Spring
Straight after a soggy winter spring brings
us flowers, lambs, showers etc. And the start of the racing season for cycling.
Of course there are races in the
international calendar all over the world from the start of the year, Oman,
Australia etc but these are new and lack the tradition that cycling loves. The
real season starts for many with Milan San-Remo, the race to the sun. Then the
racing circus moves north to the lowlands of Belgium, France, The Netherlands.
No romantic alpine passes but usually wind, rain, mud and cobbles.
Cobbles.
Slippery, uneven, unforgiving cobbles. Here
in Plymouth some cobbled roads have been retained in the historic Barbican and
maybe that’s why I’ve had an interest in them for years. But I don’t like to ride them, which is odd
given the rest of this…
Flanders
The first of the Spring Classics is the
Ronde Van Vlaaderen, the Tour of Flanders. That bit of Belgium that’s obsessed
with cycling whose flag has been hijacked for years by cycling fans and waved
all over the world, the rampant lion on a yellow background. For the Pros this
race is over 250 km, starting in Bruges heading south to Oudenaarde along
relatively flat, tarmacked, roads. After that often-brisk warm up they start a
convoluted series of loops that deliberately search out stretches of cobbles,
flat cobbles and cobbled climbs. And as I found out cobbled descents.
I’m no Pro.
Obviously. I’m pretty much your
stereotypical MAMIL, more so after an accident in February kept me off the bike
for 6 weeks and I’ve had very limited time on the saddle since. But there I was
in Oudenaarde on Friday 4th April at registration for the Ronde Van
Vlaaderen Cyclo, me and 15,999 others, a collective that made me look normal.
Up to this point my knowledge of Belgium
was: Chocolate, frites, beer and from an earlier trip to Bruges, Flemish beef stew.
All good stuff but this had not prepared me for the Germanic organisation
skills on show here, before I had a chance to queue I was furnished with my entry
pack, finisher’s medal and t-shirt. Crazy Belgians. Hours spent in the town
square soaking up the atmosphere, Colnago, Pinarello, Giant, Specialized,
Cervelo, Shimano and Campag. Carbon everything with a titanium garnish. 23mm rubber
everywhere. Sleek, fast bikes, more than I’ve seen in one place at any time.
And the AG2R team bus lapping the one-way system, maybe they need to talk to
Garmin Pro Cycling for directions. Or maybe they were watching something on
Sky.
So what did I bring to the party. No 23mm tyres
or titanium for me, a bit of carbon but stuck at either end of my cyclocross
bike. 28mm rubber, the Tesco of tyres, every little (bit of grip) helps. I feel
like I’ve brought a family hatchback to a F1 race. But it’s not about the bike,
is it? Sadly for me it’s not just the tyres on the bike that are oversized but
hey ho, I’m in Belgium, pass me another beer, dank-u.
Race Face.
Saturday, drive from the B&B in Ghent,
lovely place. Down the dual carriageway back to Oudenaarde. The only yellow van
in Belgium surrounded in the queue by cars and each one has a bike rack.
Directed by heavily armed police to a parking spot in the Samsonite Office car
park I unpack the bike, even more conscious now that it’s not a race bike. There’s
a chill in the air so pull on some knee warmers and my other riding kit, pop a
painkiller, or two, and ride.
It doesn’t take long to get used to riding
on the ‘wrong’ side of the road, just follow everyone else. Roll downhill to
the start and as I already have my event number attached correctly I’m waved
through. So far so good. Tarmac, I like tarmac. A 5km warm up, roads, cycle
path, road again, all pancake flat and a little urban, then alongside a wide
river, view improving, gaps forming in the peloton, while my neck is damaged my
legs feel OK so I’m closing those gaps and frankly having fun. Told by a
Belgian that I’ve got a good bike for this. He likes my brakes.
At 5km the peloton splits, 99% turn left
and I go straight on. Billy no mates with a dodgy neck missing the 10km of flat
cobbles everyone else is about to do. Instead of the 133km route I’m on the 75
km, fewer cobbles but I still get to ride the famous ones, famous if you’re a
cyclist.
Food zone, wow! More here than any food
stop in the UK, in fact add them all together from last year’s events and
they’ll fall short of this. Would be rude not to take something even though I’m
loaded for a UK event, honey waffle please and two tubes of honey to go. And ride.
Koppenberg.
Berg means hill, Koppen must mean steep and
slippery. Thank goodness it’s dry. Others walk from the bottom but not me, the
one benefit of having left the masses earlier is that this is a quiet climb,
really quiet. Later it will be a logjam of walkers, too many to cycle. So I can
engage 36 x 28 and chug my way up. There’s nothing graceful about an overweight
me on a chubby bike on cobbles on a 22% hill but I’m not going to walk this. It
feels like I’m holding onto a pneumatic drill, the impact from each cobble felt
all the way from my wrists to my shoulders, and in both legs. Wobble. To stand
on the pedals will mean wheel spin and failure so I sit, grind it out. 11 km/h.
The metric system seems so much faster than imperial.
Steenbeekdries
Words cannot do this justice, only 2km but
some of it downhill, 42 km/h on cobbles. Cheered by a small crowd who must
appreciate the laws of physics, big lads go fast downhill, braking would be a
bad idea, if I could keep my hands on the brake levers. I pass dozens of riders
as I have little choice in the matter. Don’t even notice the bump over the
railway crossing at the bottom. Check my fillings, appear to have them all. I
ache all over.
Taaienberg.
Less steep and more cobbly but someone thoughtfully has put a concrete gutter at the side. Thanks. Used that all the way to the top, someone must have noticed because the pros find it barricaded off the following day. No walkers here, it’s quite nice and almost refreshing after Steenbeekdries.
Oude Kwaremont.
The Belgian’s favourite as we find out on
Sunday, sharing this hill with about 10,000 others inches from pro riders who
ascend this little berg several times faster than me. But looking at their
faces I know who enjoyed it most. Fabian C, then me. I think Ode Kwaremont must
mean beer garden.
Paterberg
Home run
15km of flat. Give up following wheels
after nearly coming a cropper, foolish to follow an unknown wheel at speed. Get
my breath back and then drop him. 35 – 36 km/h cruising along, not even in top
gear, zone 3 spinning easing my neck as much as I can. Catch two others on a
section of cycle path that runs counter to traffic, wonder what to do and hear
a whistle from behind me, I’ve got a drag artist that knows what to do, the
pair move and I accelerate past. No indication that my new friend will work
with me but that suits me, trust and all that, and I’m a big rider for him to
shelter behind. Over the next 10km my single friend gains more friends and at
about 2km from the official finish I have maybe 12 riders behind me. Feels
great. At 1.5km the road is closed to other traffic,1km and the red flag that
the pros will see on Sunday hangs over the center of the road, all hell breaks
loose behind me as the Belgium MAMIL sprint championship starts. For a minute
I’m exactly like the domestique who has been used to get the star to the end of
the race. I think about chasing knowing I’ve got loads left in the tank but
leave them to it and cross the line a few seconds after them, bunny hop the
timing ramp to the amusement of the technicians and then roll towards the town
centre, passing my wife who was unaware I’d get around so quickly, under 3
hours in the end, not bad. And I earnt
another beer.
Sunday - Race Day
More organization skills from the
organizers who have free parking and busses for all. And it runs without a hitch, blissfully
unaware of where we would end up we get on a bus from Oudenaarde and arrive at
the bottom of Ode Kwaremont.
The bars are already serving and the
burgers are swimming in strong mustard. Free hats, Flandrien flags and like
minded people. 4 sets of racers pass and we see the decisive move from Fabian
C, a single Swiss rider getting free with 3 Belgians. All top riders, all
‘names’, all strong.
Watching the finish on a big screen we
wonder what might happen if FC wins, how will 10,000 Belgians react… cheers all
around as he takes the sprint from 3 vans. A perfect alcoholic mix of happiness and
disappointment garnished with frites and waffles.