Well as the calendar turned to 29th February 2012 it could only mean one thing, nope, not that a girl would propose to me but that it was time to return to Belgium. A quick blast through to my new home in the Belgian town of Olen seemed to brush off the gloss of my eight month long dream to return to Belgium. I was reminded of how bleak the countryside is, how regional the radio stations are and by the grey clouds hanging over Zeebrugge, how I shouldn’t get the shorts out just yet!
First up was a visit to my new house and I must say it’s a cracking place, plenty of room, digital T.V and Internet, enough space for all our bikes… the foundations are in place for a good year. Having had just the one full day to settle in, Saturday was to be my first race of the year. Molenbeek-Wersbeek, a kermisse south of my area and for many a nice season opener. We arrived a full hour before the start and thank god we did, the line for ‘inschriving’ or ‘signing on’ to us brits snaked round the block. Having stood for over an hour in the line, watching riders meander back with numbers going into the Hundreds, we finally got to the desk and I was given number 204. The line continued on a good half an hour after me until finally 283 other riders had paid their entry fee. On this note I should give a quick mention to the world of kermisse racing which has been ravaged by the recession seeing entry fees for races go up a whopping 66%...from 3 euros a race to 5 euros. Still in comparison to British races which require you to pay anywhere between £15 and £30 I guess Belgium will continue to be cheap as frites.
Onto the race then, the course featured nice wide roads, a couple of 90 degree bends and a fairly easy climb which meant at least half of the course was downhill. I was mainly after a good reintroduction to racing rather than a 120 kilometre break and with such a large bunch, sitting near the front was easy enough. I avoided a couple of late crashes and kept high enough up the bunch to roll over the line around 50th after the days 75 mile jaunt. I was pleased to finish so comfortably if not a tad disappointed in myself for not really taking as many risks as I should have done had I been riding for the win.
Sunday… and now we get to the bad. It’s never nice packing the car under a constant patter of raindrops. Even worse when you emerge from the car at the start of the race and find the road nicely slick with water, diesel and a horrible coating of Belgian grit. The race was a simple enough affair, 120km around a 5 kilometre circuit, a couple of tight bends and perhaps 160 riders. I started well enough, finding the rhythm from the day before and I settled in for a long slug in the rain. Sadly my race was cut short when after just 8 laps my front tire decided it was time for an early shower and gave up the ghost leaving me to nurse a puncture back to the car. Kermisse races don’t have any follow on service vehicles so once your out the back it’s time to get back to the car. If I was to search for a positive I would say that I was pretty comfortable in the peloton and I would likely have finished the race had lady luck favoured me more… but having a three hour race cut short by a puncture wasn’t the worst ending in the world!
And finally we get to the ugly duckling, the race nobody will ever love. Wednesday was to be a 120km kermisse in the west Flandrien town of Gooik. I raced there last year and knew from experience that the attritional course would provide a worthy winner. As I rolled down to the start I was astounded at the varying levels of clothing the peloton had on them, from guys in shorts and Jerseys to guys in full blown windtex’s, leg warmers, buffs and rain capes. I went for a mid range look with winter gloves, knee warmers and a thin top. It became apparent on lap one when the heavens opened that perhaps I had got the dress code right. The mercury touched only 3 degrees and by lap two rain was lashing the bunch as the wind whipped in across the open fields on every side of the course. As the 11 lap race came round each time a steady stream of riders were making their way into their cars. At first it was the guys in shorts, then the guys in leg warmers who pulled out until with around half the race gone the field had shrunk from 108 to around 50. I had a brief bid for freedom on lap 3, dragging a couple of average riders with me over the courses main climb before being reeled in by the diminishing peloton a few kilometres later. Each lap the main stretches of the course saw the strong riders split the race into echelons. I finally met my demise with five laps to go when, unable to feel my hands and to be more honest, with legs that felt they were going to burst I was detached from the back of the echelons and left to limp into the cars. The kermisse had a deserving winner as only 11 hardy souls finished, these were the guys who I was laughing at on the start line, who I thought were wimps for wearing too much clothing…how wrong I was. There is precious little to take away from a horrendous race like Gooik, but finishing a race shivering and soaked to the skin does force you to learn how to take care of yourself. You learn quickly how to strip down to your birthday suit and part with your dignity as you throw on every item of clothing you can find before heading off to find a hot drink.
In a slightly lighter look at international failures my shopping experience this morning highlighted our inability to read Flemish when we picked up two cartons of apparently full fat fresh milk. Upon reaching home my roommate Rob poured himself a glass and promptly spat the contents down the sink. A bit of googling the label revealed that what we had in fact bought was called buttermilk. Sure it sounds nice but in reality it is simply the waste product of the process of making milk into butter. Still at least we only bought a couple of cartons as opposed to stocking up!
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