Joel Davison Racing Blog: It's good for the gardens

As Belgium is gripped with tour fever and I am forever answering questions about Bradley Wiggins it seems almost pitiful to be writing about my adventures in the lower ranks of cycling. But Belgium is a hotbed of talent, the fans know who has a big career ahead of them but they get behind every rider regardless. Well I think they do… either that or there is another Joel in my races and he always gets a cheer!

Friday’s race was as close to a criterium as Belgium gets… 30 laps of a 3km circuit featuring two drag strips and a twisty section down the bottom end of the course. The aim of the night was unashamed prime hunting. There was money for the first rider across the line on every even lap meaning 15 potential pocket liners. Early ambitions soon went out the window when my stomach started playing up after just a couple of laps, perhaps I was paying for the last minute frangipane I’d scoffed in the car park or maybe this was the physical manifestation of tour fever... It was a tough start to the race, I rode the first hour sat bolt upright on the bike to relieve some of the pressure on my stomach, not what you’d call aerodynamic as I sat last man on the back of the bunch clinging on. Things started to pick up as the lap board ticked down and by the final hour of the race I was starting to move up, not easy when the race was spent entirely in one line. The primes slipped by uncontested by me as I continued to nurse myself towards the finish line. A 7pm start and some rather grey clouds ensured that as we took the lap bell the light was fading. Two riders had been off the front for a handful of laps meaning the chase was on for a last lap catch. I salvaged a bit of pride in the kick for the line coming home for 24^th, Lower than what I’d wanted that morning but considering I was close to climbing off in the first hour I was just happy to get the finish out the way. I can’t say it was an honourable performance, Last week I was the one towing the peloton round on my wheel only to see it whizz past me at the finish, this week the roles had reversed and it had been my night to ride in the wheels and pop out late… c’est la vie. On a positive note I did claim 10 euros prize money bringing me up to 99 euros for the year, not quite enough for me to be worried about a weak euro yet!

Sundays race was very nearly the ultimate test of man and machine, I had pencilled in Overijse as the destination. I had heard the course was the hardest in Belgium with its infamous cobbled descent and I was praying the rain would hold off and keep my spirits up. But this is Belgium, it had rained heavily over the last week and Sunday was no different. As I sat at the traffic lights waiting to turn onto the motorway I cracked, I changed the Sat Nav to direction Neerlinter, the first time I’ve ever chickened out of a race because of the weather. As it happened the weather at Neerlinter was horrendous, unless you’re a duck. 140 riders started and within minutes the heavens had opened. I was feeling reasonably good early on as I slipped up the road in a group featuring the Ovyta team and Fidea. We worked hard for around 5km as the high speed ensured the group swung raggedly into the main straight. Queue the rain as it lashed the riders from all sides. My comic moment came just as the rain really kicked in, I attacked shortly before a corner and carried way too much speed on the way in, I was forced to jump onto the curb mid corner and come within inches of both a spectator and a hedge before jumping back into the bunch. As things settled down I began the grim process of watching the laps wash by through mud splattered glasses. I tried to keep up towards the front and sadly this was to be my undoing. I risked a gap as it opened up in front, unfortunately so did a rider from Bofrost, my front wheel clarted into his rear wheel and a split second later spokes were flying in every direction across the bunch. I was lucky to keep it rubber side down as I quickly unclipped a foot to steady my bike as the front wheel wobbled violently between the brake pads. I turned to the other rider who had also had to pull up, I was angry and ready to break out my newly learned profanities at him… but wow, this guy was huge, comfortably 6ft 5” and looking like an east German shot putter… was it time for ‘the thriller in Neerlinter’? In a word no, for the second time that day I chickened out. It had been my 35^th kermisse of the year and my 6^th mechanical DNF of the year. But next up is a biggie for me, the ‘Ronde Van Vlaams Brabant’ or in English the tour of Flemish Brabant.

Come on Bradley!