had grown to over 50 people, a diverse group made up of former teammates, training partners, truck drivers and adversaries to kids, (now grown) I had coached. Others I had worked for, or were former sponsors, my sister, high school buddies, my doctor and co-workers at my current job. 

I can only speculate on what their motive/belief is for supporting me, but trust must be near the top of the list. It is like a bucket list item that they know they can’t get done, but they sense that I will follow all the way through and represent them well. Many had read bits and pieces of my memoir rough drafts in recent years, and they might be living vicariously through me on another crazy adventure. 

Whatever it is, convinced them to open their wallets and hearts in backing my dream, is instilling confidence, gratitude and a positive attitude, that is keeping me optimistic every day.

When my legendary Dutch friend, Rini Wagtmans, stage winner, and yellow jersey holder, in The Tour de France arranges sponsorship for our hotel via the director of Limar Chocolates, our plans are complete.

Ian and I will arrive six days before the race and during this time he will get to meet my coach and cronies coming over from Ireland, get reacquainted with the Wagtmans family in Holland, and learn about the cycling culture in Belgium.

Tom, a contributor, with a spacious pickup truck drops us off right at our Aer Lingus departure gate at Bradley Airport for our flight to Brussels, which is only a 20-minute drive to our hotel in the village of Tervuren.

Once settled in our relatively new room with kitchenette I begin to flash back on the last time Ian, and I were in Holland and Belgium over 14 years ago when he was only 11 and we went to see the Grand Depart of the Tour de France with Rini. Ian spent all his time with Rini’s grand kids, and they played a lot of soccer in the back yard. Ian grew up quickly, meeting older kids and gaining great skills on the soccer field. At this time, I began to think what it would be like if Sara and I could afford to have him grow up in Holland until at least his high school years. The advantages he would gain regards his education, included the ability to speak 2 or 3 different languages, while developing a strong Dutch work ethic, and traveling to other close by countries. 

Now here we are, all these years later eating a typical Belgian breakfast beyond any growing boy’s dream, which includes a selection of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, a variety of cold cuts, cheeses, bread, cereals and juices with great jam and butter. Ian who is currently 6’ 5” and 245 lbs. of muscle, presents a real threat to the hotel food budget with this “Complimentary Breakfast.” He had a stellar high school athletic career, lettering in Soccer, Football and making All State as a Lacrosse player. As a dad on the sidelines yelling for him, it was an amazing time. But we had some difficult father, son moments. I was an over-the-road truck driver during those years and did everything I could legally as a driver to make it to his games, but it wasn’t enough. I was just not available for him during some crucial situations which added to the distancing between us. If you had told me then that Ian would be supporting me at the World Cycling Championships when I was 80, there is no way I would think it possible. We have both been sober now for the past 4 years, amends have been made, and we have been getting along just fine.

We are looking out the window of the hotel dining area at the local folks walking or riding their bikes to work. There are parents riding bikes with kids on the bikes and with kids on their own bikes and it is a bit chilly outside. This really strikes home with me, and although I want to avoid any preaching, I do mention to Ian that you won’t see any Belgian or Dutch kids sitting in an SUV with the heater on at the end of the driveway, waiting for the school bus. In my next breath I tell him how glad I am that he is here to support me. 

Ian works hard as a laborer for a general contractor and this trip is a vacation for him and he has no problem sleeping late and napping for recovery from jet lag. He finds a local gym with enough free weights, and all is good.

We rent a car, and I drive as he monitors the gps, while we make our way up to Breda in the Netherlands to visit the Wagtmans. Ian’s former backyard soccer pals from 14 years ago, Michell and Michael are all grown up now and run the family business, a very successful cycling clothing company, called Rogelli. They were in awe of Ian’s size and gentle manner, and we were in awe of their brand new 3 story warehouse. This was an important family connection, that needed to be revived, and we had a nice lunch to boot.

In the meantime, I had been fortunate to gain the attention of a journalist for cyclingnews.com, Jackie Tyson and we met her at a Leuven coffee shop for an interview on Thursday morning. This is another instance of how an 80-year-old can still create interest and get to showcase his sponsors. 

We then get to meet with Adri who takes me for a bike ride around the area including the last 10 km of the World’s course that includes a short steep cobblestone climb about 2 km from the finish.

This is a classic punchy Belgian cobbled climb that we see streaming on our computers during all the big one-day professional Spring Classics races.  Adri takes some good photos of me riding up it with ease, but I am fresh and when I hit these cobblestones again it will be after 50 tough miles and if I am still together with Roger, it will be my last chance to break away.

Now I have some substance to do my envisioning on how the race could break down. Right after that cobbled climb, we will come into a narrow alleyway and then a hard right and a short uphill hump that will really hurt, before more dirt roads in the middle of Leuven, then right by the sponsor expo tents and outdoor cafes onto the wide boulevard where it is a straight shot, and I will see the finish, Banners.

I tell Ian on the drive back to our hotel that I feel a little bit better about my chances now that I have ridden this part of the course, but it won’t matter if I don’t make it this far with Roger. I have been resting for the past 10 days and although my legs feel fresh for the first time in months, I really have not tested myself one on one with a competitor in many years.

Ian and I drove down to the start town of Halle to pick up my race number and there are thousands of riders there from all over the world. The registration line is long, and I tell Ian to go for a sight-seeing walk, as I begin chatting with some young riders from South Africa. When I tell them I won a stage in the 1975 Tour of Winelands, outside of Cape Town their jaws just dropped open in disbelief that I was 80 and still racing. I saw lots of men and women in USA Jerseys warming up while checking out the 12-kilometer loop in Halle before the course zig zags for 40 miles to the finish in Leuven. I am in full rest mode and figure that I will be taking my time over that loop, just conserving and keeping an eye on Roger and that we won’t begin testing each other for at least the first hour. I am excited about being fresh and using my strength cautiously while competing on a course that doesn’t have 5000 ft of climbing.

We have a great dinner at a local restaurant with the “Irish Crew,” consisting of my Coach Aidan Hammond and his two former riding buddies Fran O’Sullivan and Mick Doyle, who have flown in from Dublin to have some fun and support me. Aidan is one of Ireland’s better-known coach and bike fitters, that I met on my 75th birthday and Tour of Ireland reunion ride. He was happy to help me with some coaching when I called him last March and we’ve become good friends in the process. It’s great to see Ian smiling and laughing at Irishmen’s jokes after spending a week in a hotel room with his dad.

They make their plans to meet up with Ian before the start where they will proceed to a “Feed Zone” to give me of bottles and gels at the 65-kilometer marker.

We arrive about an hour and a ½ before the start and the town is over-run with riders getting dressed and warming up on the course. I take a ride over the first 5 kms and become aware of the ups and downs and sharp corners along with the different types of road surfaces including cobbles, gravel, dirt and mud.  I load my pockets with Gels, Bars, and use Ian’s little Camel Bak loaded with electrolytes under my jersey.  While pinning my race number on the USA jersey in our hotel room the night before, I got a little choked up when I told Ian, “The last time I pinned a number on this jersey you weren’t even one year old, watching me at the Masters World Mountain Bike World’s in Quebec, Canada.” I got a bronze medal there and had Ian in my arms on the podium, the officials put the medal around his neck, a very proud moment. 

The Irish guys meet up with us as we work our way through the crowds of riders and spectators in search of my starting area for the 65+ to 79-year-old men. Most of the 90 riders in this group were already lined up when I arrived with 25 minutes to spare. 

Somehow, I got it stuck in my head that, Roger and I, would start at the back of this group and I could see several older Belgian riders a few rows in from the back. I still had not met Roger and had only seen a newsprint picture of him. I approached a few of the older Belgians but they acted like they did not speak English and even though I yelled out Roger’s name a few times when I thought I had found him, no one turned around. At this point the Professional Elite Women, who I really wanted to see, were being sent off first with a couple thousand of us age groupers lined up in different roped off areas, started to get restless and I could feel the tension in the air as we waited our turns to start at one-minute intervals.

There are over 100 women in the 50+ age group lined up to start behind us and the minutes were flying by as waves, totaling several hundred in the younger age groups were being released.  I was near the back of our chute, still wondering where Roger was when they raised the rope and let our group move up about 50 feet and the surge for better positions began. This is when the adrenalin surge from 50 years of racing instincts kicks in and I become 28 years old fighting for position in the Central Park Spring Series once again. My envisioning of starting out slow, and conserving energy went right out the window, as all hell broke loose. There was no holding back only looking for openings as this bunch of wrinkled old men with small belly’s went from 0 to 25 miles an hour in no time, while pulse rates skyrocketed, tires slipped on mud and cobbles, elbows were flying. We went down a ramp onto some loose gravel right next to a canal and then hit a U turn with a short up hill and riders were already wobbling, pulling feet out of pedals and yelling. I kept trying to keep the speed up and catch some wheels to avoid crashing, but I could hardly breathe, my heart rate was so high. We were on and off pavement, gravel and cobbles and hitting muddy tractor farm roads in about the first 5 kilometers with some disastrous 90-degree corners when touching brakes to avoid crashes without losing speed was already taking its toll on our bodies with long hours still ahead. Then some of the fearless women began catching and passing me in small groups. Many of them would crash in the ruts and mud in front of me, with farmers and spectators picking them up and getting them out of harm’s way. There were times bikes went down in front of me so quickly, I don’t know how I got by them, but it was either go for it now, stay upright or crash and the day could be over, as it was for so many who would not finish and were already walking their bikes with chains dragging their jerseys torn. 

That first loop before we headed for Leuven took its toll on our group and thinned the field of riders into small groups of 2 or 3. I was just glad to be alive on a section of pavement for a few miles where I could see ahead and begin eating and drinking. I was still buzzing with adrenalin and now that  my peddle stroke was smoothing out, my legs felt like they still had a little life in them, so I settled down into a more efficient pace for what I knew was going to be a long day. I had no idea whether Roger was in front or behind me and there was not much I could do about it either way. Later, at the finish, Aidan would look at my GPS and see that my pulse rate had hit 211 beats per minute during that first 12kms and I had put out way too much wattage for an 80-year-old man, with A-fib, especially when I had 40 more miles to go

When Roger caught me around mile 21, I was disappointed because I knew then that he had taken his time and not burnt himself out. I was not sure how long he had been sitting on my wheel, but as he pulled up next to me, I said Roger, is that you? He said yes and wishful thinking, I said to myself, well now you have the race that you originally envisioned from the beginning, but I knew I was too tired to stay with him for long.

Then the official moto driver came up and began speaking Flemish to Roger and then he came up next to me on this narrow trail to tell me in English what he had told Roger. That we were over an hour behind, and we were officially out of the race. We would still be allowed to finish but the roads ahead might be open to traffic and were on our own. Once we both acknowledged what he had told us, he sped off up the trail leaving us alone. We didn’t have to look at each other, we both knew we were going to finish the remaining 25 miles regardless. Roger was a hometown hero and wearing the Belgian national jersey, there was not a chance in hell of him not finishing. Later he would tell me that friends and spectators were telling him that I was up ahead of him, and he was surprised to catch me, but he also knew that I looked a little tired at the time.

Shortly after this announcement we were faced with tractors and farm trucks coming right at us on bumpy farm roads, but they always gave us space, and the road guards at intersections did not leave their positions while we were still riding. A few miles later it became too painful for me to stay in contact with Roger, I kept him in sight for a few miles but finally I had to let him go. It was tough for me to realize that my dream of winning was over, but there was no time for remorse, I had my mind and body totally focused on my immediate surroundings, my thoughts were on pedal strokes, using the right gear, eating and drinking properly, my mission was always to finish and that alone was going to take everything I had.

The rest of the day is pretty much a blur. I can remember coming thru the feed area where Ian and the guys had seen Roger and another Belgian pass long before I got there. Ian had loaded the locator ap onto our phones, so he knew where I was on the course. I had told him about giving time splits during a race, and that I would want to know how much time I was ahead or behind, but at this point I was just glad to see him and hear his voice telling me I was doing great. I took a water bottle and a couple of energy bars from the Irish guys and emptied my pockets of trash in the recycle zone, and just prayed there were not too many cobblestone sections left, but that was not going to happen. 

Those last 20 kilometers never let up on the uphill’s, the cobble sections or the dark shadowed farm roads with steep wheel worn ruts. I had to get off and walk a few sections because I was too shaky and the drop off on either side of these dirt roads is so deep, falling would be treacherous. 

With 10km to go I recognized the roads and trails from my ride earlier in the week but now I am being passed by elite amateur riders who were flying through this finishing loop. At this point I was so weak I could hardly unwrap my last energy bar,

The best way to get over the cobbles or rough dirt sections is to get the speed up in a big enough gear, so that you smooth out the bumps. Coming across these cobbled sections in the middle of a field on a double tracked dirt road without speed or warning, made absorbing the bumps hard on your whole body.

But I knew this last cobbled hill was coming, and I had time to get up a little speed to find the smoother line and stay seated while keeping the speed all the way to the top. Then one more painful hump onto a dirt path where I got passed by two women, I knew the finish line was close, so I came back around them as we cruised through the expo and outdoor bar section and onto the wide boulevard for the finish.

This was no time or place for disappointment, at 80 years old I had taken everything that Flanders had thrown at me, and I finished a World Championships in Belgium, as I heard Ian’s voice cracking and yelling, “Go Dad.”  That was it for me.

He was proud of his old man and wasted no time in telling me so, as I climbed off my bike surrounded by my Irish crew.

Getting whisked off to the podium by the officials, shaking hands with Roger and being happy it was over, then the podium ceremony getting that medal put around my neck and seeing Roger get his, knowing how special it was having his wife, family and friends there.

Standing on the podium looking out at the crowd of spectators in such a historic City Centrum it was difficult to control my emotions. I knew that even though I was not the winner, what I had accomplished in the past year made this a moment that I deserved to enjoy.