Belgium Day 3: Ronde Van Vlaanderen Cyclo

Today was the big day. The day that I had been planning on; I was unsure until this morning of whether or not to ride it. Unconvincing weather reports, a non-functioning front derailleur, and a very bad decision (train station burger--enough said) the day before left me unsure if I would participate. Finally realized I'd never stop regretting it if I didn't try, I caught the train to Oudenaarde this morning. The start village was packed, BMC Racing even set up a tent selling merch. I changed, got the packet, and headed out. The opening miles were innocuous enough, pan flat roads with little wind--tucked into a group it provided the perfect warm up. That all ended withing 9 miles. I looked up to see the imposing Koppenberg--they don't call them Hellingen without reason. Peaking at 20%, it makes the legs scream. The problem with having such a savage climb so early is that there was no natural selection. All the weaker riders had been sucked along until that point and they struggled. I was keeping an ok, if a bit low, cadence but when multiple people stopped dead in front of me and got off their bikes, I didn't have low enough gearing to zip by and was forced to do the same, unfortunately. The stretches of cobbles were agonizing, the vibrations were pouring through my aluminum frame straight into my body. After every climb at least it was possible to latch onto groups to make the in between sections slightly easier until the wind picked up. Miles ticked by, I double flatted my front wheel (I think one tube had a pre-existing hole) using both of my tubes. I made the feedzone, gloriously full of waffles (seriously, they had both Euro-style Honey Stingers as well as traditional Flemish Wafels). Half a kilometer before the penultimate climb of the day, the Oude Kwaremont, I flatted yet again. I decided I had no choice but to press on and press my luck. The climb itself was easy--I'm surprised its been called the decider, I found it to be much too shallow to do much damage, but after 230k, I'm sure its a very different story. Anyways, my wheel chattered over the cobbles, literally rim on stone, i lost some paint, gained a few dents, and we'll see tomorrow how well it works. I was lucky enough to have someone give me a tube at the top, and after a quick inflate I was on my way again, albeit with less pressure than I would have liked in my rear tire. I made it over the Paterberg (again being forced to dismount because of slow riders getting off in the middle of the road, although only for 2nd time, I made it over all the other climbs--but if pros can get off and walk their bikes up, then I guess I don't lose too much dignity in doing so). Finally over the last hill, I began to power home, churning away, beginning to forget the burning in my legs, working with a very small group to drag ourselves to the line. That's when I began to feel the bouncing of a deflating tire. At first I thought it was my rear, from just being under-inflated. But to my surprise--and somewhat to my relief--it was my front again. By the time I had decided that I couldn't stop--no one would really give me a tube, nor would I step in the broom wagon that late--I was under the 5k to go banner. The wind wipped up and I was caught driving straight into it--my legs were screaming, my body was destroyed, and it really was all I could do to not step off. Handling with no front tire is tricky, especially when you're trying to save your rim. I somehow managed to not crash on that stretch and crossed the finish line only to realize I had to ride another 3k to get back to the start and my bag. Long day in the saddle, but I'm certainly happy I did it. Even though I'm not the biggest fan of sportives, I loved this one. It wasn't a sportive, the way I felt it: it was a battle, the parcours is so difficult that it demands your best, much like a race. I want to go back next year already, with more spare tubes, a working bike and really show the course what I'm made of. Sorry the pics are of the author, they're what I bought (for obvious reasons).

Start/Finish Village

Bottom of Koppenberg (I think)

Oude Kwaremont?

Cringing over a nasty bump with a front flat

Just rolling out of the start

Near the top of the Paterberg, possibly

Belgium Day 2

Decided to head to a reported cycling superstore to look for a jersey. I trained to the outskirts of Brussels in an attempt to lower the commute time, but just ended up waiting for an hour for the right train. Finally on the road, I managed to trespass within a mile. After the hiccups,  I found myself in a small suburb filled with beautiful Scandinavian Mid-Century Modern houses. Spinning along quiet country roads, past farm fields, through more sleepy towns, over plenty of stretches of cobbles, including one rather treacherous descent, past plenty of other roadies. After a slightly rough start, all in all it was a rather pleasant easy day in the saddle: mostly down hill, great scenery. Finally arriving in Aalst, I was treated to a medieval square, complete with McDonalds. I made it to the superstore, called Van Eyck Sports, it is at least the size of Tesco in St Andrews, if not larger. They have everything you can imagine or ever need and then some; the customer service is crap, but if you know what you need, you're set. Back in the square I lunched on the best wafel I have ever had bar none with a great cup of coffee. Waffles, coffee, and cobbles: I don't need much else for a good day.

End of a cobbled descent

Abbey--hopefully making Trappist Beer

Aalst

Aalst

Aalst

Belgium Day 1

Coming to Belgium as a cyclist, I certainly had my expectations. I was hoping for idyllic country roads, cobbled climbs, a cycling-mad atmosphere, and plenty of beer, waffles and frites. While some of those were certainly met, there were a few surprises waiting along the way. After landing yesterday, I met Patrick Bevin, a Kiwi pro moonlighting for the U23 national team (normally riding for Bissell in the U.S.) who unfortunately was left without a bike after BA managed to lose it in Heathrow. Climbing on this morning I began my arduous journey out of Brussels. The published bike routes simply do not exist. If they actually do, they are not signed. Thank god I had programmed the route into my Garmin so I had some semblance of the vague direction I was supposed to be heading. There were several beautiful streets along the way, some cobbled, others perfectly paved, most with lanes which was a major plus. Finally exiting the city, I was instantly plunged into a thick forest from where the Fietsroutenetwork started, just outside the official city limits. An extraordinarily extensive route of signed bike routes, they connect across Flanders. I was delighted to find a few strade bianche deep in the forest. Working my way out to civilization again, passing through suburbs and towns, along a 12 inch wide dirt path next to a field. I made it to my destination, an incredible shop called Goodeau Cycles, packed wall to wall with Merckx bikes. The way back proved to be a little more interesting, as I was often forced off-route by some obstacle or another only to figure my way back again. The first park back within city limits had one of the most savage stretches of cobbles I've encountered yet. My arms were in agony after the run, at one point my rear wheel hit so hard I heard the rim vibrate and sound like a tuning fork. Weaving my way through an industrial landscape also proved to be less than fun. Bad roads, somewhat sketchy areas made me drive for home that much harder.

The North

Cycling Club trip to Yorkshire at the beginning of Spring Break. All photos by Fraser or Mark.

The Fog of Peace

Saturday is long ride day. A chance to spend a few hours either alone with my thoughts or on a nice group ride chatting away the miles. Today was the former; encapsulated by fog and clouds the whole time, the world seemed to stand still. The roads were surprisingly quiet: nature abounded around me since no cars were driving it off; hawks, rabbits, pheasant, even a deer. As much as I love sunny bright days, the occasional ride through the fog like today is perfect. Alone with my thoughts I can just be unmolested by the outside world--I'm just a man on the bike: the road in front of me the only constant. It must be my association with the type of weather we had here today with California--the same effect happens, infamously known as June Gloom, where the world just seems to be in a hazy, foggy, misty, cloudy soup; only in L.A. it tends to burn off by 1 in the afternoon--but I had "Going to California" and "Over the Hills and Far Away" stuck in my head yet again. Sorry for the lack of photos, but the fog was just too thick.

Bellissima Pedalata!

Today was finally warm! And I mean no knee or leg warmers warm. No wind vest warm. Can't quite shed the arm warmers yet, nonetheless warm sun is always appreciated. I headed off towards Strathkinness with Enrique, Jamie, and Fraser and after a nice light spin until Kemback Bridge we began to pick things up on the road to Cupar. After nearly getting hit by a car trying to pass us while still fitting through a crosswalk with an island in the middle, we quickly headed towards the A916 climb. Going up the side of quite a large hill, the ridge provides beautiful views, a stiff slope up that's not leg breaking, and some protection from the wind. After a quick breather at the top, we bombed down towards Ceres before heading up the quasi-formidable "Ceres D'Huez." Undulating yet steep, twisty, leg-sapping, this climb always puts up a fight. After cresting the top, we spun along the undulating road towards Peat Inn, where we decided to extend our ride along one of my favorite roads, the B940. Bombing down the open descent, carving long racing lines on the turns, using the full road (because you can see if cars are coming or not from far away) all under warm, sunny skies. I was reluctant to turn towards home, but all playtime must come to an end so we spun our legs out on the way home before a quick pass over the pavé.