Joel Davison Racing Blog: Carpe Diem

Belgium is sometimes a wonderful place to be. The sun has been beating down, the skirts have been rising up above the knees and the racing is back on the menu for me. It is easy to let kermises slip by and consider each one as ‘good training’ or fluffing them up and being blasé, knowing that the next race is just a day or two away. I notice from reading the English press that the abbreviation ‘YOLO’ is becoming popular, meaning you only live once. This is true, it’s also a more up to date/dumbed down version of ‘carpe diem’, meaning to seize the day. Perhaps this was where I’d been going wrong in recent weeks, far too often I would use the excuse that I have been building towards bigger things and that each race is no more important than the last. So after a motivational pep talk from my brother via a staggered internet connection I decided that the next race was all about ‘Carpe Diem’

The race was in the nearby village of Herenthout. The course was flat, twisty and lined with fans knocking back many a cold beer in the 30 degree heat. I started near the back of the 150 rider field but quickly found myself cruising up the side of the bunch with my legs feeling stronger than they had for some weeks. The early skirmishes that normally take place seemed to have been replaced by the Mark McNally show. He was possibly the favourite so naturally he was shadowed by the bunch which clung to his every attack. The fast pace down the country lanes finally split the bunch after around 50km. I was one of the last to jump across to the group, inching my way up to the break away as we pulled onto the boulevard. There was no time to catch my breath; I was straight into the line and onto the front taking my turn in the wind. After a lap of grimacing I looked back to see around 35 of us had pulled clear by some 20 seconds. I was overly keen to drive this group, never missing my turn when 20 or so riders avoided any work. With just 50km to go I went for what I thought was a prime (money awarded to the first rider across the finish line on a designated lap) and I was pleasantly surprised as I rolled over the line uncontested….hmmm. I wasn’t sure whether my poor Flemish had finally caught up with me as I sprinted for the wrong lap. My group was joined by another 25 riders with just 40km to go, meaning the race had split into 2 large groups. By this point my exertions had really sapped me. The attacks came once again from the front of my group. This time I was in real trouble. I felt like an England football manager approaching a penalty shootout, there was a certain inevitability that defeat was just minutes away. The final 25km saw me trying hard to bridge the gap in a group of some 30 riders but to no avail. I spent the final lap trying to carry as much speed through the corners as possible to avoid the sudden accelerations of the bunch as I feared the dreaded cramp. In the finale I had nothing in the tank and didn’t contest the sprint rolling in 56^th. The result was a tad disappointing as the evening had promised so much more an hour previously. And just in case you’re wondering… no, I didn’t get the prime!

The following night it was decided the British boys this side of Belgium were to get together for an impromptu night of go-karting. It’s a great way to talk to other riders without having to sit in a café clad in lycra dodging the showers. After 15 minutes of being thrown around and sucking in the fumes I felt like a novice coming out of his first yoga class, muscles were aching that I didn’t even know I had. All in all a cracking evening though, so much so we pencilled in an optimistic barbeque for the following evening. After half an hour of dousing the coals in lighter fluid trying to get some heat out of them, chef and former boy scout ‘Macca’ began loading up the barbie whilst trying not to dramatically shorten his life through smoke inhalation. He did a great job though, it seemed everyone had brought enough for a small army so the sausages, steaks, ribs and drumsticks just kept on being served up until my arteries could take no more. We had a truly British moment midway through as a downpour swept over the area, leaving us all trying to be manly and standing around the BBQ when really the house was beckoning.

It was back to the day job by Sunday, a 116km kermisse in the flat town of Ramsdonk. It was to be a race of 3 seasons. After a minutes silence in memory of local pro Rob Germis we started briskly under summer sunshine. The constant battering of the wind was to be the main challenger of the day and from the off I was struggling down the back with poor legs knowing that the race would quickly disintegrate. My team mate Birgen did a sterling job of taking me up to the front after a couple of laps. The early break finally got away after around 30km leaving the bunch to try arrange either a concerted chase or a counter attack. It was to be the latter as two more groups of 10 riders slipped up the road. I knew that my poor legs would have to be ignored for the time being. The break had nearly a 2 minute advantage and with 50 kilometres left I had to start chasing now or never. No sooner had I made my way up the front when an absolute deluge soaked the remaining peloton. I pressed on aided by my team mate and around 6 others who all wanted to win as much as me. The gap slowly began coming down and the carrot out in front gave hope to our chase. We reeled the first two groups in and as we took the bell lap the leaders had just 20 seconds and 6.4km to hold on. By this point I was feeling stronger than ever and taking long turns on the front. With around 2km to go I realized the chase was up, the win wasn’t to be ours and we were left to sprint it out for 18^th downwards. Inevitably the guys who had benefited from my hard work had more in the sprint and came round me. I finished 33^rd, Only 12 seconds down on the winner but I’d raced with my heart on my sleeve and earned a respectable result. It had been one of the fastest races of the year for me as the average speed was a tough 46kmp/h (27mph), certainly the 10 euros prize money pushed me to within seeing distance of three figures.