by Elvire Toulorge
photographs by Nicolas Joly

It was a morning of November, 2009 when the grand nephew of Alex Singer, Olivier Csuka opened the door to his bike shop, Alex Singer in Levallois, within the inner suburbs of Paris. We admire the bikes lined up in the showcase, whether for racing, leisure or cyclotourism, they all bare the brand Alex Singer: Colors, chrome, gallows, shellac finishes. All of which make the particular aesthetic of an Alex Singer bicycle.

The pictures on the walls, the books, the jerseys and the water bottles branded "Alex Singer"; the memoirs of the Singer house are scattered throughout the store. Before entering the work studio, we are in a small room in which various bike parts are stored, sprockets, trays, hangers and as many treasures that fascinate us. Once in the work studio, just look up to admire the dozens of frames and wheels hanging next to each other. While waiting for Olivier, we set eyes on every corner of the room in search of treasures that are hidden here, it is the whole history of cycling that is felt in these few square meters. We are at the heart of the myth Alex Singer, a myth of artisanal perfection. These tools, clamps, tubes, straws, which served decades of Alex Singer bike history.

Olivier joins us in the studio and tells his story, a story that begins with a serious fall when he was four years old. In 1968, Olivier rode a small bike, a fixed-gear without stabilizers and without any brakes, and finished his race in a rusty fence. He seriously injured his hand and caught gangrene. He laughs, telling us that his "first recollection of the bike is having injections in the butt." The comparison might be easy, but we are joking about the current state of professional cycling. The hand healed, Olivier is back in the saddle and dreams of becoming a world champion in cycling. He trains, wins many races and works in conjunction with his father Ernest Csuka Singer in the shop. In the beginning, he was repairing bikes and building wheels; a job that was charged "1 franc" at the time! Only later did he begin the work of manufacturing frames. Olivier learned from his father, Ernest Csuka (the husband of the niece of Alex Singer). Today, he is solely in charge of the bike shop, he is the only one to manufacture the Singer bikes. Olivier perpetuates the myth that has built since 1938, when Alex Singer moved as a manufacturer of cycles to Levallois.

Born in Budapest in 1905 and arriving in France in 1923, Alex Singer began very early in cycling competition. After a professional career, he devoted himself to touring and was dedicated to manufacturing cycles. He designed a bike exclusively for touring. The house Alex Singer was prosperous as cycling in France was growing, as was demand for the product. Alex Singer built a solid reputation on the market. He developed many innovations with the help of Ernest Csuka, making bikes of impeccable technical quality. If they are so popular, it is not only for their aesthetic, but also because they are adapted to the practice and morphology (individuality) of each client. Aesthetics do not replace technique. Alex Singer has developed a range of tailor-made cycles at the outset of their activity. This know-how is perpetuated under our eyes, while Olivier builds the frame of a bicycle which when completed, will be sent to Japan. The amount of work is however not what it was in the golden era of cycling, the great boom which occurred in the 1970s. There were 13 bicycle shops in Levallois and three competition clubs. Today there is only one club left which idles for a lack of riders.

The market cycle has evolved and the French industry is failing. Quite the craft system is ailing. Olivier deplores the standardization of products developed by manufacturers and the disappearance of many references. To illustrate his point, Oliver shows us two catalogs of Campagnolo. The first one is dated from 1974 and the second from 2009. The 1974 catalog is divided into several groups (slopes, common, great sport, etc.) and the products offered are detailed up with a reference piece. There were no standards then. Seat posts, brackets and other parts existed in a very wide spectrum. In comparison, the 2009 catalogue there is only one group. The products are sold in whole groups and not by pieces. If we take the hubs, they are no longer sold at retail; they are sold incorporated into a wheel built in its entirety. This situation is not unique to Campagnolo. Instead they're an example of one among many. Olivier also regrets trade relations with manufacturers. It is very difficult to order small quantities of tubing, parts and products of interest. In France, sales representatives are rare and craftsmen are struggling to escape this logic of large scale distribution. Increasingly, Olivier purchases from Taiwan, where he can place small orders of quality parts. If he needs only five wheels or ten hangers, it is more advantageous for him to purchase from Taiwan. In addition, he deplores the degradation of the French local craftsmen. Once the assembled frames and forks arrive for paint and chrome, again Olivier faces difficulties. The artisans are not as many as before and housing standards and anti-pollution regulations are drastic. All this affects Olivier's work; today around twenty bikes come out of the workshop each year.

This sad fact established, we are back to Alex Singer bicycles and frame manufacturing. Olivier thinks of a bicycle in its entirety, this is the reason why he does not consider himself as a "frame builder" but as "cycle manufacturer." Each bike must fit the morphology, but also the type of cycling. He recalls many types of bicycles as practical and to support his statements, he shows us all the bikes he owns, one for each use. Olivier teaches us to understand the qualities of a bike depend on its use. We then talk about the phenomenon of fixed-gear in major world capitals. Olivier is surprised by the use of these bicycles, given that very few fixed-gear riders practice track racing. We must reconsider the use of track frames, the trend of the fixed-gear comes from the United States, a country where the bicycle industry was poorly developed and where the practice was mainly track. Thus couriers and other enthusiasts have been primarily using track frames, and we all followed.

Olivier's experience fascinates us. Before leaving we discuss the future home of Alex Singer, we can not imagine the workshop closing. The transmission of knowledge is a difficult issue and it seems that nobody comes to him to learn the business of bicycle manufacturer. Olivier does have an apprentice working with him, and even if he produces no frame work yet, we hope that the Alex Singer shop and work will live through time...

What began as a bet combined with a dare twelve years ago now attracts over three thousand of the world's vintage bike enthusiasts. They descend upon Italy's tiny Gaiole in Chianti for a two hundred and five kilometer ride through the Tuscan hills. COG was lucky to be invited, and I was crazy enough to attempt the ride on a track bike. L'Eroica is a throwback to the sport's days of old: steel frames with balloon tires, sprung saddles and waxed mustaches, with spare tires wrapped around woolen shoulders. L'Eroica is not a race, but an event of personal accomplishment. The course is anything but flat, and half of the roads consist of crushed gravel. This is the Tour of Tuscany. An adventure through millennia old countryside, lined with vineyards and olive groves. L'Eroica means heroic, and I was just about to find out why.

Peter and I arrived late on Thursday night, after the long drive from Pisa. Even in the darkness, I realized that I was in for it. The hills were plentiful, and unrelenting. We were joined in Pisa by Bucky, an adventure writer whose editors felt that throwing a guy back on a bike and then onto a 205k ride as a good story. Bucky hails from Florida, a state that is not known for hills. The three of us arrive in Gaiole, our home base nestled in the hillside above the city square.

Morning found us assembling our bikes, eager for the first ride in Italy. Our ride took us straight up the rest of the hill, around a hairpin turn, and up some more. It was perhaps two kilometers at most, and every bit a struggle. At the summit, we took a few minutes to regain what little composure we had left for the attempt to descend. Gravity combined with the steep descent equaled insanity, and my legs burned from the struggle. I have now been convinced my choice of bike was less than choice. Not even a half hour had passed. I'm a sweaty, panting mess-and I do this for a living!

Undaunted, we took a few short rides around Gaiole, and then a longer one to Siena to better understand the landscape. I was feeling more confident, the climbs and descents felt easier, and the ride was a blast. Back in Gaiole's piazza, more riders were arriving. Our two track bikes attracted a lot of attention-most had never seen anything like them. Passers-by would stop, check out the bikes, and then see the two of us sucking down giant bottles of Moretti. You could see it in their eyes: no brakes? Pazzo! (Crazy!)

Saturday was when everything came together. The city's gymnasium filled up with vendors, collectors and registration. Other vendors set up tents around the grounds. It was unbelievable. Droves of people were arriving, searching for their name among the rest for their rider number and packet. Registration included a fresh Vittoria tube! Numbers in hand, I too joined the crowd to gawk at the show. Not only was it an outdoor second hand market strictly for bike freaks, it was a vintage bike show! Signs politely stated "MTB no gratzi" A complete chrome 1959 Masi Olympic Pista dropped my jaw. Gaiole in Chianti was completely overrun by cyclists at this point. Pete and I decided a quick 12k ride to Radda would be cool. The ride to Radda was a switchback uphill struggle, followed by a hairy switchback downhill slide, mixed up with narrow roads and Italian drivers. Over espresso and water in Radda we agreed that it was the hardest 12k we ever attempted. Now we just had to go back! The beer tasted especially great after that one.

L'Eroica begins at 5:30 on Sunday morning, and after the ride to Radda I'm looking at the climb/descent kilometer breakdown a little harder. No turning back now. Peter gives me his rear wheel with a tooth lighter ratio and a brand-new Panaracer RiBMo tire. Other riders stop us and ask about the track bikes, the S&S couplers. They ask if we are riding and I own up to doing the 205. They wish me luck, shake their heads and ride off.

Sunday morning's chilly air came quickly. Papa had set up breakfast, with coffee in a thermos for us. I grabbed a handful of hard candies from the table and bagged them for later. Marc from Condor provided the timeless mussette that held my rider number and tools, with a mini around my waist for everything else. I left the lock in the room, gathered up Bucky and we headed for the piazza in the dark.

Like an alleycat, riders had a passport to be stamped at rest points along the course as proof of completion. Cued up with everyone else for that first stamp in the darkness I was shivering with anticipation, regretting not bringing a light. Then: bump! Follow the lights down the road! L'Eroica has begun!

The initial ride in the morning darkness was flawless, riding with a pack of people speaking a language I don't know. Everyone was giddy and excited, and soon we turned onto the first stretch of strada, the crushed gravel side roads that this ride showcases. The white rock was easy to follow in the dark, but hid some surprises. The beginning stretch of gravel caused the first flat casualties, and repairs took friends with lights to accomplish. They were to be the first of many along this route. Dawn crept in along with hunter's shotgun blasts, and the first station was reached. Some stops offered a grand spread of food, others were just stamps with a chance for water. This was a food stop, and close to fifty kilometers in. I felt great, and when I checked in there wasn't too many numbers ahead of me. This wasn't so bad!

The next thirty kilometers changed my mind, after the first fifteen-degree uphill on asphalt found me walking it. At the summit I'd mount back up and ride until the incline was too tough, hop off and walk to do it all over again. I reached the conclusion that destroying my legs on the uphill would be stupid, because controlling my bike downhill mattered a bit more to me. Whatever placement I had in the initial grouping was chucked like an empty Gu packet. Under the shadow of a castle in Montalcino I decided that I was not giving up, and I was going to enjoy this. I then turned around and was given a spectacular view that stretched for miles. Descending from Montalcino atop smooth asphalt was simply hair-raising. It was down. It was fast. Points were scary, because I was in no position to stop. Just grit down and go. At the 100k point I knew I was in it for keeps.

The groups of riders were more than friendly, as this was not a race. Classic steel ten-speeds rolled along with carbon. Riders would chat with me as I rode or walked, depending on my progress. Bombing a steep strada, I had to avoid the road bikes descending gingerly, and skid to control my speed. Everyone behind would erupt with laughter, while gravel spit out from my locked up wheel. As the kilometers ticked off so did my endurance. Every five kilometers along the route they have a specific L'Eroica sign noting where you are on the course, and the next closest city. The distance between them started to feel even longer, and I reached the point where my legs felt like nothing at all. With twenty more to go, the sun had completely set. It was dark, I had no lights, and I was approaching Radda. For kilometers, I had been looking for anything open-but it was Sunday evening in Italy. Vending machines? Nope. My mental carrot-on-a-stick was the thought of a giant beer in Gaiole's piazza. We did this ride yesterday! That hill sucked! Just past Radda, in an even tinier city (La Villa) I spotted an open bar, and as I pulled in two German tourists exited. They took one look at me, covered in a white dust, and at my bike, and asked if I was a messenger in German. I answered in English, and laughing they asked if I was going to have wine now, after riding. Exhausted, I said no. Beer. I left them and had the finest beer ever consumed while considering the ride up that monster of a hill.

Numb, back on the bike and closing in on the hill separating Radda from Gaiole, I spot the L'Eroica direction sign leading onto strada away from the main road. Back again on the blue-tinted dark strada, I'm pedaling closer. It has been over fourteen hours at this point. Blindly following the strada in the dark, I notice a group of buildings ahead that look familiar, but at the distance I can't be sure. Closing in, the house that we are staying in comes into focus, and I realize that I'm home. I can't help but let out a whoop as I pass by, the final kilometer a steep descent skidded down into Gaiole's piazza. My final stamp is stamped and they point me to the gym. My body is crushed. Legs still numb, I walk into the gym for the final, final point. They look at my passport, and hand me a tote bag with L'Eroica wine and olive oil, a candy from the region, and a small plaque commemorating the event. It's all I can do to not start sobbing in joy. Composing myself, I strode back into the piazza and bought the hugest oilcan of Dutch lager ever made.

Riverwest is a neighborhood in the center of Milwaukee which I believe to be one of the last true neighborhoods left.  I love living here for many reasons.  I can walk into any one of the many bars, coffee shops or other local businesses and ask any one person for anything without regrets.  I have walked to the corner bar and asked for tools, babysitters, help fixing my bike and each time I was given immediate assistance towards my request with overwhelming support and encouragement for my project.  I am proud to walk the streets and introduce my children to the many colors, and styles of the residence here.  Each person that we walk by returns our "Hello's."  I enjoy being a few minute bike ride from all things a big city has to offer. I enjoy having a beer on my porch on a hot summer night.  The streets have an energy and an excitment of danger.  There are times the crime in Riverwest challenges my foundation, however, I speak for the endearing residents when I say we always rebuild.  Each resident of Riverwest has a portfolio of crime stories. However, it is this continual destroying of what we have and rebuilding that creates such a strong pride in the neighborhood. The Riverwest 24 came from discussions on porches amidst this backdrop.

The Riverwest 24 is not a bike race as much as it is a means of bringing the community together.  Bicycles are the medium for a 24 discussion.  This is done through a strong philosophy.  It is the belief of the organizers of the event that if we know our neighbors, we will be safer.  In order to communicate with your neighbors one needs to get out of the house and cheer on passing riders.  We are creating an event that gets people out of their air conditioned homes, air conditioning, although a guilty pleasure, is uncivilized.  Communication with your neighbors begins when you get out of your car and get in line with your neighbors and pedal a bicycle.  Cars are also uncivilized.  This event had been kicked around for awhile, however, it came into focus when Paul, the graphic manger, and I were part of a team that participated in the Baja 1000.  The Baja 1000 is a motorized race from Ensenada to Los Cabos, Mexico.  Paul and I were inspired by the community building that was centered around the event.  Entire towns came out to watch to riders pass by.  The locals cheered every vehicle with equal amounts of passion.  It did not matter to them that we were near the back of the pack, they were excited to meet us and gracious for our visit.  Paul and I were privy to a sporting event where the winner is not the sole star; participating is very near winning. 

Completing 4.8 mile laps within the 24 hours between start and finish is the soul of the competition for the Riverwest 24. Riders go to checkpoint one, to get their manifest stamped.  They continue on to the next checkpoint until they have completed all four checkpoints.  At the start/finish line they are awarded one lap; laps are counted in real time via the website, www.riverwest24.com, and a chalk board, which is used as a back-up.  Riders are encouraged to go to bonuses that showcase the greatness of the neighborhood.  A different bonus checkpoint opens every two hours.  Bonus checkpoints include participation in the anarchist's collective silk-screening, the Catholic Church's breakfast, a crap's game, getting a hair cut (barber's choice) for three bonus laps and get a pre-set RW24 tattoo for five bonus laps. All of these bonuses are part of what makes a true neighborhood so diverse. Riders were also encouraged to stop at each of the checkpoints to eat food, watch live music or movies or dance in the 3AM dance party. It is in the Riverwesterner's mind set to participate in a mundane event such as this because a Riverwesterner has no illusions of grandeur. They understand that to participate is to win, to create for the now is all one needs.

The state of the game of hard court bike polo, and the community as it stands now, is spreading like herpes at a Gloria Gaynor after-show party. If a team or player had the will, and the financial means, to play in a tournament every weekend this summer of 2009 it could be accomplished. The inception of the bikepolo.ca forum brought together a community that had been there just waiting for a way to connect all together, worldwide, in one place. The use of this online forum, as well as others, has allowed people from all over the world to find bike polo clubs in or near their city, advertise tournaments, and ask for advice on making mallets, bikes, or wheel guards. Don't forget the healthy dose of shit talking. At this point I believe every major (and more and more college towns and smaller cities) US, Canadian and European city has a club playing weekly pick up games on unused tennis courts, parking garages, or roller hockey rinks.  Asia, Australia and South America boast burgeoning clubs as well.

Bicycle polo has grown into a community as many of the same players and teams show up at tournaments and sleep on floors, couches and yards of the hosting club's players.  There are pick up games before, after, and during tournament weekends that give players a chance to play on a team with folks from other cities they normally wouldn't have a chance to play with.  When traveling for other reasons, besides polo, players look up the local club and often make a point to stop by and play a few games either with their own or borrowed equipment.  As a community, polo players want more people to try playing the sport and are always willing to let a rookie, newcomer, or out of town player borrow a mallet or bike to get on the court and experience the local flavor first hand.

The idea to host this tournament came in the winter of '08/ '09 after talking with Ben Schultz of Chicago Bike Polo. Seeing as Milwaukee had not hosted a large event as of yet, but had attended many of them, and hosted a few smaller tournaments we were excited to take on this project. We attempted to draw the best players and teams from different regions of the continent. In an effort to make sure the event allowed for maximum games played as well as attracting top teams from across the continent it was billed as an Invitational, and the word went out that Milwaukee was inviting the best of the best teams to compete for a prestigious title and kick ass prizes. Some people had initially, and may still; disagree at the idea of an "invite only" tourney, whereas most tournaments until then had been "open invite." At this juncture of the sport though it is getting difficult to plan and organize for the large number of teams wishing to play in tournaments. Some sort of pre-registration is almost becoming mandatory to make these tournaments run smoothly and within the time constraints of a single weekend. Not to say it isn't possible, Seattle seemed to have done a good job of it at the North American Hardcourt Bike Polo Championships, where almost 40 teams participated. I would hope that we didn't burn any bridges in making this decision and that the community understands the theory behind this reasoning.

By the morning of the first day we had 22 teams registered to play. Teams were split into two divisions and round robin style play began. An unusually cold and blustery wet day in June did little to dampen the spirit of the event as we played games on three courts in Kosciusko Park, around the corner from Milwaukee Bike Co. A mistake in scheduling the third court made for a slightly confusing first day of play, but in the end every team got to play a lot of games as everyone pulled together to sort out match ups and gather results to seed Sunday's double elimination bracket.

Sunday's weather was much better and everyone seemed to be just the right amount of hungover from the copious amounts PBR and shots of Jameson at the Irish Pub on Water Street downtown. Once the results from the previous day are tallied it doesn't take too long to put together the brackets. Double Elimination seems to be the favored format of bike polo tournaments. I am a proponent of it because if a tough match up happens early on the losing team still has a chance to fight their way out of the loser's bracket for a shot at the title. It also is a way to guarantee teams that came along way to play at least two games on the second day instead of just watching the whole day, or leaving for home early. It is in the spirit of camaraderie that I feel the 2nd day should be as inclusive as feasibly possible.

As Sunday wore on, the sidelines of the main court became more and more full, as teams got knocked out, but remained close to the action to see who would prevail. The cheers became more intense as players and spectators rooted for their favorite team and against others. After getting knocked out in the quarterfinals by our longtime rivals featuring a free agent hired gun, I was able to enjoy some cold ones without the worry of not getting too drunk to perform in a final game. It is a different mentality when you are organizing and trying to play. You are not only thinking about what your team is doing, or needs to do better. You are worrying about other teams being where they need to be, making sure the keg tap is working and, making sure there are designated goal refs and a timekeeper, and if the lights will cut out on you during the final match. I much prefer having other people handling that so I can think about how to win the next game, but it's a true labor of love and others tournament organizers have dealt with the same issues.

As the Shobiz Kids (featuring Eric Crandall, formerly of MKE now residing in PDX, Brian Thrillman current MKE player, and Drew PDX) lined up across from Ballz Deep (Pieter, Rory, and Chris) of East Vancouver for the final game I thought to myself " I wish we could all come back and do it again next weekend", but alas I'd have to wait three more weeks until Ottawa hosted the Northside Polo Invitational to see all these people again.

The idea of a Six-Day race originated in England in 1878, and was held over six days, as racing was not permitted on the Sabbath. The first Six-days in America took place a year later in Chicago but the idea really took off in 1891 in New York at Madison Square Gardens. Cycling at the Garden was a big social event with American presidents, Broadway stars and notorious gangsters among the audience; in 1925 the winners were even received at the White House by President Coolidge...

Back then track racing was as popular as baseball in the States, the top riders recieving 'film star' pay checks. The first races were torturous marathon endurance tests, with individual riders racing 24-hours for six days, the winner being the one to cover the most distance over the six days. The races were often held in cold smoke-filled velodromes, the racers using alcohol, amphetamines and cocaine to help take the strain of 144 hours on the track.  In 1914 a new format was adopted to allow teams of two riders to compete, one rider racing while the other rested, the birth of the track discipline that is to this day known as Madison. By the Fifties Six day racing had disappeared in America, but Europe kept them going.

2009 marked the 100th anniversary of the Berlin Six-Days, making it the longest-running event in the history of Six-Day races, and one of the oldest cycling events in the world. The race is held on a 250m track made of Siberian Spruce built in 1997 as part of the cities bid for the 2000 Olympic games. The event still retains much of the social character of years-gone-by, with sausage stalls, bars and live music attracting spectators not usually seen at cycling events. Berlin's velodrome hosts 75,000 spectators from all walks of life over the 6 days. There's a festival atmosphere where the beer, sausage, cheerleaders, "Schlager Musik' and the sound of thousands of plastic whistles given out by sponsors is just as much an integral part of the event as the race itself.

Today's races are still held over six days, but are only a few hours long per day. Rather than one race lasting all night an evening's racing typically includes a few Madison sessions interspersed with sprints, motor paced races, fastest flying lap and more recently Keirin to break up the monotony of what was once known as "the elliptical rat race".

During the Madison, or points race, both riders may be on the track, taking turns to race. The non-racing rider circles the track slowly at the top of the banking until he is 'slung' or pushed back into the race by his team mate. With more than 30 racers on the track at one time it looks like chaos on wheels, you can feel the wind as the peloton passes and you can almost touch the riders passing high on the banks. It's sometimes hard to tell just who's actually in front, especially when some teams have started to lap the others. The aim is to go 'off the front' and lap the field, if no team gains laps the result is decided on points scored in the intermediate sprints held every 20 laps over the course of the 160 lap race. Lap gains take priority over points, so if a team with no points gains a lap on a team with a lot of points, the team with no points still win the event. In between races the riders relax or get a massage from the signouers in the cabins, a relic of the days when one member of the team would sleep until his turn came to go to work lapping the track.

One of the most fascinating and unusual events of the Six-Days is the 'Steher' race, where the racers ride behind specially constructed Motorcycles with a roller mounted behind the back wheel. The bikes themselves are also special constructions sporting a smaller front wheel and a trailing front fork, to allow the rider to get as close as possible and 'draft' behind the motorcycle at speeds of up to 70 mph. If the rider hits the roller it spins without causing the rider to crash, and strengthening struts on the saddle and handlebar stem help to stabilize the bike and cope with the extreme G force. The bike has a huge chainring, something between 66 - 69 teeth and a small cog, 13-16 teeth so the rider has to be pushed into the race and then 'find' his partner on the motorcycle.

A 'Steher' race is all about teamwork, the cyclist communicating with his partner by shouting one of two words; "Allez" (faster) and "Haut" (too fast). The motorcyclist is only able to hear this because of the special helmet with rearward facing openings at the ears. The driver stands rather than sits hence the name 'Steher', the special leather suit which is closed at the back, helps to create as much slipstream possible. The most difficult part for the cyclist is not to 'lose' the roller as the motorcycle drops down out of the curves, and not to hit the roller hard as they lose speed entering the curve. The high speed, the roar of the 650cc BMW machines and the smell of petrol fumes make for a uniquely exciting atmosphere during the race, which is a favourite among the Six Days crowd.
This years Steher event was won by reigning European Champion Timo Scholz with partner Peter Bäuerlein.

The big attraction at this year's event was Eric Zabel, one of the most successful road racers of all time, who made the Berlin Six the last race of his professional career. The team to beat was the Swiss duo of Bruno Risi and Franco Marvulli, Madison World Champions in 2003 and 2007, and winners of the previous year's race in Berlin. The atmosphere was charged on the final night,in a tight run race. Decided only in the final sprint, Zabel won by a nose from Risi, bringing the capacity crowd to its feet.

Other Stars on the track this year were sprinter and 44 time Italian Champion Roberto Chiappa, lining up for the sprint races against German big guns Stefan Nimke, Maximillian Levy and Rene Enders.]]>