Form is in the back of a cyclists mind at every moment, when
he goes out on the bike and busts a gut over the top of each crest in the
road, when he walks around the shops
screening the back of the ingredients list looking for the best food to improve
(it’s Nutella by the way). Form is
difficult to predict, some days you have it, when the pedals seem to turn
themselves and when the peloton is strung out in a long line and all you can
think about is attacking and riding even faster. For weeks I have been building my form,
spending more and more time riding at higher and higher intensities and looking to gain that
few extra yards on the competition. Training has been a real insight into
Belgiums insect population as well, every ride I come back like a test card for
the RSPB, smattered in various bugs and creepy crawlies, a down side to a nice
back road if there was one!
Tuesday was a bank holiday for Belgium and like many
countries celebrating May Day, the pleasant 20 degrees and a bit of sun ensured
a decent crowd for the afternoon Kermisse in Glabeek. The field took off in a frenzy with the pace
too hot for the back markers to undo various bolts and feign a mechanical. I was having mechanical problems of my own
with my chain skipping more than a girl guides meet whenever I got out the
saddle. We ground around the circuit as
I lost several bike lengths coming out of every corner, unable to accelerate
with the riders who’s bikes weren’t trying to kill them. I made my main effort after 90km, winding it
up like a grandfather clock and trundling across the 10 seconds or so to the
forming breakaway. My chain played it’s
joker as I rounded the corner, only metres from the back of a dangerous
breakaway, the damn thing dropped down onto the small chainring as I tried to
close the final metres. I was left in no
man’s land, seconds behind the break but with my bolt well and truly shot and
with the bunch breathing down my neck.
Sadly the race ran away from me, a break of 12 followed by a counter
attack of 15 riders meant I was left to fight for an anonymous 30 something yet
again this season. I attacked the
Peloton with 3km to go, using the last uphill gradient before a descent to avoid a
bunch sprint. I dragged cycling’s
equivalent of a poker player with me, the rider was grimacing on my wheel for a
good kilometre. As we swung off the
bottom of the climb and rounded the last bend at perhaps 75kmp/h I allowed my
shattered competitor his turn in the wind.
After only 5 seconds he flicked his elbow in a sign he’d had enough… I
shouted for him to continue to ride as we had only 30-40 metres over the
charging bunch under the 1km to go flag… This is where my poker player break
away companion seemed to light up some sort of after burner, clicking down several
gears and steaming away at 60kmp/h, I was planning to come around him and hold
off the peloton in front of the partisan crowd whom had come to watch me
race. After about 100 yards I realised I
was in real trouble, I could see the blurred outline of the chequered flag as I
squeezed my last watts through the pedals, barely able to hold the lads
wheel. I took a hard fought 36th;
just holding off the bunch by the width of a tyre, clearly this was a problem
for the commisaire who once again listed me as a non-finisher… pretty farcical
for a race which had a photo finish camera.
I was slightly surprised when I got back to the car to see training
wheels in my bike… “you ride home by bike” was the verdict from the fan club, a
thumbs down if ever there was one! I set off having ridden a 120km race
already, “come Johnny English” was the call as I pootled off along with 10 or
so other riders as we set off on the 60km ride home. This was my kind of recovery ride! The big
chain ring was strictly off limits, as was any speed above 30kmp/h, truly an
excellent way to end the day with 110 miles on the clock.
Thursday was another Kermisse, another chance to crack that
top 10. My Team manager showed up and
looked expectant. I too was hopeful of a
good ride as I’d coughed up 177 euros fixing up the stead and the course suited
my strengths. I was eager to impress and
chanced my hand very early, attacking the courses hill after just 15km, I felt
great, clicking up through the gears like
a teenager tapping out a text message, I flew past a couple of riders in no
man’s land and straight up to the break of 6, headed up by two ‘an post’
riders. I was keen to keep the intensity
up before noticing the road had become much more comfortable than 5 seconds
previously. My heart sank as I felt the
road vibrating through my backside… my rear tire had punctured. There are no service vehicles in kermisse
races, I was left to limp back 8km to the car on a rapidly buckling rim. The crowds gave me the disapproving look as
if to wonder how this rider had been dropped after just 20km, I let the crowd
know my frustrations as I puffed out the cheeks and gesticulated my anger at
such bad luck. It is a shame my night
ended so early but at 5 euros a race entry there will always be another day. Below is a quick pic of Tuesdays race as the pressure is put on...i'm 3rd fromthe left with apparently a midget on my wheel. Image courtesy of Marvne poppe.
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