With growing confidence after a couple of decent finishes the previous week I was hoping for yet another opportunity to grow my palmares at Sundays Kermisse based around Boutersem. I had been told before the race that this was the only kermisse in the whole of Belgium that day, so expect a big field was the message. As I pulled out the car park 15 minutes before the race start hoping to get a warm up in, I noticed the start line was already crammed with the Belgian equivalent of eager beavers. As a rule I try start as high up as I can, so I stopped the warm up after about 50 yards and took up my position. The race organisers had clearly expected a big field but even they were caught unprepared for the final three riders who, with numbers written on scrap paper pinned to their backs made up the field of 303 riders! The race was made up of laps of a 17 kilometre circuit with the total distance creeping over normal kermisse distance at 125 kilometres. I started bullishly, moving up to occupy a cushy position in the top 50. Around half way through lap 1 the horrible screech of brakes and the pungent smell of rubber signified a crash. With bikes scattered all over the road I unclipped my foot and just held the bike upright. The crash was a classic kermisse pile up, lap 1, no one was familiar with the course and the narrowing of the road caused a pile up. I survived and with the field at full tilt I got tucked back in again. The race featured a ‘berg’ prize, rather generous considering the hill was little more than 300 yards long but it provided a pleasant enough change to the monotony of flat endless farm roads. A group slipped away very late on over the final hill, I was trying desperately to move up but so were 285 other riders, motivated by prize money down to 80th. I rolled over the line 61st having seen little of the front but plenty of pile ups on my way. It had been a decent enough race but the field size meant a phenomenal amount of luck coupled with motorbike power would have been needed to escape the clutches of the peloton. At least I netted 5 euros for little more than participating!
Fast forward 6 days and my hopes for improving on the previous weekends placing lay in the village of Zele, just east of Antwerp. Anything around Antwerp is going to be pan flat and with the flags and the flagpoles bent over sideways I was expecting the potential for some crosswind racing. Like the rest of Europe, Belgium had seen much depleted temperatures in the run up to the big day and strong winds meant a shivering bunch lined up at 3pm. The flag dropped and the field sped away like the finish line was just down the road. I was slipping back, digging for more power and my legs were offering me nothing. The Peloton came out of the farm roads and onto the bypass, the crosswind hit us and within 2 kilometres I was in real trouble. The wind forces each rider to do exactly the same effort and when a rider is on form this is brilliant, the selection is made for you. Sadly my condition was mysteriously poor that day. I was sitting too far back and a touch of wheels between me and an overly keen Belgian led to me stopping dead in the road, practicing my Flemish profanities watching as the bunch snake into the distance after just 10km. I spent the next 20km on the front of the ‘grupetto’ but our efforts were stopped by the race organiser who pulled my group out after 30km. I was left perplexed as to why I had ridden so poorly but to have a good day you must know what a bad day feels like…or at least that was my way of consoling myself!
The final skirmish in my triple bill of racing was to be in the lumpy region around Sint-Truiden. I had unfinished business with the race from last year where I was dropped 40km from the finish. Signing on was a typical affair, a line of skinny riders sporting haircuts last seen in ‘Dragonball Z’ and not helped by garish tracksuits. The race set off in decidedly warmer conditions than the previous day and with the wind considerably more understanding of my need for results I felt more upbeat about the potential for a placing. The first lap of the race strung the bunch out up the climb. My legs responded much better than the previous day as I sat comfortably up front. The laps ticked by as a group of 20 or so took off up the road. I didn’t press the panic button but I was far from happy. The kilometres creeped by as the climb began to take its toll on the weaker riders. As the bunch went through 3 laps to go the race blew to bits. The break turned on itself as half the riders were brought back, similarly a group of the strongest riders slipped off the front of the peloton, my housemate Chris Nicholson amongst them. I was in a bit of trouble as the much depleted peloton made its way up the hill for the final time. The break had stayed clear and the chase was up. I had made an unsuccessful bid for freedom with 3 laps to go but I had to console myself with somewhat of a sprint from my group. I exited the last corner winding up the speed, the finish line still nigh on a kilometre away. I took around 10th in the gallop for the line, around 40-45th in the race, the field rolled in as the riders various gurns told the tale of a hard race. I was pleased with how I had ridden physically, tactically I need to risk more in favour of netting that big result. One 10th followed by a bag full of 80th’s is better than my current collection of mid bunch finishes. A brief but honourable mention to Chris who rode across to the break and netted himself a fine 12th, proof that big risks offer big gains. Also a less than honourable mention to the photo finish man who failed to acknowledge my efforts listing me as a ‘DNF’ and robbing me of a sure 5 euros…
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