There’s no time for an ice cream

Having raced twice already in the last week, my motivation was slightly lower than it should have been for Sundays 116.5 kilometre kermise just south of the city of Leuven.  I have come across the line ‘put a number on my back and I become a different person’ a number of times in my cycling magazines.  I’d love to say I was the same but getting up on a 27 degree day and beginning the routine of getting ready for a race when really I wanted a barbeque and an ice cream was perhaps a sign that I was in for a mediocre day.  My pre-race routine is almost a carbon copy every time, breakfast of cereal and toast, followed by a leisurely packing of my kit and then ‘3 hour pasta’, basically plain spaghetti 3 hours before I am due to take the start.  We arrived in plenty of time, kermises out in Belgium all have a similar feel to them.  The finishing straight is lined with barriers, there is always a loud speaker stuck to a lamp post beating out a collection of horrendous Eurovision tracks.  As you roll down to the sign on to ‘Katrina and the waves’ in the background there is always a strong whiff of embrocation from the riders changing rooms mixed with the rather more enticing smell of hotdogs and burgers from the obligatory grill.  Summer seems to be a better time for kermises than the misery of February races.  As I ride back to the car, race number already pinned on I have a brief chance to glimpse at the good looking women who line the side of the road.  To be honest I probably should be paying attention to the competition but living in a small village does have its draw backs in this department! With about 15 minutes to go every rider is busy doing smaller and smaller runs up and down the finishing straight, just waiting for the first rider to line up for the start before the rest of the field copy him, if you’re lucky you can be fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time and grab a space close to the front.  If you’re not….well let’s just say I have been 30 rows back before in a 280 rider field and it’s not pretty seeing the lead rider rounding the first corner 500 metres up the road before you’ve even clicked your feet in!  

On to the racing then.  The course was not too bad, a couple of drags to break up the field on an otherwise pretty routine 7.2 kilometre circuit.  The heat was the main problem for me, 27 degrees and a head in need of a trip to my local barbers meant I was going to struggle to stay cool and hydrated, but it’s the same for everyone.  I kept myself up to the front early on to go with any attacks.  I bridged a gap after maybe 40 kilometres, more as a test of my legs than a serious attempt at a break away, the results were not good, I was going to have to race defensively as my legs were abit sore from the week’s exertions.  The break went at the half way mark, 28 riders split off, I would have to accept I was not going to be up for the win.  I treated the rest of the race more as training, attacking a couple of times and doing a few long turns on the front of the peloton.  The break stayed away, knowing that I was already out of the money I decided not to sprint and ultimately rolled across the line in around 60^th.  For the next week I will be having 3 days off the bike, a trip back home and the joys of the dentist await me, but come Friday and I will be back out to Belgium.       

The nail that sticks out gets hammered

Positioning is everything in both racing and life.  I am starting to realise that a peloton is all about where you position yourself.  A bit like a dinner party, you start and then you are faced with many social rules and unwritten laws about whether to sit man, woman, or whether to start from the outside fork and work your way in.  The peloton is very similar in many ways.  The golden rule is always to be near the front, the top 30 is where all the action is, from this position you have to sprint out of corners less and you avoid the more dangerous crashes.  The problem is that in most races, 200 guys want to be up there at the front, if I go back to my dinner party, it’s a bit like everyone fighting to sit next to the prettiest girl at the table.  The most skilled riders move up effortlessly slipping through gaps in the peloton and conserving as much energy as possible.  The other option is a long winded and tiring burst down the outside of the peloton before slotting back into place further up.  This could be likened to pulling up outside and insisting the valet stay sat down before pointlessly driving to the car park yourself, wasting energy and arriving at the party sweaty and tired, where as the guy who moves seamlessly through the peloton gets the valet to do the hard work for him and arrives at the party fresh.  The freshest guy tends to win.

Wednesday was to be a kermise of 120 kilometres in the Antwerpen town of Beveren.  There was a chill to the air and the wind was noticeable.  Around 150 riders started, the early pace was decent enough but the pan flat course ensured the race was likely to be a wearing down process on the turning and narrow back lanes.  I was reasonably fresh but after around 105km I had a bad patch, this was made even worse by the fact the race was starting to be torn apart by the teams of Van Gothem and Ovyta who were stringing the race into an echelon.  I was unceremoniously dropped with just 2 laps to go, I resigned myself to the last 10 kilometres in the Grupetto.  The Grupetto is an Italian word for the last sizeable group in the race, as a general rule everyone contributes to the pace setting but every rider who is in this group is pretty shattered so they work together to finish with some pride.  I rolled over about 80^th, a couple of minutes down.  This was the point where I came across the title- ‘the nail that sticks out gets hammered’.  It originates in Japan and to me as a bike racer it means that a rider who takes up a poor position at the back of the bunch will be dropped. 

Thursday was another kermise of 119.6 kilometres in Kortenaken near Tienen.  The wind was if anything a welcome breeze as the mercury touched 18 degrees, perfect for a race.  I had learnt from the previous days beating that I had to stay up front, 230 riders lined up ready for the race.  The course took in a gentle rise to the finish of around 800 metres but apart from that the roads were good.  I took up a place in the top 40 and used everything from elbows, hands and some choice language to fend off the bunch when I began to get swamped by other riders.  I sensed a bunch sprint after the first hour so I kept my cards close to my chest and dug deep with a couple of laps to go.  As the finish approached a lone rider chipped off and soloed towards the finish, At this point nobody wants to burn themselves out chasing a lone rider so late on as it would mean not having a decent sprint in the end.  Inevitably the lone man stayed just metres in front of the closing peloton to the line, my own sprint was scuppered by locking handlebars with a slightly nervous Belgian rider who must have needed a change of underwear after the race he reacted that badly! I came over 25^th, a pleasing if not slightly frustrating result as I felt comfortable for the majority of the race.  The important thing was I received my 3^rd envelope of the year… 10 euros for my efforts.    

Back to the Middle Ages

The last week has been a true throw back to the days of pre-war cycling.  Having survived a tough race on the bank holiday Monday, my upbeat mood was short lived as on Tuesday our borrowed internet disappeared, there was never a formal arrangement but it had kept me and my team mates sane!  Earlier this year our television digital box broke, to be honest this wasn’t a major problem at the time as the channels were mainly Dutch but the internet is another thing entirely.  There does seem to be a light at the end of our tunnel, a different company will be installing both a new digital box and the internet on 11^th May if everything goes to plan. I have read many stories of the greats like Tom Simpson crossing to France with just a handful of francs in his pocket and learning the language, the style of racing and the lifestyle, all for the love of the sport.  But to be honest I don’t know how these men did it.  Having no connection to the outside world is the most isolating and depressing thing I have ever known.  This has led to me and my roommate Mike to start a new hobby… wifi hunting.  The rules are simple, we set off walking around our village with our various electrical gadgets in search of some naïve persons unsecured internet connection, if you win you get to find out the latest cycling results and maybe even send an email home.  It really is amazing what our brains will do to keep us occupied.  I have been a bit more adventurous with my cooking of late, a couple of decent lasagne and an attempt at Bombay potatoes has been the limit of this week’s cooking but  if anything it’s good for the morale to try something new.  The fact that I am able to publish this blog is due to the courtesy of Gyles Wingate, not only our GPS but now our new wifi king.

This weekend saw the provincial championships being held right across Belgium, unfortunately that excluded us from racing as ‘foreigners’, but some time ago we had agreed to ride in something called the ‘Super Klassica’ with our next door neighbour.  The idea of this is that it is basically a sportive taking in the majority of the Tour of Flanders route, in particular the climbs or ‘bergs’ as they are called out here.  The day started badly… we had understood the time of departure to be 8:30 so we were surprised when we were awoken at 7:15 by our Neighbour on the door step already in his lycra and stretching.  This was the worst lost in translation moment I’ve had since reaching Belgium but having demolished a bowl of shreddies in record quick time and stuffing my pockets with brioche we left for the town of Oudenaarde in west Flanders.  I have never done a sportive before, to be honest I have always been abit snobbish and thought of them as the territory of non-competitive Sunday riders, or weekend warriors as I’ve heard them called.  I rolled down to the sign on and it was immediately clear I was in amongst a different level of bike rider.  There were hundreds of men and women, donning an array of replica team kits, sporting chain oil marks or ‘4^th category tattoos’ and on hundreds of different carbon fibre bikes that they would struggle to justify buying to their wives.  I paid my eight euros and was given number 10868… and I’ve been complaining about 250 guys in my races!  Our group of 4 set off on our 136 kilometre route, the route was marshalled incredibly well and signposted  at every lamp post… Stevie Wonder could have negotiated the course it was that good.  After just about getting out of the car park we were presented with our first berg, I was hoping for a nice gentle incline to break me in, maybe a token town cobble at the top for good measure, how wrong I was.  The ‘Koppenberg’ was staring us in the face so without so much as a warm up I threw myself at its mercy.  The slopes were cobbled and at one point 22% towards the top.  I absolutely crawled up at the steepest section but I crested the top, cheered on by a couple of the local nutters.  The bergs came thick and fast from then on, just a handful of kilometres later and I was thrashing it up the oude Kwaremnont  closely followed by the Patterberg, this was to be the steepest of the day at 25%.  The knack to climbing them is to keep as much weight over the drive wheel as possible which means sitting down and just concentrating on being smooth…easier said than done, at some points the gradient nearly had my front wheel in the air.  I was pleasantly surprised when we got to a feed station, I had never experienced this but having paid to enter the true Yorkshire man inside me emerged and I filled my pockets with free waffles and bananas, it’s all about getting your monies worth!  Having puzzled at the rather rubbish statue in the village green  for a couple of minutes, my confusion was ended when our 4^th man went up and relieved himself against the statue… or as I had just found out, the temporary public urinal.  We pressed on and crested 3 more bergs before reaching the Bosberg, I had seen this climbed many times by my heroes on the Television so I attacked it with vigour.  It was a lot steeper than it appears on Eurosport is about all I can say as I was running out of steam towards the top.  We passed a steady stream of middle aged man, some who appeared to have been shoe horned into their shorts and jerseys but it was actually a refreshing sight to see that everyone was having a go no matter what shape they were.  We dragged ourselves round to the final couple of bergs, the ‘Molenberg’ and ‘Wolfsberg’.  Our fourth guy ‘Brekt’ was at this point already suffering and discovering that his triple chainset had decided to become a double for the remainder of the ride must have been a hammer blow but we all finished the 136km in one piece…chapeau lads!  If you have ever watched the tour of Flanders before and thought that it looks easy watching Boonen rocket up looking like he’s riding on a carpet, I would suggest watching the back guys go up, the pain is always etched across their faces and they even get off and walk on the tougher climbs, this is more what mere mortals can achieve but a great experience none the less.  Back to racing this coming week!          

Give me a bike over a wheel barrow any day

They say time flies when you’re having fun, this seems to be the case for me.  Following Rutland I went back home for a few days to catch up with friends and family as well as using it as an opportunity to train on harder terrain.  I was pleased when my dad suggested we spend some time together… before he finished the sentence with ‘fixing the leak in the pond’.  But beggars can’t be choosers and I was after a free return to Belgium so I decided a day of manual labour was a small price to pay in return for an overloaded car and a tank of petrol at my dad’s expense.   The following day saw training take a back seat once again as my height came in use and I was asked to paint my sisters bedroom… I couldn’t help thinking my family had saved up the more tedious household jobs for me but it was good to spend time with them never the less.   I always considered myself a fit young guy but a day’s labouring in the garden ruined me physically… I now fully respect anyone who gardens out of pleasure! 

My training back home consisted mainly of riding as many hills as possible and a couple of outings on the Leeds chaingang.  It was good to see many familiar faces and be welcomed home by many of the guys who make up my training partners throughout the winter.  Friday afternoon soon rolled around and it was time once again to swap my home comforts for Belgian alternatives.  I couldn’t leave without taking a few necessities back to Belgium, so with a car full of Shreddies, orange cordial, parkin and a mandalin given to me to broaden my cooking repertoire, I boarded my ferry across to Zebrugge.  I gave my family a brief yet enjoyable tour around the brewery town of Leuven before heading to Westmeerbeek.

Finally to racing, there has been two races this weekend.  The first was a hot and hilly event just 20 kilometres away from our apartment.  We rode out to the race and lined up with 120 guys.  From the start I was struggling, the heat was sapping my strength, I regretted not getting the haircut I had booked back home and the constant accelerations from 10 kmp/h to 50kmp/h out of every corner were beginning to take their toll.  After just an hour and a half I was tailed off.  The recovery process for the Following days race was going to be all about rehydration.  That evening I walked around all evening glued to my 2 litre water bottle constantly sipping.  Sunday was to be a similar affair to Saturday, hot and hilly terrain with 120km to sort out the field of just under 90 riders.  On the opening lap I crossed solo to a breakaway group of 6, only to be joined by another half a dozen riders later on.  In theory more riders is always better in a breakaway.  In reality though every rider is looking to do as little work as possible and conserve his strength for later so ultimately no one really committed and the break was brought back after 25 km of racing.  The terrain was beginning to tell for a lot of the riders and the peloton began to split into groups of 10 and 15 littering the hills and back roads.  I got in a small counter attack around half way through with two team mates.  We committed ourselves fully and rode hard for 40km, bridging a 2 minute gap across to the group in front.  The leaders were safely out in front through and I had to settle for 45^th, I had done a good ride on a very attritional circuit.              

Rutland: a day in the dirt

Setting my alarm for 3:30am is always the low point on race day.  In England I was used to getting up and giving up my Sundays for the pain of a cycle race.  But Saturday 16^th of April was a little bit special for me.  I awoke having not really slept and already brimming with excitement, I was coming home! With a safety cushion that would allow for several coffee stops we set off and arrived at our hotel in Peterborough a full 4 hours early.  I always enjoy watching the opposition at such events, as team cars and riders trickle through the main gate we sat back and watched as teams from Spain, Denmark, Belgium, France and Britain all lined up this year’s equipment in an attempt to get the psychological edge.  Dinner that evening was a similar affair.  An organised team would typically shuffle in all together and look resplendent in their teams leisure wear.  Our team was impressively coordinated as we lined up for soup, showing off our team t-shirts and grabbed a table in the corner to further spy on the competition.  The most impressive team in terms of sheer showiness was the Spanish KTM team who sported fluorescent orange tracksuits aswell as looking more like gigolos than bike riders. 

Sunday came around all too quickly and as we signed on the start line it was apparent that the race was once again going to be blessed with good weather.  172 riders took the start, a couple of early crashes reduced that number but after an hours racing the peloton finally hit the famous dirt roads.  My experience from last year was crucial at this point.  I placed myself behind a couple of experienced riders in Malcolm Elliott and Tom Barrass just before we hit the dirt roads and after maybe two minutes of eye balls out riding and with the face of a coal miner I emerged in around 20^th place.  The pressure had proved too much for all but the strongest and luckiest riders.  The front group consisted of no more than 40 riders at the 80 kilometres to go mark.  As we approached the second sector of gravel lady luck decided that, although she had blessed me with great legs that day, my tires weren’t going to be so lucky…I had punctured!  Races like Rutland Cicle Classic are largely about luck, getting to the end without mechanical problems is half the battle.  I dropped back looking for my team car.  The split behind which I was happy about 5 minutes before was now my undoing as I was forced to stand at the side of the road for around a minute until my team mate ‘Stijn Eneckens’ offered me his front wheel.  This is possibly the most selfless thing a bike rider can do for a team mate and I gratefully took the wheel leaving Stijn to wait for the team car.  The stop had taken its toll on me however as my legs, once fluid and strong now felt heavy and weakened.  I spent several kilometres hanging around the back of the convoy but with the race galloping away up front I knew my chances would have to wait another year.  Bad luck was striking down our team one by one, the only rider left for us was Erwin De Koerf.  He took on the English riders and finished a close second to take possibly the finest result of his life…chapeau!  I left the race still in love with its charm, the fine balance of luck and power that a rider needs to win it will bring me back again next year hopefully.  I got an interesting view from Stijn on the race “I can’t believe a country like England still has roads this bad!”… and this from a rider brought up on cobbles.  For now its time for some good home cooking and some beautiful Yorkshire scenery before going back out to Belgium later this week.  Here are a couple of images from Rutland.

Team Time Trial

England has had a special place on my Calendar as well as in my mind for quite some time now.   April 17^th has become engraved in my mind as Rutland day… the day I get to return home…ish to flaunt my new found abilities as a bike rider on an international stage.  Unfortunately my participation in the ‘East Midlands international Cicle Classic’ has been in question by my team manager.  Fortunately my fears of being dropped from the squad were dismissed with a solid ride the previous Friday evening at Heist-op-de-Berg.   In preparation for our 6 man team travelling to England, I had been told to attend a ‘press conference’ to give the club some good publicity and to get the squad together over a coffee.  I had several pictures running through my mind at the prospect of a Dutch press conference.  To some amusement, my main memory of such a situation was that of former England manager Steve McLaren being interviewed just weeks after moving to Holland.  From memory he spoke like a caricature of himself and sounded like a Dutchman speaking English.  Our press conference was not even similar.  We gathered in a café in Aarschot and posed for photos in our jerseys, my Belgian team mates handled the one keen journalist, rendering my scrap of paper containing two Flemish phrases unnecessary and I was left with one of the biggest anti-climaxes since turning 11 and being presented with a huge box from my auntie, only to eventually find a computer game tucked away in a corner of the monstrosity.       

Tuesday was to be my second new experience in as many days.  We were told just two days before that myself and my room-mate Mike were to form half of the Hand-in-Hand Baal squad for the provincial team time trial.  As far as surprises go, a team time trial was down there with a parking fine.  This was to be a 20 kilometre thrash around a pan flat course near St Truiden.   Having not competed in any sort of time trial since the tender age of 15, I thought ‘Try everything once’ so with youthful exuberance me and Mike set off on the 40 kilometre ride to the course.  Two and a half hours later and with substantially more kilometres than I’d expected due to my expert navigation, we arrived, stripped down to our shorts and slotted in our race wheels.  The wind was incredible with gusts of 50mph…perfect for a bunch of road riders thrown together at the eleventh hour and told to work as smoothly as a Swiss watch.  The opening 400 metres kind of set the tone.  Our first rider pulled his foot out just metres in and just about regained the back of the line in time to be promptly dropped again.  With the time to be taken on the third man we now had to all stay together and work well.  With myself, Mike and Ward Mommaers killing ourselves into the wind we settled into the rhythm.  I had been told before by Mark McNally that team time trialling was like trapping a certain part of your anatomy in a door for half an hour and I’m inclined to agree.  After the opening lap we were caught by the team of Van-Gothem which had set off a minute behind us.  We held it together for the remaining 10 kilometres thanks to some awesome turns on the front by Ward, our very own Cancellara.  We crossed the line spent, I don’t think I have ever suffered as much for so long.  We finished 6^th…out of yes, you guessed it… 6.  Our team were the only team on road bikes and not fully equipped with the latest advancements in aerodynamics so as a race we were never really in it to win it.  But to sum it up I would have to say it is one of the more acquired tastes in cycling, perhaps not for me but I’m definitely glad I had a go! For me the next race is the big one, Rutland international Cicle classic.  I will be returning to the U.K. for a couple of days with my family after this so watch this space for a full rider report from England’s Paris-Roubaix!    

The Grass is always greener on the other side

Lines like ‘every cloud has a silver lining’ and ‘the grass is greener on the other side’ are often used to motivate people in times when the chips are down and there seems to be no light at the end of the tunnel.  This has been the type of approach I’ve had to take in the last couple of weeks.   Poor form coupled with a splattering of DNF’s had been doing little for my motivation, but you have to take the rough with the smooth…even if my rough patch had been like a sector of Belgian pave!

Mid-week rides with our neighbour Brecht have become somewhat of a highlight for me and my room-mate Mike.  Brecht teaches us new roads every week as well as having an uncanny ability to do almost the whole ride with a tailwind.   This week’s ride took in two glimpses of ‘Scheldeprijs’, a semi classic for Professional riders.  With unbroken sunshine and good company 150 kilometres flew by.  The day almost took a turn for the worst when I was cut up by a van but a bit of cyclo cross and a lot of leaning against the van allowed me to just keep myself upright.  Once the driver had got out I decided that the six foot scratch down the side of his van compared to my slight friction burn meant that we could call the incident a draw….difficult to communicate in Flemish but I wasn’t hanging around in case he noticed his side door and decided not to call it a draw!  The evening was capped off in gourmet style with Brecht’s wife Nele treating us to three courses of luxury food and a champagne toast at the start.  This was not only a welcome break from the monotonous diet of pasta and potatoes but also a chance to catch the champions league live on T.V. since our television broke 3 weeks ago and is no nearer to being replaced. 

On Friday morning I was awoken rather rudely by the cobbles being dug up outside my front window, now i'm not a suspicous person but this is surely retribution from Belgians road minister for my critiscism of his lazy employees in my last blog... I didn't know I had fans so high up! Friday night came around soon enough and with west Flanders basking in a setting sun it was time to see if I could turn my poor fortune around.  The race was a glorified criterium, 110km on a 5.5 kilometre pan flat circuit.  A strong British contingent on the start line was a welcome sight.  The race went off at a fast pace.  Within seconds the 230 rider field could be seen lined out across the Flemish countryside, for once a welcome sight as I had positioned myself in the top 30 and my legs were feeling comfortable.  Just 4 laps in and a good move from a rider in our team called ‘Stijn Eneckens’ dragged a select group of around 12 riders away.  The group seemed to work well as they disappeared through the town streets.  With no carrot to dangle out in front of the peloton the move looked destined to succeed and with 2 team mates in the group I was obliged to sit tight and let them ride away.  A special mention at this point to Dan McLay who surely did the ride of the day, crossing the gap of near enough a minute solo to join these riders up front.  Stijn is a rider held in the highest regard in our team, many a night I have been lectured on how many times he dies in races and comes back from the brink to take victory, so with this in mind I followed the dangerous moves and allowed the gap to grow out to 2 minutes.  I launched a couple of speculative attacks late on in the race but never gained more than 15 seconds and was left looking for willing riders to help me pull away from the peloton.  The final result was a well-timed victory for a rider from the local Tremelo team.  I came across the line just over 2 minutes behind taking around 10^th in the bunch sprint.  A couple of groups slipped away late on meaning I eventually came away with a placing around 50^th but having felt strong all race and finished comfortably my confidence had been boosted.  I was later told that I had merely had a training ride just sitting in the bunch by our team manager which was disheartening but, it’s almost impossible to put down a rider with endorphins coursing through his veins!