Becoming an Official Flandrien: Day 1

You may have heard me quite excitedly talking about my upcoming cycling trip to the Flanders region in Belgium. Well, let me give you a rundown on one of my most memorable weekends.

So let me give you a bit of background. There are numerous races on the professional cycling calendar, but 8 events really stand atop the rest. These include the 3 grand tours (three-week stage races with the king being le Tour de France) and 5 one-day classics. I am rather partial to the classics. While in the Tour, the riders must endure a relentless varying course over quite a period of time, the classics are often so long and so difficult that you get that same intensity and suffering of a three-week race compressed into 6 hours. For me that is the draw to these events.

So when I saw in a magazine the opportunity to ride Flanders the day before the real event, I was anxiously very interested. Flanders, one of the big classics, is the crown jewel of the sporting year in Belgium where the sport of cycling is king. For a Belgian cycist, winning this race in front of a home crowd is bigger than the world championships and even rivals the olympics.
So I registered online and within a few days I recieved an informatonal packet (in Flemish) and a racing number. All seemed good to go except the question, "Where am I going to stay?" Well, there were numerous bed and breakfasts, hotels, and park benches available, but I decided to give the camping experience a try. Now you must know, the Skyrms are not a big camping family, and I never really spent time at summer camp until I was 20 as a camp councilor, so this was definately going against the norm for me. I headed over to Decathlon, the French version of Dick's Sporting Goods, and picked up a 2-second tent and a sleeping bag. With that and borrowing Adam's GPS, I figured I was all ready to go. I didn't have the power cord to the GPS but I figured with its outstanding battery life I'd be good for one leg of the trip. I booked a half-day from work, threw everything in my tiny car and off I went. Simple right? Maybe too simple...

With the sun shining, Van Halen on the stereo, and the open road in front of me, I decided it was a good time to take the scenic route through northern France into Belgium. So using the GPS I eliminated major highways from my itinerary and begin my serioulsy undirect route. When I noticed that the GPS said my arrival time was approximately 5.5 hours for a 150 mile trip and that I had been following the same truck at 35 mph for too long, I decided there was plenty of scenery to be seen from the highway. And as you probably guessed, it wasn't too long after turning the odometer a few clicks on the highway that I noticed the GPS screen had turned black. That's when my oversight hit me like a brick. "I'm somewhere in northern France, I don't have a clue how to get to my final destination, I don't even know where this road is going, and I don't have any maps!" So trying to think rationally, I figured we used maps before the GPS gadgets came around, so I went searching for maps. I eventually saw a rest area sign ahead and so I pulled off the highway expecting the typical American rest area - with maps. I, however, was way-off. It ended up being an industrial zone with a small airport and no gas stations or anything! So then I nearly got lost getting back onto the main road. Continuing down the highway with my one goal of finding a map, I saw the French version of Wal-Mart go past on my right perched on a hill. So I promptly took the next exit which, of course, wasn't actually an exit but the entry onto a perpendicular highway. After following the curves of the new (and incorrect highway) I manage to find a real exit and backtrack to eventually find the superstore and the treasure - Michelin maps. Let's just say that's when the really poor navigating began.

For those of you who know me, I'm pretty good with directions. I navigate quite well with cardinal directions and it has served me quite well. However, that skill, I am convinced, is only useful in the traffic grid of the midwestern United States. In Europe, everything is relative to the largest city. For instance if you want to get to Choisy la Victoire you "take the road towards Beauvais", the French would say. Well, my geography isn't too good, so let's just say I was hosed. In short, I got lost. I got lost a lot! I now know where Brussels, Gent, Lille, Ninove are relative to just about any city in southern Belgium. Unlike some men, I now have no fear or qualms about asking for directions - in any country or any language.

On arrival (finally), I managed to find my camp site that turned out to be an abandoned industrial park with a patch of weeds here and there. Not the Sheraton, but oh well. I beat down some of the overgrowth and figured that was good enough for my tent. I then decided to figure out who else was as crazy as I, to ride such a course. So I walked over and met my neighbors -two super friendly guys from Holland and a crazy group of 5 from the Basque country in northern Spain.

All told, I still ended up driving for 6 hours, but I got some good memories and stories from it right?

Onward to the ride!