Being a foreigner abroad occasionally has its advantages. We decided to go watch the new Spiderman
movie mid-week at the local cinema in Geel.
The lady serving us at the desk was about as proficient in English as I
was in Flemish but I finally got my ticket at a whopping 9 euros having
probably been charged for everything from 3D glasses to a VIP backstage
pass. My fellow housemate Chris then
showed me how it’s done as he put his newly shaven face to the test and
unashamedly asked for a ‘kinder’ (child) ticket. This redressed the balance of international
relations as he smugly handed over his 6 euros and in we went. The second perk of being an English speaker
in Belgium then became apparent. The
movie was newly out and would have been packed with everything from popcorn
rustlers to mobile phone talkers back home.
It was refreshing to see the place as good as empty as we walked in and
sprawled out over about 5 seats. The
movie was entirely in English so I’m guessing that the Belgians opted not to
spend the evening glued to the subtitles bar at the bottom of the screen and
instead will just wait for the DVD release.
The following day was spent in the Kitchen. I’d agreed to knock up a few lasagnes for I
think 9 of us so the majority of the afternoon was spent chopping, stirring and
baking. They turned out reasonably
enough and as we all sat down 7 hungry cyclists tucked in accompanied by a
Mclay signature salad. The conversation
turned inevitably onto the following days racing. My 10 days training block had slipped by
hampered by a bit of a cold and there was no amount of joking in the world that
could deny the fact that tomorrow was the start of the tour of Vlaams
Brabant. I went to sleep hoping for good
legs in the morning.
I turned up to stage 1 in the nearby town of Rotselaar with
the mercury already touching 32 degrees.
I met my team mates and sat down for the team briefing where the main
focus was on making the time cut for the days 150km stage. I was filled with a nervous excitement before
the start and as we lined up at 1:30pm I was hopeful for a good day in the
saddle. I sat mid bunch early on as all
around me was a blur of colour: blue skies, different team kits and fields
zipping past. The constant chunter
within the bunch was broken occasionally by the squeal of brake pads and the
odd crunch as riders crashed behind. I
got over the days first few bergs (hills) pretty comfortably before I noticed
my front skewer was rapidly unscrewing itself.
Opportunities to fix this problem were slim but I hopped off the bike at
the top of a climb and quickly tightened the handle up before tagging onto the
back of the bunch. Having covered the
first 50km loop I noticed my rear skewer had come loose as well and that the
wheel was just moments from slipping out of its dropout. I was cursing the bloke who’d so generously put
my wheels in my bike at the start and also myself for not checking his handy
work. The wheel had slipped and had
rubbed itself bare onto the frame and with a big bang the tyre burst. I dropped back through the bunch and pulled
over to the side of the road looking frantically for my team car. This was one of those moments in time when
the adrenaline is flowing, seconds feel like hours and as every car passed me I
knew the task of regaining the bunch was becoming harder. Finally my team car pulled alongside me and gave
me a wheel after around 3 minutes of looking like a deranged hitch hiker waving
the wheel in the air. The chase was on as I struggled to regain the
bumper of the car as it rocketed off at 70kmp/h. Finally after about 5km we gained sight of
the broom wagon, the last vehicle in the race convoy. I was panicking a bit and immediately took
off trying to weave my way through the cars.
The small lanes and constant corners made my job even harder, the cars
shot off on the straights and crawled around the corners meaning I was largely
on my own trying to close the 1 minute gap to the peloton. I began slipping back through the cars after
the days 4th berg… I was in real trouble now as I risked slipping out the race
altogether. Finally the game was over as
the broom wagon pulled alongside me to tell me I was on my own. I continued to push on but in my heart I knew
the game was up, I rolled on for another 40km to the finishing circuit before
being pulled out by the commisaires. I
sat down at the car feeling despondent.
This had been my chance to prove myself in a genuinely big race. I was careless firstly in not double checking
my equipment but most of all I was disgusted at myself for not making it back
into the bunch. I had based the second
half of my season around this race with the aim of impressing a few big teams
and taking a step up next year. The
commisaires handed me a discretionary 20 euro fine for grabbing hold of a
couple of team cars in my attempts to get back up to the peloton, a small insult
if nothing else. Next up for me is a
holiday in deepest Dorset on England’s south coast where I will take time out
to think things over and decide where the path will lead me next. Cheers for reading.
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