Like two strangers who meet for the first time I thought I
would start off by talking about the weather.
It has been scorching in Belgium recently on the widely accepted ‘ginger
thermometer’. Tuesday topped out at 29
degrees with barely a cloud in the sky.
I had been fending off a cold ever since my decent ride the previous
Thursday with a concoction of multivitamins and Yorkshire tea… reasonably
unsuccessfully I might add. It was a toss-up as to whether to race or not. On the one hand a rest would give me a chance
to be stronger for the days to come, but on the other, at 5 euros a race it
would probably be cheaper to race than to watch as I’m sure my 5 euros would be
swallowed up within a couple of trips to the ice cream van. I signed on rather reluctantly.
As the clock struck 6pm we careered into the first bend and
off into the back lanes. The course was
pretty flowing meaning I could sit in without having to suffer through the
endless accelerations that normally come with a town kermisse. My initial fears about being under the
weather were confirmed as I followed a move on lap one, I crept across the gap
sucking in the air like a 20 year old vacuum cleaner before tagging onto the
group and regretting the exertions. I
was forced to sit back and watch as the race disintegrated, unable to really
attack. I finally came around by the
final 35km but by then the race was as good as over with over 40 riders up the
road. I tried to avoid the dangers of a
bunch sprint late on, attacking through the finish line with one 8km lap
left. I looked around for help, hoping a
strong rider would tow me away from the bunch but I was alone. I make no secrets about my hatred of time
trialling. It has been 6 years since I
bored myself half to death battering down an ‘A’ road on a midweek evening but
right now I was going to have to call on those very skills. I tried to be aerodynamic like the TV shots
we all see of Bradley Wiggins but I might as well of had a parachute attached I
felt I was going so slowly. A quick look
down at my gears showed I still had 3 left to push the pace on. I plugged away, looking over my shoulder more
often than back street drug dealer. I
had maybe 300 yards on the peloton, with 1km to go I was caught by 3 riders who
had used their collective strength to reel me in. I didn’t even go for the sprint, taking a
distinctly average 48th. But
at 5 euros an entry it was definitely cheaper to ride then to sit in the bar
working my way through the range of fruit juices.
If Tuesday felt hot then I was in for a melting on
Thursday. Multiple laps of a rolling
course and 31 degrees ensured it felt more like a rotisserie than a
kermisse. I threw a couple of testing
attacks in on lap 1 but these were a preliminary throw of the dice that came to
nothing. I let the laps tick by as the
150 rider field was stretched like an elastic band over the finishing hill each
lap. With 50km to go I spotted the
perfect counter attack, the problem was 15 riders were already in it… and
rapidly riding away at around 20 seconds in front of the peloton. I used my main strength to bridge the gap,
hitting out at the bottom of the climb and pressing as hard as I could on the
pedals, finally making contact just metres from the top of the hill. There were perhaps 20 riders in this counter
attack, too many to work cohesively and I should have known this. I gambled my energy on this move, taking more
than my fair share of turns at the front in the hope we could bridge up to the
leaders. With just 30km left things were
beginning to get painful. As we
approached the hill I played the same trick I used a week earlier in Kumtich,
riding at the head of the break to ensure I was still up there at the top. This week the gamble failed… so did I to be
honest as my legs simply weren’t up to the task and I was left in the second
split over the crest. I tried to stay
calm, draining both my bottles to try and summon something left inside me. I was experiencing ‘the bonk’, ‘the hunger
knock’, ‘hitting the wall’, call it what you will because at that point I had
more words than energy. I was left to
nurse myself home in a group of perhaps 15 riders. In the kick for the line had nothing and
rolled over for my second 48th place in 3 days. If I started like a grape, I now resembled a
raisin. My under vest had tripled in
weight and felt as though I had showered in it. I have ridden on a good vein of form for
perhaps the last month. I think my
capitulation in Thursday’s finale may have been the last dregs being forced away
through the pedals. I look forward to
the inevitable visit from the anti-doping van next week having used the words
vein and form in the same sentence but having raced over 1000km this month
alone on top of training I am looking ahead to a mid-season break away from
racing over the next couple of weeks.
The hot weather also seems to have awoken belgiums student population,
all of whom seem to be at a dance music festival down the road from me partying
until the sun rises… so much for a decent nights kip!
Below is a quick pic of last thursdays race in the gallop for 13th, I like the picture partly because I clearly look like i'm giving it the beans, but mainly because the spectator on the far right of the shot is swearing at us... photo courtesy of Belgiums finest photographer, Jean Bollaerts
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