Belgium Day 6

The last day, unfortunately. With some more touristy things on the agenda for the afternoon, decided to just take a quick spin around Brussels. Like city riding anywhere, there was lots of traffic, lots of cars, lots pedestrians, lots of stop and go, clipping in and clipping out. But the copious miles of bike lanes, respectful (for the most part) drivers along with frequent, beautiful parks and interesting city scenery made it more than tolerable, but rather enjoyable, if not optimal. The 500th Anniversary park was spectacular, the palaces and the gate were awe-ingly huge, the other parks were quiet and rather scenic for being in the middle of a congested city. While I still felt a little blocked up from the previous day and a little bit still from Saturday, it was a good last ride for Belgium, this time around. I hope I can return as soon as possible, but I think I may stay further out in Flanders next time.

Belgium Day 5: De Muur

De Muur van Geraardsbergen. Mur de Grammont. Kappelmuur. If you’re a cyclist, this must mean something to you. Hopefully it will mean quite a lot. Hallowed ground for those of us on two wheels—only the Madonna del Ghisallo surpasses it in terms of sacrosanct stretches of road--and perhaps only then because the eponymous Saint is the Patroness of cyclists. I consider myself extraordinarily lucky and privileged to have had the chance to ride up its slopes. The role it has played in creating legends of the sport, Merckx, Museuuw, De Vlaminck, Maertens, and maybe even Boonen? Perhaps Cancellara (I admit to my own bias on the latter, but all the hype surrounding his ability started after his acceleration to drop Boonen on the Muur before taking the win in the 2010 Ronde)? The pitches are brutally steep, the cobbles damning. Even though it may only be a kilometer or so from the town to the chapel, it drains your legs as much as any higher rated climb. Each turn I made sent chills down my spine, I could envision each turn, each stretch from race footage over the years. Even though it was a quiet spring morning, the energy surrounding the road was palpable; it felt as though the lifeblood of the sport was running in a river down the road. The road keeps getting steeper with few places for respite, which is a pity because the scenery is remarkable. The legs need to keep turning over, even though I was in a stupidly high gear (thanks to a lack of a front derailleur), it is very easy to stall out and then be forced to walk if you don't just force yourself to keep pedaling. Where Cancellara initiated his fatal blow on Boonen I was effectively doing squats each pedal stroke to keep the bike moving forward it was so steep. After one final kicker to reach the top of the Muur, I was greeted with the chapel, much smaller than I expected, it really just is a chapel but no less beautiful or significant. Every cyclist needs to make this pilgrimage, if you have any appreciation for the sport it is imperative. This is the only sport where amateurs can partake in the same arena as the pros. The rest of the ride was standard fare after that, rolling hills, the Bosberg, lots of farms. But the feeling of riding up the Muur will always live on inside me.

Yes, the climb is literally signposted throughout town

The base in town

Eddy Merckx Monument, no town in Flanders is complete without one

The Chapel of the Kappelmuur

Belgium Day 4: Unblocking the Legs

Just a quick ride up around North Brussels to the Atomium in a park just north of the city. Trying to stretch out from the day before, I was hoping for a flat easy ride along the canal to a minor hill in the park, but less than a kilometer in, we hit a nasty stretch of cobbles that lasted for at least two kilometers. My hands felt better than the day before, but that in no way helped their situation. The park was beautiful, although as an American it always felt weird to cycle on what seemed to be pedestrian paths. We passed the Japanese and Chinese Pavilions for the old Worlds Fair (same reason why the Atomium was built). Hit the same stretch of cobbles on the way back of course. Not much else to report about the ride. Went to Oudenaarde afterward to catch the PROs do a much longer version of what I had done the day before. Tom Boonen won handily, when he did--even during every move he made--the crowd around me erupted in cheers and support. He really is the Flemish golden boy despite his past indiscretions. Walking around the finish village was incredible, the tech on the bikes, the PROs, and the DS's all easily accessible. Managed to see Matt White (DS for GreenEdge, former PRO), Johan Bruyneel, Alain Gallopin (DS's for RadioShack), Roger Theel (basically Cancellara's mechanic, any race Fabu is at, Theel is there as well), Johan Van Summeren, Gregory Rast, Heinrich Haussler, scores of others as well, just can't remember them. Also before the race had finished I went into the Centrum Ronde Van Vlaanderen, basically the museum for the Tour of Flanders, while all in Dutch, had some great exhibits. I personally loved the over-size connect-4 game with Omega-Pharma and Quik-Step (pre-union) as the tokens.

Japanese Pavilion

Chinese Pavilion

Atomium

2011 Paris-Roubaix Winner, Johan Van Summeren

Gregory Rast

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.