Autumn is upon us

As the off season approaches and the evenings draw in to what seems like an approaching winter, it is ultimately time for reflection.  For some riders the season has been a fruitful few months to be celebrated with a few beers, for others the season has been one to forget.  It is easy to do the latter, to think of Belgium as an experience not to be dabbled in again, but a loss doesn’t become a defeat until you refuse to learn from it.  I had a fantastic time, met some great people and now have quite a few stories to tell the grandkids in years to come.  But if I look at it from a purely sporting point of view I cannot consider it an overwhelming success.   I trained a lot, that cannot be questioned but whether it was the right sort of training… I suspect not.  I clocked up more kilometres in those four months then I did in my entire second year as a Junior, but as a crazed Belgian man told me ‘you must have pain in training to not have as much pain in racing’, perhaps some of that is lost in translation but the principal was that for the future a more focused and harder training programme, as opposed to just mileage is needed to ultimately succeed.  So that is my brief if slightly harsh summation of this season.

The off season is never quite the rest period you think it’s going to be, for the very pinnacle of the sport they have their contracts sorted and they can watch the leaves turn brown without having to be constantly checking emails, hopeful that next years team has just come knocking.  For me this is the time of year to sit down, update the palmares and make a list of which teams I hope will offer me a place for next year.  I actually like this part of the year, sometimes I think I should be a writer as opposed to a racer, but journalist stuff can wait where as racing is a young man’s game.  Being a true Brit, I naturally under sell myself, this seems to be a British disease where we are so modest that every achievement was down to good luck or any other reason rather than the fact that we were just great on the day.  Once the C.V is typed it’s time to send it off to half the Pelotons management and hope something decent comes back.  Give it a couple of days and the responses come back, the uninterested teams tell you that you can ride for their team, all you have to do is buy your own kit, make your own way to races and basically act as a free advertising board for them.  The interested teams offer more, free kit, entry fees and if you’re lucky, a bike.  My thanks for the translation of my C.V go entirely to Google translate, a truly wonderful and free service. 

Every year I watch the road season end, mostly I’m mentally worn out from juggling work and late season racing, this year has been slightly different though, I’ve done 38 races but haven’t raced for a month now so my batteries are better charged than previous years.  I get the annual irritation to do cyclo cross, it’s like an itch that I can’t get rid of.  The idea of ‘cross’ is better than the actual racing.  I watch the likes of Sven Nys make it look like poetry on the bike with more bikes than my entire garage at his disposal.  Once I don the knobbly tires it is more like Anne Widdicombes performance of Swan Lake, but like I say the idea of this relights the competitive fires and with Autumn upon us I am hoping to dust off the old bikes and have a bit of a go.  Just a quick congratulations to a couple of guys I used to race with, Luke Rowe and Andrew Fenn who have both just been announced as fully fledged proffesionals in the highest tier, well done lads!     

Hopefully if things go to plan I will start with a couple of cyclo cross races later this month so check back later this month for the thrills…but probably more spills of my first cyclo cross appearance in 4 years!          

Back to life, back to reality

The last month has been a major life adjustment.  Like George Michael sang, it really has been back to life…back to reality, right, enough of the clichés and on with the story.  Fitting back into the endless routine of 6am starts and late afternoon finishes down at the office is harder than any 5 hour day on the bike.  The bonus of it all is that with a bit of luck you get paid at the end of the month whereas with the labour of love that is cycling, all you end up with is a token few euro’s at the end of the week.  There is a downside to life in an office full of generous people who all like to celebrate good news by bringing in a cake or two.  I must have gorged my way through half a bakeries worth of cream buns by now…none of which were good for my cycling!  I am trying to cut out this most unathletic problem by listening to the wise words of my sister “nothing tastes as good as winning”… this may take some time folks!

I’ve had a crack at three races since my last blog entry.  I’l start from the top then.  Thursday 16^th June was to be a relatively straightforward race over in Preston, Lancashire.  The race was largely me and a couple of other lads versus a strong wheelbase team who seemed determined to prove their strength in the smallest of mid-week criteriums.   I was aggressive as always but my early gamble of fine weather proved to be my undoing.  I had gone into the race on tyres suited to dry courses and with a fierce downpour just 20 minutes from the finish I was left to complete the course as if I was riding a 50p coin.  I came home 12^th, soaked to the skin and in need of a hot chocolate rather than a protein shake.   If there was a lesson to be learned it would be…don’t wear white socks if there is a cloud in the sky and perhaps a better warm-up than riding 50 yards from the car to the start line. 

Next up was the big one, my personal favourite race of the year, Otley town centre Criterium.  I have had a love of this beautiful race ever since I rode the under 16 race as a child.  The way the race gets progressively harder, the way the hill seems to slap you in the face with a seemingly briefer lull each lap of the race.  I think part of it’s charm is the fine balance between bunch sprint and break away, this always reminds me of the famous scene of the lion chasing the gazelle, the pure power of the lion seems the bookies favourite every time  but the finesse of the gazelle always seems to hold onto the slimmest of odds.  I started the race with some concerns over my fitness but with some much appreciated local support and about a weeks’ worth of caffeine I got stuck in.  With a couple of laps to go a pile up on the hardest part of the course cost me a decent position in the speeding peloton but this is preferable to going down in a crash anyday.  The finale of the race played out like a dream for the crowds of 4,000 or so.  The peleton chased hard but the supreme effort of the riders in the break ment the race was decided by just 6 riders, the local hero Scott Thwaites taking a very popular win and no doubt casting his name in Yorkshire cycling legend.  I crossed the line mid bunch, 37^th place was not particularly worth a big mention but I always enjoy riding this supremely well organised event in front of a distinctly partisan crowd. 

Just 4 days after Otley, the National championships were upon me.  I had entered many weeks earlier when my race programme had been of a decidedly harder nature than the criteriums I was turning up to back in England.  The course was set to be run over 122 miles of rolling Newcastle countryside.  I had previously ridden well so far north so my expectations were that I could finish the course on what turned out to be a glorious day.  I had significantly underestimated the power of a certain Sky pro cycling team however.  The race started ridiculously slow for the first 10 miles, the bunch was clearly waiting for a brave rider to light the touch paper and attempt to crack sky’s stranglehold on the race.  The race kicked off literally with a bang…Mark Cavendish’s rear tire blew out on the descent towards the hardest hill of the day.  For the sky riders this was there alarm to clock on and begin the days work.  They put 6 guys on the front on the run into the Ryals, with it’s slopes of 33% I was already hurting by the time I reached the bottom .  I crawled up over the top clinging to the rear of the bunch and encouraged by a couple of over enthusiastic fans giving me a welcomed push.  As the peleton reformed over the ensuing miles the sky car overtook the peloton, delivering a hammer blow to the chasing teams.  Sky had put 6 riders in a lead break of 12… the race was as good as over.  I suffered for a further 2 hours on two more ascents of the Ryals, the pain over this point of the course was only briefly interrupted by the moron who decided to blast his airhorn in my ears going over the top.  I was briefly tailed off on the last ascent, My attempts at regaining the Peloton were going well, with Roger Hammond using his vast power and me encouraging him we were in the convoy and in sight of the bunch.  Just a couple of miles short of the finishing laps I had a decidedly unpleasant moment when what I’m guessing was a bee…yes a bumble bee flew into my mouth and stung me right inside my mouth…before being promptly swallowed.  This knocked me for six, suddenly I was struggling to take in full breaths and I immediately decided to knock the hard effort on the head.  I wheeled my way round to the finish disappointed but still shocked at the way in which I left the race.  The race was won in truly crushing fashion by Bradley Wiggins.  It will be good to see the national champions jersey contesting the worlds biggest race next week at the Tour de France.  I will always enjoy the idea of riding with the worlds best riders much more than I enjoy actually riding with them…the last bit hurts…a lot!       

Back in Blighty

I have now been back in England for a week or so.  The first thing that struck me is just how hard riding a bike in Yorkshire really is.  For a start there are the comparatively epic hills to contend with and if I cast my mind back I don’t recall such breezy conditions for this time of year before.  I soon settled in to a routine of midweek chain gangs and weekend café racing, both of which were something I was beginning to miss back in Belgium.  My first day back in full time employment soon came around and for what felt like the first time in months my alarm clock went off to tell me it was time to earn a crust again.  I won’t lie, my first week has been a shock to the system but it’s nice to use cycling as a way of stress relief and fun as opposed to just using the bike as a tool to do a job.  On Wednesday evening I felt the need to race again so with a quick phone call to my friend Rob we had arranged to race at the relatively local Preston arena course in Lancashire the following evening.  It felt strange to have done a full day’s work and still to race in an evening but this is what the rest of the season has in stall for me.  The race was to be just over an hour held in failing light with a gentle breeze and decidedly cool temperatures.  I had a crack off the start line by myself and lasted just a couple of laps out in front.  This was not a serious attack but more of a safe way to warm up by myself and familiarise myself with the course at race speed.  Having been brought back into the bunch I followed a promising little move after half an hour, I did my share of the pace setting but our trio were given a tight leash and were brought back after only 3-4 kilometres out in front.  I sat back sensing a bunch sprint and began to prepare myself for the mental stress of picking my way through the peloton for a last lap effort.  I raced the last lap perfectly following some good wheels, I entered the last corner slightly too fast in my eagerness to go for victory, this was to be my undoing as I just feathered the breaks which ultimately cost me the win.  I crossed the line 4^th, within a bike length of the win but still pretty pleased.  It had been a relatively successful outing for me and Rob who took 5^th in the sprint.  The level was not that of a Belgian race but there were still hard points and some tough racing done that night.  Finally I have had a chance to let the dust settle on my Belgian experience.  On this note I feel as though I should extend my thanks and gratitude to everyone who helped me, although I seemed bitter towards my team manager in my last blog I feel I should give some thanks to him for allowing us to use his accommodation and allowing us the chance to race with a great team.  They truly were some of the best moments of my life and something I will no doubt recall for many years to come.       

out with a whimper rather than a bang

Following on from last weekend’s long treks to races, this weekend had a couple of local outings in store.  Saturday was in Geel…or so I’m told.  Unfortunately me and my team mate made the 40 minute ride to the town only to spend nearly an hour looking for anything from no parking signs to roadside barriers in an attempt to locate where the race could be.  Eventually as the clock struck 3 and the race was about to start we had to concede that we were not going to be in it… and I thought dropping geography at GCSE was a good idea.  Sunday was equally disastrous for me.  I raced about as close to my front door as it’s possible to get with a kermis in Ramsel.  I started aggressively…perhaps too aggressively as after the first corner I was in a group of 3 and pulling away from the bunch.  With me doing the lion’s share of the work we pulled away for a brief spell of around 6-7km.  The peloton soon got cracking however and reeled us in at a particularly tough part of the course.  I got tucked back in but something was definitely wrong with me.  I was almost incapable of upping my speed and the pressure took its toll on me as I was unceremoniously dropped after no more than 15 kilometres of racing…not the way I wanted to leave Belgium but the course was never suited to me anyway.   

The reason my Belgium journey ends here is because I have been evicted from my rented accommodation at the discretion of my team manager.  I was told this last Saturday after one of my best results of the season.  With this in mind training has taken more of a back seat this last week, I took my final opportunity to play the tourist with things like going go-karting and making the most of café stops.  I still feel as though I have unfinished business in Belgium.  The racing here is probably the hardest outside of Italy and the competition is fierce.  If any young rider wanted to make a go of being a professional cyclist I would say Belgium is the place to go.  I hope to come back to Belgium in 2012 with the aim of continuing to improve.  For now I must return to the United Kingdom and to my job with the motivation of saving enough money for my next assault on Belgian racing.  I will still do a few races in England between now and the end of the season.  You can watch me in action at Otley town centre on 22^nd of June and on the following Sunday at the National Championships.  I will continue to keep an updated blog of my exploits and I hope you will all enjoy reading them.

Tot zeins for now x

A treat that nearly required treatment

Following on from last Mondays finish ‘in the money’ I decided to treat myself to a new saddle.  It always gives me a little psychological boost whenever I get a new piece of kit, and seeing as I spend so much of my time out here sitting on a saddle I was happy to fit it on Monday evening.  This was to be the first mistake.  In my eagerness I whipped the old one off without so much as a measurement being taken and before you know it I had roughly put the new one where I thought it should go.  By Tuesday morning I had reached the next town down with hamstring problems and by the time I had finished my ride of all 5 kilometres I was in real pain.  This was my inexperience showing big time.  When you ride a bike for a living every day of the week your muscles become honed and accustomed to one position, train in a different position and as I found out, you will end up straining muscles you didn’t even know you had.  The following day was a complete write off as I was playing a guessing game in the garage with where to adjust my saddle to its new/old position.  After 2 days I was back on the bike properly, it was a short sharp lesson…for next time I will add a tailor’s tape measure to my tool box!

A double race weekend was in store for me this week.  Saturday dawned and a trip to the Walloon region awaited us.  I pre rode the 9 kilometre circuit with my team mates before the race start, there were a couple of hills of note and a dead corner which led onto a cobbled section of 500 metres up a gentle incline.  The sun had blessed the event… a little too well perhaps as the thermometer read 28 degrees and I was melting like the spectators ice creams on the start line.  The race started hilariously… My team mate Mike attacked just half a lap in taking with him a few riders, he was no more than 50 yards up the road when his group carried on at a left turning leaving them chasing the peloton as opposed to escaping it… if only all breaks were that easy to bring back. In fairness to him the marshall on the corner was clearly at fault, probably hampered by several generations of incest he just stood there drooling… a lesson for next time being that you should never attack on the first lap if you don’t know the course!  My race got rather interesting at the half way mark, I had a brief confrontation with a New Zealand rider and came off worse, being pushed off the road and managing to bring my bike to a halt in a local garden hedge.  I remounted, shouted several profanities and began my half lap chase solo across the cobbles to regain the back of the disintegrating peloton.  I dug really deep towards the end as the lead break dangled just off the front of what was left of the peloton.  The lead group of 16 stayed agonisingly clear but I strung the last couple of corners together perfectly to sprint across the finish line in around 25^th place.  This should have been the end of the saga but nothing is that simple in the Walloon region.  I went to collect my winnings and was told by the lead commissaire that he was unable to see the finish line order due to the fact the sun was shining on the numbers each rider has to wear… frankly the worst excuse I’ve ever heard as every rider had a frame number as well.  After a brief but successful argument I was placed 30^th…in the money again with an envelope for a whopping 12 euros. 

Sunday was a complete change, the wind had picked up, the temperature was cooler and the circuit was a pan flat 4 kilometre course.  We picked up a young Kiwi lad by the name of Jason Christie on the way to the race.  It was a nice change from just talking to the same English riders all the time.  I set off knowing the race would be shredded after just a few laps by the 50 kmp/h cross winds.  About 7 laps into the 28 lap race I joined a pretty select group at the front with the race splitting badly on one section in the fierce cross winds.  I was joined there by my team mate Mike and our fellow car passenger Jason.  The pace in this group was amazingly high, In the crosswinds we were riding at 55km per hour with me pulling a variety of faces on the back of the group trying to stick with the pace.  At one stage the gap grew to 1 minute 20 seconds but the break was just slightly too big and with too many riders sat on it was eventually brought back at the half way mark.  At this point I had more than shot my bolt and as the counter attack rolled up the road driven by Jason I could only watch.  I finished alone in a futile chase to be given 44^th place.  Up ahead the race had been killed off by an attack by our new kiwi friend Jason who soloed to victory 20 kilometres out to win by 2 clear minutes.  All that was left was to dine in style to celebrate Jason’s win at the Century Restaurant in Aarschott.  This was to be an interesting experience, not least because we were joined by respected cycling author and Journalist William Fotheringham.  I have always enjoyed writing so hopefully meeting people like this will give me more opportunities in the world of cycle journalism.  Some of you may know that I have had to censor this latest blog owing to my difficult situation with my team manager and the fact that I live with him, if you use the term loosely.  Anyway I promise to break this relative silence in my next blog which I will publish from my own home without fear of being evicted earlier then what has already been agreed.  Sorry to end on such a confusing note but I will produce a full story of the last few weeks in next week’s blog.         

Now where did I leave my motivation?

Following on from my last race the previous Sunday, I had the joys of a trip home to look forward to the next day.  This was to be a hectic 3 days of haircuts, horticulture and home cooking.  But first my trip to the dentist, I will spare the details but I can now happily report that after nearly 3 years of teeth only a hill-billy would be proud of, my teeth are now fixed, courtesy of Mr Chan.  A quick trip to Hair at Higgins sorted me out with a tennis ball haircut in preparation for the upcoming summer.  I’m glad I didn’t attempt to ride whilst I was at home, the weather was decidedly dodgy which allowed me a welcome 4 days off the bike.  No sooner had I got home and it was time to leave again, I met up with my room mate back at Liverpool airport with Mike acting as a translator between me and the local patois.  A big thanks to Ben for putting himself out and collecting us from Brussels.  It took a couple of days of 3 hour rides to break myself back into the habit of riding again with the aim of racing on the third day back. 

Monday started badly, dark clouds and showers seemed set in for the day, but with no other races until the following weekend it really was all or nothing.  I reluctantly began packing my kit bag with a deepening sense of inevitability that I was going to come home either soaked or with my tail between my legs.  I searched all over for my motivation to race but to no avail.  Never the less I had committed so by 3:15pm and under a heavy shower  I was greeted by Ben on his doorstep, all three of us asking ‘what the hell are we doing’.   The three of us briefly became part of a school project as we were collectively filmed by a local girl who insisted we repeat things like putting on our shoes and helmets three and four times…who knows, maybe a you tube career awaits me! Anyway the girl would have no problems filming the race, 15 laps beckoned with the only incline of mention being a curb…yes a genuine curb stone that was to be jumped by the near 100 rider field every lap… have Health and safety discovered Belgium yet?  A couple of cobbled sections per lap threatened a crash each time around but the only incident of note was caused by my team mate who tested out a couple of Belgians bike handling skills… in doing so reducing the peloton by a handful of riders.  The race was an under 23 race, my first ever experience of this category.  As I looked around on the start line I was already judging the competition.  I call the back markers the ‘Jedwards’, these are normally the guys with the best bikes, the best kit and frankly the worst legs in the bunch…call them the ‘all the gear, no idea’ if you will.  These are the guys who will probably be shelled as the bunch begins to thin out.  The claxon sounded and the bunch tore off up the road under dry skies.  I chanced my hand with an attack twice in the opening skirmishes, but never did I have more than 50 yards over the bunch.  My team mate Mike had told me about the ‘one arm chicken dance’ before the race.  This is just something we invented to describe what happens when a rider is put under too much pressure in a race.  When the pace becomes too much they flick their elbow out as a sign to the guy behind that they have had enough, shot their bolt.  I made a big attack just 3 laps in, dragging a pretty average bunch of riders with me, I turned round asking for someone to share the pace, only to see the ‘one armed chicken’ back in fashion amongst my fellow break away companions.  The break slipped away on the flowing back roads but never gained more than 40 seconds, I gave a couple of long pulls on the front just to keep the spirits up in the bunch.  With just 5 laps to go, I began to feel as though I could give a last throw of the dice.  Unfortunately I was becoming a marked man so I had to be contented with dragging a stream of riders in my wake.  On the penultimate lap a Belgian rider ‘Tosh Van der Sande’ winner of the under 23 Liege-Bastogne-Liege made a last gasp bid for victory.  A rider like Tosh could easily have won had the race been hillier but ‘horses for courses’ and the flat run in was a great equaliser.  I stayed up the front and took 27^th across the cobbled finish line, around 10^th in the bunch sprint.  My fourth envelope of the year awaited me, 10 euros for my efforts…promptly paid to our chauffeur for the night Ben, its nice to break even for once!  Not much else to cover this week apart from to offer my congratulations to Scott Thwaites for his victory in last weeks Lincoln Grand Prix.  Finally I must also give my personal sentiments about Wouter Weylandt who died tragically this week following a fatal crash in the Giro d’ Italia.  It’s never nice to read about a cyclist killed, the news has been greeted with great sadness here in Belgium, Rest in Peace. 

There’s no time for an ice cream

Having raced twice already in the last week, my motivation was slightly lower than it should have been for Sundays 116.5 kilometre kermise just south of the city of Leuven.  I have come across the line ‘put a number on my back and I become a different person’ a number of times in my cycling magazines.  I’d love to say I was the same but getting up on a 27 degree day and beginning the routine of getting ready for a race when really I wanted a barbeque and an ice cream was perhaps a sign that I was in for a mediocre day.  My pre-race routine is almost a carbon copy every time, breakfast of cereal and toast, followed by a leisurely packing of my kit and then ‘3 hour pasta’, basically plain spaghetti 3 hours before I am due to take the start.  We arrived in plenty of time, kermises out in Belgium all have a similar feel to them.  The finishing straight is lined with barriers, there is always a loud speaker stuck to a lamp post beating out a collection of horrendous Eurovision tracks.  As you roll down to the sign on to ‘Katrina and the waves’ in the background there is always a strong whiff of embrocation from the riders changing rooms mixed with the rather more enticing smell of hotdogs and burgers from the obligatory grill.  Summer seems to be a better time for kermises than the misery of February races.  As I ride back to the car, race number already pinned on I have a brief chance to glimpse at the good looking women who line the side of the road.  To be honest I probably should be paying attention to the competition but living in a small village does have its draw backs in this department! With about 15 minutes to go every rider is busy doing smaller and smaller runs up and down the finishing straight, just waiting for the first rider to line up for the start before the rest of the field copy him, if you’re lucky you can be fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time and grab a space close to the front.  If you’re not….well let’s just say I have been 30 rows back before in a 280 rider field and it’s not pretty seeing the lead rider rounding the first corner 500 metres up the road before you’ve even clicked your feet in!  

On to the racing then.  The course was not too bad, a couple of drags to break up the field on an otherwise pretty routine 7.2 kilometre circuit.  The heat was the main problem for me, 27 degrees and a head in need of a trip to my local barbers meant I was going to struggle to stay cool and hydrated, but it’s the same for everyone.  I kept myself up to the front early on to go with any attacks.  I bridged a gap after maybe 40 kilometres, more as a test of my legs than a serious attempt at a break away, the results were not good, I was going to have to race defensively as my legs were abit sore from the week’s exertions.  The break went at the half way mark, 28 riders split off, I would have to accept I was not going to be up for the win.  I treated the rest of the race more as training, attacking a couple of times and doing a few long turns on the front of the peloton.  The break stayed away, knowing that I was already out of the money I decided not to sprint and ultimately rolled across the line in around 60^th.  For the next week I will be having 3 days off the bike, a trip back home and the joys of the dentist await me, but come Friday and I will be back out to Belgium.       

The nail that sticks out gets hammered

Positioning is everything in both racing and life.  I am starting to realise that a peloton is all about where you position yourself.  A bit like a dinner party, you start and then you are faced with many social rules and unwritten laws about whether to sit man, woman, or whether to start from the outside fork and work your way in.  The peloton is very similar in many ways.  The golden rule is always to be near the front, the top 30 is where all the action is, from this position you have to sprint out of corners less and you avoid the more dangerous crashes.  The problem is that in most races, 200 guys want to be up there at the front, if I go back to my dinner party, it’s a bit like everyone fighting to sit next to the prettiest girl at the table.  The most skilled riders move up effortlessly slipping through gaps in the peloton and conserving as much energy as possible.  The other option is a long winded and tiring burst down the outside of the peloton before slotting back into place further up.  This could be likened to pulling up outside and insisting the valet stay sat down before pointlessly driving to the car park yourself, wasting energy and arriving at the party sweaty and tired, where as the guy who moves seamlessly through the peloton gets the valet to do the hard work for him and arrives at the party fresh.  The freshest guy tends to win.

Wednesday was to be a kermise of 120 kilometres in the Antwerpen town of Beveren.  There was a chill to the air and the wind was noticeable.  Around 150 riders started, the early pace was decent enough but the pan flat course ensured the race was likely to be a wearing down process on the turning and narrow back lanes.  I was reasonably fresh but after around 105km I had a bad patch, this was made even worse by the fact the race was starting to be torn apart by the teams of Van Gothem and Ovyta who were stringing the race into an echelon.  I was unceremoniously dropped with just 2 laps to go, I resigned myself to the last 10 kilometres in the Grupetto.  The Grupetto is an Italian word for the last sizeable group in the race, as a general rule everyone contributes to the pace setting but every rider who is in this group is pretty shattered so they work together to finish with some pride.  I rolled over about 80^th, a couple of minutes down.  This was the point where I came across the title- ‘the nail that sticks out gets hammered’.  It originates in Japan and to me as a bike racer it means that a rider who takes up a poor position at the back of the bunch will be dropped. 

Thursday was another kermise of 119.6 kilometres in Kortenaken near Tienen.  The wind was if anything a welcome breeze as the mercury touched 18 degrees, perfect for a race.  I had learnt from the previous days beating that I had to stay up front, 230 riders lined up ready for the race.  The course took in a gentle rise to the finish of around 800 metres but apart from that the roads were good.  I took up a place in the top 40 and used everything from elbows, hands and some choice language to fend off the bunch when I began to get swamped by other riders.  I sensed a bunch sprint after the first hour so I kept my cards close to my chest and dug deep with a couple of laps to go.  As the finish approached a lone rider chipped off and soloed towards the finish, At this point nobody wants to burn themselves out chasing a lone rider so late on as it would mean not having a decent sprint in the end.  Inevitably the lone man stayed just metres in front of the closing peloton to the line, my own sprint was scuppered by locking handlebars with a slightly nervous Belgian rider who must have needed a change of underwear after the race he reacted that badly! I came over 25^th, a pleasing if not slightly frustrating result as I felt comfortable for the majority of the race.  The important thing was I received my 3^rd envelope of the year… 10 euros for my efforts.    

Back to the Middle Ages

The last week has been a true throw back to the days of pre-war cycling.  Having survived a tough race on the bank holiday Monday, my upbeat mood was short lived as on Tuesday our borrowed internet disappeared, there was never a formal arrangement but it had kept me and my team mates sane!  Earlier this year our television digital box broke, to be honest this wasn’t a major problem at the time as the channels were mainly Dutch but the internet is another thing entirely.  There does seem to be a light at the end of our tunnel, a different company will be installing both a new digital box and the internet on 11^th May if everything goes to plan. I have read many stories of the greats like Tom Simpson crossing to France with just a handful of francs in his pocket and learning the language, the style of racing and the lifestyle, all for the love of the sport.  But to be honest I don’t know how these men did it.  Having no connection to the outside world is the most isolating and depressing thing I have ever known.  This has led to me and my roommate Mike to start a new hobby… wifi hunting.  The rules are simple, we set off walking around our village with our various electrical gadgets in search of some naïve persons unsecured internet connection, if you win you get to find out the latest cycling results and maybe even send an email home.  It really is amazing what our brains will do to keep us occupied.  I have been a bit more adventurous with my cooking of late, a couple of decent lasagne and an attempt at Bombay potatoes has been the limit of this week’s cooking but  if anything it’s good for the morale to try something new.  The fact that I am able to publish this blog is due to the courtesy of Gyles Wingate, not only our GPS but now our new wifi king.

This weekend saw the provincial championships being held right across Belgium, unfortunately that excluded us from racing as ‘foreigners’, but some time ago we had agreed to ride in something called the ‘Super Klassica’ with our next door neighbour.  The idea of this is that it is basically a sportive taking in the majority of the Tour of Flanders route, in particular the climbs or ‘bergs’ as they are called out here.  The day started badly… we had understood the time of departure to be 8:30 so we were surprised when we were awoken at 7:15 by our Neighbour on the door step already in his lycra and stretching.  This was the worst lost in translation moment I’ve had since reaching Belgium but having demolished a bowl of shreddies in record quick time and stuffing my pockets with brioche we left for the town of Oudenaarde in west Flanders.  I have never done a sportive before, to be honest I have always been abit snobbish and thought of them as the territory of non-competitive Sunday riders, or weekend warriors as I’ve heard them called.  I rolled down to the sign on and it was immediately clear I was in amongst a different level of bike rider.  There were hundreds of men and women, donning an array of replica team kits, sporting chain oil marks or ‘4^th category tattoos’ and on hundreds of different carbon fibre bikes that they would struggle to justify buying to their wives.  I paid my eight euros and was given number 10868… and I’ve been complaining about 250 guys in my races!  Our group of 4 set off on our 136 kilometre route, the route was marshalled incredibly well and signposted  at every lamp post… Stevie Wonder could have negotiated the course it was that good.  After just about getting out of the car park we were presented with our first berg, I was hoping for a nice gentle incline to break me in, maybe a token town cobble at the top for good measure, how wrong I was.  The ‘Koppenberg’ was staring us in the face so without so much as a warm up I threw myself at its mercy.  The slopes were cobbled and at one point 22% towards the top.  I absolutely crawled up at the steepest section but I crested the top, cheered on by a couple of the local nutters.  The bergs came thick and fast from then on, just a handful of kilometres later and I was thrashing it up the oude Kwaremnont  closely followed by the Patterberg, this was to be the steepest of the day at 25%.  The knack to climbing them is to keep as much weight over the drive wheel as possible which means sitting down and just concentrating on being smooth…easier said than done, at some points the gradient nearly had my front wheel in the air.  I was pleasantly surprised when we got to a feed station, I had never experienced this but having paid to enter the true Yorkshire man inside me emerged and I filled my pockets with free waffles and bananas, it’s all about getting your monies worth!  Having puzzled at the rather rubbish statue in the village green  for a couple of minutes, my confusion was ended when our 4^th man went up and relieved himself against the statue… or as I had just found out, the temporary public urinal.  We pressed on and crested 3 more bergs before reaching the Bosberg, I had seen this climbed many times by my heroes on the Television so I attacked it with vigour.  It was a lot steeper than it appears on Eurosport is about all I can say as I was running out of steam towards the top.  We passed a steady stream of middle aged man, some who appeared to have been shoe horned into their shorts and jerseys but it was actually a refreshing sight to see that everyone was having a go no matter what shape they were.  We dragged ourselves round to the final couple of bergs, the ‘Molenberg’ and ‘Wolfsberg’.  Our fourth guy ‘Brekt’ was at this point already suffering and discovering that his triple chainset had decided to become a double for the remainder of the ride must have been a hammer blow but we all finished the 136km in one piece…chapeau lads!  If you have ever watched the tour of Flanders before and thought that it looks easy watching Boonen rocket up looking like he’s riding on a carpet, I would suggest watching the back guys go up, the pain is always etched across their faces and they even get off and walk on the tougher climbs, this is more what mere mortals can achieve but a great experience none the less.  Back to racing this coming week!          

Give me a bike over a wheel barrow any day

They say time flies when you’re having fun, this seems to be the case for me.  Following Rutland I went back home for a few days to catch up with friends and family as well as using it as an opportunity to train on harder terrain.  I was pleased when my dad suggested we spend some time together… before he finished the sentence with ‘fixing the leak in the pond’.  But beggars can’t be choosers and I was after a free return to Belgium so I decided a day of manual labour was a small price to pay in return for an overloaded car and a tank of petrol at my dad’s expense.   The following day saw training take a back seat once again as my height came in use and I was asked to paint my sisters bedroom… I couldn’t help thinking my family had saved up the more tedious household jobs for me but it was good to spend time with them never the less.   I always considered myself a fit young guy but a day’s labouring in the garden ruined me physically… I now fully respect anyone who gardens out of pleasure! 

My training back home consisted mainly of riding as many hills as possible and a couple of outings on the Leeds chaingang.  It was good to see many familiar faces and be welcomed home by many of the guys who make up my training partners throughout the winter.  Friday afternoon soon rolled around and it was time once again to swap my home comforts for Belgian alternatives.  I couldn’t leave without taking a few necessities back to Belgium, so with a car full of Shreddies, orange cordial, parkin and a mandalin given to me to broaden my cooking repertoire, I boarded my ferry across to Zebrugge.  I gave my family a brief yet enjoyable tour around the brewery town of Leuven before heading to Westmeerbeek.

Finally to racing, there has been two races this weekend.  The first was a hot and hilly event just 20 kilometres away from our apartment.  We rode out to the race and lined up with 120 guys.  From the start I was struggling, the heat was sapping my strength, I regretted not getting the haircut I had booked back home and the constant accelerations from 10 kmp/h to 50kmp/h out of every corner were beginning to take their toll.  After just an hour and a half I was tailed off.  The recovery process for the Following days race was going to be all about rehydration.  That evening I walked around all evening glued to my 2 litre water bottle constantly sipping.  Sunday was to be a similar affair to Saturday, hot and hilly terrain with 120km to sort out the field of just under 90 riders.  On the opening lap I crossed solo to a breakaway group of 6, only to be joined by another half a dozen riders later on.  In theory more riders is always better in a breakaway.  In reality though every rider is looking to do as little work as possible and conserve his strength for later so ultimately no one really committed and the break was brought back after 25 km of racing.  The terrain was beginning to tell for a lot of the riders and the peloton began to split into groups of 10 and 15 littering the hills and back roads.  I got in a small counter attack around half way through with two team mates.  We committed ourselves fully and rode hard for 40km, bridging a 2 minute gap across to the group in front.  The leaders were safely out in front through and I had to settle for 45^th, I had done a good ride on a very attritional circuit.              

Rutland: a day in the dirt

Setting my alarm for 3:30am is always the low point on race day.  In England I was used to getting up and giving up my Sundays for the pain of a cycle race.  But Saturday 16^th of April was a little bit special for me.  I awoke having not really slept and already brimming with excitement, I was coming home! With a safety cushion that would allow for several coffee stops we set off and arrived at our hotel in Peterborough a full 4 hours early.  I always enjoy watching the opposition at such events, as team cars and riders trickle through the main gate we sat back and watched as teams from Spain, Denmark, Belgium, France and Britain all lined up this year’s equipment in an attempt to get the psychological edge.  Dinner that evening was a similar affair.  An organised team would typically shuffle in all together and look resplendent in their teams leisure wear.  Our team was impressively coordinated as we lined up for soup, showing off our team t-shirts and grabbed a table in the corner to further spy on the competition.  The most impressive team in terms of sheer showiness was the Spanish KTM team who sported fluorescent orange tracksuits aswell as looking more like gigolos than bike riders. 

Sunday came around all too quickly and as we signed on the start line it was apparent that the race was once again going to be blessed with good weather.  172 riders took the start, a couple of early crashes reduced that number but after an hours racing the peloton finally hit the famous dirt roads.  My experience from last year was crucial at this point.  I placed myself behind a couple of experienced riders in Malcolm Elliott and Tom Barrass just before we hit the dirt roads and after maybe two minutes of eye balls out riding and with the face of a coal miner I emerged in around 20^th place.  The pressure had proved too much for all but the strongest and luckiest riders.  The front group consisted of no more than 40 riders at the 80 kilometres to go mark.  As we approached the second sector of gravel lady luck decided that, although she had blessed me with great legs that day, my tires weren’t going to be so lucky…I had punctured!  Races like Rutland Cicle Classic are largely about luck, getting to the end without mechanical problems is half the battle.  I dropped back looking for my team car.  The split behind which I was happy about 5 minutes before was now my undoing as I was forced to stand at the side of the road for around a minute until my team mate ‘Stijn Eneckens’ offered me his front wheel.  This is possibly the most selfless thing a bike rider can do for a team mate and I gratefully took the wheel leaving Stijn to wait for the team car.  The stop had taken its toll on me however as my legs, once fluid and strong now felt heavy and weakened.  I spent several kilometres hanging around the back of the convoy but with the race galloping away up front I knew my chances would have to wait another year.  Bad luck was striking down our team one by one, the only rider left for us was Erwin De Koerf.  He took on the English riders and finished a close second to take possibly the finest result of his life…chapeau!  I left the race still in love with its charm, the fine balance of luck and power that a rider needs to win it will bring me back again next year hopefully.  I got an interesting view from Stijn on the race “I can’t believe a country like England still has roads this bad!”… and this from a rider brought up on cobbles.  For now its time for some good home cooking and some beautiful Yorkshire scenery before going back out to Belgium later this week.  Here are a couple of images from Rutland.

Team Time Trial

England has had a special place on my Calendar as well as in my mind for quite some time now.   April 17^th has become engraved in my mind as Rutland day… the day I get to return home…ish to flaunt my new found abilities as a bike rider on an international stage.  Unfortunately my participation in the ‘East Midlands international Cicle Classic’ has been in question by my team manager.  Fortunately my fears of being dropped from the squad were dismissed with a solid ride the previous Friday evening at Heist-op-de-Berg.   In preparation for our 6 man team travelling to England, I had been told to attend a ‘press conference’ to give the club some good publicity and to get the squad together over a coffee.  I had several pictures running through my mind at the prospect of a Dutch press conference.  To some amusement, my main memory of such a situation was that of former England manager Steve McLaren being interviewed just weeks after moving to Holland.  From memory he spoke like a caricature of himself and sounded like a Dutchman speaking English.  Our press conference was not even similar.  We gathered in a café in Aarschot and posed for photos in our jerseys, my Belgian team mates handled the one keen journalist, rendering my scrap of paper containing two Flemish phrases unnecessary and I was left with one of the biggest anti-climaxes since turning 11 and being presented with a huge box from my auntie, only to eventually find a computer game tucked away in a corner of the monstrosity.       

Tuesday was to be my second new experience in as many days.  We were told just two days before that myself and my room-mate Mike were to form half of the Hand-in-Hand Baal squad for the provincial team time trial.  As far as surprises go, a team time trial was down there with a parking fine.  This was to be a 20 kilometre thrash around a pan flat course near St Truiden.   Having not competed in any sort of time trial since the tender age of 15, I thought ‘Try everything once’ so with youthful exuberance me and Mike set off on the 40 kilometre ride to the course.  Two and a half hours later and with substantially more kilometres than I’d expected due to my expert navigation, we arrived, stripped down to our shorts and slotted in our race wheels.  The wind was incredible with gusts of 50mph…perfect for a bunch of road riders thrown together at the eleventh hour and told to work as smoothly as a Swiss watch.  The opening 400 metres kind of set the tone.  Our first rider pulled his foot out just metres in and just about regained the back of the line in time to be promptly dropped again.  With the time to be taken on the third man we now had to all stay together and work well.  With myself, Mike and Ward Mommaers killing ourselves into the wind we settled into the rhythm.  I had been told before by Mark McNally that team time trialling was like trapping a certain part of your anatomy in a door for half an hour and I’m inclined to agree.  After the opening lap we were caught by the team of Van-Gothem which had set off a minute behind us.  We held it together for the remaining 10 kilometres thanks to some awesome turns on the front by Ward, our very own Cancellara.  We crossed the line spent, I don’t think I have ever suffered as much for so long.  We finished 6^th…out of yes, you guessed it… 6.  Our team were the only team on road bikes and not fully equipped with the latest advancements in aerodynamics so as a race we were never really in it to win it.  But to sum it up I would have to say it is one of the more acquired tastes in cycling, perhaps not for me but I’m definitely glad I had a go! For me the next race is the big one, Rutland international Cicle classic.  I will be returning to the U.K. for a couple of days with my family after this so watch this space for a full rider report from England’s Paris-Roubaix!    

The Grass is always greener on the other side

Lines like ‘every cloud has a silver lining’ and ‘the grass is greener on the other side’ are often used to motivate people in times when the chips are down and there seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel.  This has been the type of approach I’ve had to take in the last couple of weeks.   Poor form coupled with a splattering of DNF’s had been doing little for my motivation, but you have to take the rough with the smooth…even if my rough patch had been like a sector of Belgian pave!

Mid-week rides with our neighbour Brecht have become somewhat of a highlight for me and my room-mate Mike.  Brecht teaches us new roads every week as well as having an uncanny ability to do almost the whole ride with a tailwind.   This week’s ride took in two glimpses of ‘Scheldeprijs’, a semi classic for Professional riders.  With unbroken sunshine and good company 150 kilometres flew by.  The day almost took a turn for the worst when I was cut up by a van but a bit of cyclo cross and a lot of leaning against the van allowed me to just keep myself upright.  Once the driver had got out I decided that the six foot scratch down the side of his van compared to my slight friction burn meant that we could call the incident a draw….difficult to communicate in Flemish but I wasn’t hanging around in case he noticed his side door and decided not to call it a draw!  The evening was capped off in gourmet style with Brecht’s wife Nele treating us to three courses of luxury food and a champagne toast at the start.  This was not only a welcome break from the monotonous diet of pasta and potatoes but also a chance to catch the champions league live on T.V. since our television broke 3 weeks ago and is no nearer to being replaced. 

On Friday morning I was awoken rather rudely by the cobbles being dug up outside my front window, now i'm not a suspicous person but this is surely retribution from Belgians road minister for my critiscism of his lazy employees in my last blog... I didn't know I had fans so high up! Friday night came around soon enough and with west Flanders basking in a setting sun it was time to see if I could turn my poor fortune around.  The race was a glorified criterium, 110km on a 5.5 kilometre pan flat circuit.  A strong British contingent on the start line was a welcome sight.  The race went off at a fast pace.  Within seconds the 230 rider field could be seen lined out across the Flemish countryside, for once a welcome sight as I had positioned myself in the top 30 and my legs were feeling comfortable.  Just 4 laps in and a good move from a rider in our team called ‘Stijn Eneckens’ dragged a select group of around 12 riders away.  The group seemed to work well as they disappeared through the town streets.  With no carrot to dangle out in front of the peloton the move looked destined to succeed and with 2 team mates in the group I was obliged to sit tight and let them ride away.  A special mention at this point to Dan McLay who surely did the ride of the day, crossing the gap of near enough a minute solo to join these riders up front.  Stijn is a rider held in the highest regard in our team, many a night I have been lectured on how many times he dies in races and comes back from the brink to take victory, so with this in mind I followed the dangerous moves and allowed the gap to grow out to 2 minutes.  I launched a couple of speculative attacks late on in the race but never gained more than 15 seconds and was left looking for willing riders to help me pull away from the peloton.  The final result was a well-timed victory for a rider from the local Tremelo team.  I came across the line just over 2 minutes behind taking around 10^th in the bunch sprint.  A couple of groups slipped away late on meaning I eventually came away with a placing around 50^th but having felt strong all race and finished comfortably my confidence had been boosted.  I was later told that I had merely had a training ride just sitting in the bunch by our team manager which was disheartening but, it’s almost impossible to put down a rider with endorphins coursing through his veins!

Reflection

Having lived in Belgium for eight weeks now, I feel I should have a moment of reflection on Belgium.  So here goes.  You can ride around Belgium effortlessly for hours on a decent day, its countryside is pleasant enough but to a Yorkshire man it is missing something.  The Belgians seem to have a national obsession with two animals…goats and chickens.  My team manager tells me Belgium has 220 different species of chicken, and as for the goats, these are apparently just Flandriens expressing their reluctance to spend money on lawnmowers.  The latest from spring watch Belgium is that I’ve seen a spring lamb…it was a mere 2 hour ride away!  It has also come to my attention that Belgium has a lot of on-going road works, this is perhaps a generous way of putting it.  Every ride I pass many cornered off sections of road, I appreciate Belgium has been without a government for 8 months now but the lack of progress is astounding. 

Moving onto cycling, I have had an interesting insight this week into shed engineering.  In true James May style, we visited a shed not far from my village to meet an old bloke who went by the name ‘Nest’.  This man is the secret weapon of Jurgen Van Den Broek and Phillipe Gilbert, two of Belgiums finest cyclists.  Before you jump to conclusions I am not about to say he is a chemist, doctor or anything to do with doping, ‘Nest’ is a wheel builder.  Wheel building is a true art form, you can teach it but these gurus will tell you they have a 6^th sense for building a wheel.  I went there in search of a replacement rim to rebuild my wheel after my last tumble (into the daffodils if you remember).  After admiring the rims lined up with names like ‘Gilbert’ tagged to them, I left knowing my wheels were in good hands.  I have been limited to just training over the previous ten days, we have a group ride locally which consists of up to 150 riders on a given Tuesday or Thursday…maybe this is why there is no progress on the road works, the guys are riding their bikes? As I live in the heart of cyclo cross country, I have been privileged to ride with both Sven Nys and more Recently Neils Albert.  This would be the equivalent of Wayne Rooney turning up back home for your Jumpers for Goalposts football match… you see why it’s a privilege. 

As far as racing goes I have seen little competitive action recently due to being overlooked in my team for the last three big races.  A week ago I travelled to the Walloon region in search of a race.  Unfortunately my body seemed to still be recovering from a cold and I was distanced with 35km to go along with another 70 riders who failed to finish on what was a very challenging and selective course close to Roubaix.   

Finally my new word of the month…

Passup- Move (especially useful when on a bike path)

kermes- dont underestimate them

This week has been my first week of proper racing as a full time cyclist.  I always looked upon this lifestyle as an endless stream of café stops, podium girls and glamorous stage races in exotic destinations.  Down at the elite amateur level life is anything but this, café stops still exist but podium girls are reserved for the winners of races and my calendar is filled with hard and fast kermes racing as I can only watch races like ‘Paris-Nice’ on my television.  A quick mention before I continue for my new found ‘guide to Belgium’-Mr Gyles Wingate.  As well as knowing every bike path like the back of his hand, he also knows the best cafes and he seems to command celebrity service.  Having just ordered a Cappuccino, out trotted the café owner to give us some complementary chocolates and free croissants at the latest café in Diest!

Anyway down to racing.  Wednesday was a midweek kermes.  Kermes translates to ‘fair’- the celebratory type like a village gala.  There are often small rides for children, tepee style tents filled with the local brewery produce and the highlight of these outdoor parties is a bike race around the town.  I am particularly fond of this idea as it guarantees plenty of support (often 100’s of people at various stages of inebriation) and means the race starts at 3pm, very civilized then until the racing starts.   Wednesdays race kicked off with rain unfortunately, my legs felt reasonable for only my 4^th race so I attacked early on lap 2 at the bottom of the finish climb…this was a brief bid for freedom and lasted only a matter of minutes.  Having been brought back I settled for what seemed an inevitable wearing down process of crosswinds and hills.  My race ended prematurely however as, with 25km left I wasn’t attentive and struck a traffic island, fortunately for me this particular island had been newly planted with this seasons daffodils so I had a soft but wet landing, I was fine, the front wheel had took the impact and was damaged beyond repair. Better look next time…quite literally!

Saturday was a similar idea to Wednesday, a kermes of 113km near Ghent.  There was probably no more than a speed hump in terms of a climb so fast and flat was the order of the day.  On the plus side though the sun was out and the mercury read a dizzying 15 degrees, for the 2^nd week of March that’s not bad.  You know a race is going to be cramped when you line up next to number 234 so with that in mind I had to be attentive.  No sooner had I got started then the first break went.  A good group of 20 guys had slipped clear and I was angry at myself for missing the move.  I was sure that the race was over in terms of going for the win as the gap shot up to 2 minutes to the peloton within 20km.  After lap 4 of racing the bunch had slowed just a little too much, a touch of wheels close to me brought maybe 15 riders down.  When this happens in a race one of two things happen, either the race is unofficially neutralised to allow the riders a chance to get up, dust themselves off and regain the group.  Or more likely the proverbial waste is about the hit the fan.  The latter happened… a number of teams moved to the front and with the conditions blustery it became apparent that they would ride fast on the front with the aim of getting rid of the weaker riders from the rear of the group.  The next 50 kilometres went by in a painfull blur.  I was at one point in the third echelon however some canny riding (or as my scouse team mate would say ‘I reached into the suitcase of courage’) saw me ride across a couple of groups and back up to the front of the bunch.  Having almost given up at the halfway point we went through the bell lap at breakneck speed with the breakaway now insight.  It was always going to be a cat and mouse situation but with just 400 metres to go the bunch swallowed up the breakaway, paving the way for a big bunch sprint…tour de France style.  With a strong tailwind and 200 motivated riders all looking for a good result I decided to play it safe and stick near the front but not so close that I contested the sprint.  I rolled over the line in 50^th, good speed work even if I wasn’t up there at the end going for the win.  To my surprise I handed my race number back in at the end and was handed an envelope…envelopes mean prize money at the end of a race and I was quietly amused when I had won 10 Euro for 50^th.   




Just a quick picture, i'm 2nd in from the right.  This was Saturdays race.

Crashes, crosswinds and carnage

Having dipped my toe in the water…metaphorically last week, this last weekend was to be more of a shove in at the deep end of Belgian bike racing.  Brussels-Zepperen, a 150km semi classic with crosswinds, cobbles and 198 riders all with something to prove.  A midweek foray into Leuven has been the highlight of the last week, a local British rider called Giles took us on a decent scenic ride into the heart of Belgian beer brewing country.  Leuven is very much a student town but has retained some beautiful architecture and is awash with cafes.  It was also pretty much the first time we had seen Girls our own age on masse, somewhat a treat for four boys who have lived like monks for a month in a small village.  I was also very impressed by the number of people on what Belgians call ‘town bikes’- basically a sit up and beg bike that can be in any condition that the owner uses instead of walking.

Shopping has become somewhat of a quest in Belgium.  As a bike rider living cheaply I try buy my food where ever is cheapest assuming it’s the same quality.  Unfortunately this means, twice a week me and my team mates visit two to three supermarkets to save probably 5 euros… but “it’s not what you spend…it’s what you save” as my mother would say.  Our favourite shop is a supermarket called ‘Colruyt’.  The reason for this is the freebies…Back in Britain its rare to get a tiny chunk of cheese or something from a deli counter.  Colruyt seems to go along with the idea that people need feeding whilst they shop, something I’d go along with.  There is free wine, beer, coffee (with the obligatory biscuits), crisps and if you’re lucky, there is even an oven with chicken nuggets.  Strangely there was also cat food available for tasting…’its Belgium eh’.   After massively abusing the ‘one per person’ rule we leave and hit the local Aldi and Lidl.

Sunday rolled along soon enough, we had been told to expect echelons after just half an hour of racing.  After a massage the night before and a breakfast that could feed a family of four, we headed to Brussels.  The race started under blue skies, sunny but cold was to be the order of the day.  My race started badly, a pile up after just 2km bent my front wheel and saw me back in the convoy to get a speedy wheel change from our mechanic ‘Gert’.  Pacing back on behind the car is a skill, I’m sure I will get better at it, basically you ride just inches off the rear bumper off your team car at speeds of 35-40 mph in an attempt to escape the wind and the resistance that slows you down normally.  After regaining the bunch it became apparent that everyone was nervous for the first big race of the year.  The stakes are high in race of such prestige, a win can help a rider secure a pro contract for the following year.  Unfortunately my legs were abit heavy during the early exchanges, after exiting the key section of the early part of the race, my front wheel was completely wiped out by another rider seeking shelter in the forming echelons.  The race was already split up badly behind meaning my team car was two minutes reaching me.  Race over.  I rolled to the finishing circuits in Zepperen and to my first DNF of the year.  A disappointment as I will only have a handful of opportunities to race at this level all year. 

Come rain or shine...Its bike racing time!

Since Monday of last week I have been getting constant reminders that the upcoming weekend was to be the start of the Belgian racing season.   The most noticeable example of this is a scene that I’ve dubbed midnight beans... After a hard day on the bike I felt hungry after tea (or dinner as my southern housemate would call it, but we won’t get into that debate) and reached for a can of beans at around 10:30pm, the look on my team managers face was that of sheer surprise with a hint of disgust thrown in.  ‘This is no good for you at this time of night, you will pay for that this weekend’.   And with that the hints kept on coming that the weekend was the start of the Belgian season. 

Belgium has also started to have a distinctively Anglo tinge to it, on Wednesday I was emptying my washing basket in the evening when a man and woman knocked on my window and told me to open it…in English.  In an attempt to open my window I pulled my blind off its hinges and was left with the thing in my hand.  The pair turned out to be Jocelyn Ryan and a New Zealander who never managed to introduce himself.  My efforts with a tub of tubular tyre glue seems to have had limited effect, our blind stays up but it’s definitely a D.I.Y disaster waiting to happen! We also have several notable riders in our local area, Dan Mclay lives a few doors down, Matt Bramier lives 10 minutes ride away, Adam Blythe is in the next village and we recently came across a couple of under 23 riders in Mark McNally and Andrew Fenn, quite a group when we finally get a ride going.

I’ve also decided that a Belgian café can be judged by the freebies that accompany a coffee…a free biscuit on the side is average, a second chocolate is a good sign, but so far the winner is a little café in heist op de berg which gave us all a free ham sandwich!

Sunday came around soon enough, I awoke to light rain, a stiff breeze and hopefully just a chance of victory in the afternoon…if you’ll pardon the pun.  I signed on for what I’d hoped to be a small kermisse race, unfortunately 186 other riders had the same idea.  The race was run off under heavy skies but the course was rolling at best and the wide, tree lined roads prevented the havoc that I was expecting from my previous Belgian experiences.  A small group slipped away late on in a soft move, our team was represented with two riders so I was no longer on for the win, I salvaged some pride with a bit of elbows out sprinting to take 23^rd, but more importantly 10 euros prize money! At just 109km it wasn’t the longest race but it has boosted my confidence without being the baptism of fire I feared.  Afterwards we were taken to a fundraiser for a local cycling team, a novel idea that is common in Belgium whereby a club hosts an evening in their clubhouse, invites all the local town to come and eat some home cooked food.  We paid 10 euros each (so my prize money lasted about an hour) and had a cracking chicken casserole with the obligatory frites.  The food is expensive for what it is but apparently every club has them and they are all well supported by fans and riders alike which help cycling keep going in this part of the world. 

A couple of Flemish phrases I’ve picked up this week…

Totziennes- goodbye

Lekker- tasty!

'It's Belgium eh'

When a Belgian wants to sum up a situation that’s utterly crazy they say “its Belgium eh” and usually accompany this with a casual shrug and a little chuckle.  I have been greeted with this attempt to justify Belgian madness several times this week.  Firstly, I must say a big thank you to the nurse who patched me up beautifully after my latest scrape, but one thing is becoming, at times painfully clear…Belgium breaks bikes.  I live and train with two team mates, between us we have broken spokes, rims, had countless punctures and I topped it off by snapping my handlebars in my latest tumble.  Whenever I ask our mechanic about this he simply shrugs and give it “that’s Belgium ey!” .  This week has been the first time I’ve turned a pedal in anger.   Saturday was a pre-race ride, normally this would consist of a leisurely couple of hours…unfortunately we had to do a reconnaissance ride for an upcoming race.  For me this meant a first taste of true pave, a 3km stretch of cobbles.  I won’t go into the details, my mechanic summed it up best as he drove past me in the car, wound down the window and announced I ride cobbles like his grandma, and that he will have a look at home for some stabilisers for me! Still, at least I kept upright.  At the end of the Saturdays exertions a brief look down at the computer revealed we had clocked up 5.5 hours and covered 164km, that’s 102 miles. 

Sunday was to be a ‘Practice race’.  These are events where riders complete 80km training as a group before a 70km race, with a brief 10 minute period in-between to strip down to race clothing.  With heavy legs from the previous day’s efforts I set off with the aim of using it as training.  The race itself was run off at a fast pace on a tight circuit.  Within a kilometre I was ‘in the gutter’, this is a term used to describe fighting for your place in a race when the pace is very high and every rider is looking for some shelter.  On the flat stretches I was looking for more gears with speeds of over 55km per hour putting the field under serious pressure.  It was a mixed day for our team, my younger English team mate, Mike Gregg did an excellent ride and finished well up the field in his second race, I was in another group further back and rolled over the line in the mid 50’s.  the win went to a local favourite, Sean De Bie.  We capped the day off with Frites, a Belgian favourite as a treat.