The day of The Ride!
Well, I survived the night as an amateur camper. I woke up and began a full day of carbo loading (one of the reasons I love riding bike!) in preparation for the long ride ahead.
Let me see if I can describe the course and try to try to put the legend into perspective. The race itself starts in Bruge, known as the Venice of the north. The finish is in Ninove, an academic Belgian town about 30 miles west of Brussels. The first 100 miles of the course are pretty flat and rather uninteresting, a nice warm-up ride, until the Flanders countryside turns its head dishes out some of the hardest racing conditions on the planet.
160 miles is a bit much for me, so I decided to bite off the second degree 90 mile version of the course which included all the famous last 16 category climbs and cobbled sections. And interestingly enough, for the entire duration of the ride, I was no farther than 15 miles from the finish in Ninove as the course just winds around the Belgian backroads in search of the the cobble stretches. Every one of the 16 climbs is named, and within the cycling community names such as "Koppenberg", "Paterberg", and the "Kapelmuur" ("muur" translates as "wall") are mentioned in the same reverent tones that accompany the names "Galibier" and "Alp d'Huez" mountains of the Tour de France. Riding over cobblestones is bad, but climbing on them at up to 23% (on short sections) at the end of a race is just devastating (for comparison: a 1 mile 10% climb is likely not surmountable by recreational cyclist http://bikecalculator.com/wattsUS.html). Bike manufactuers often provide the professional teams with specially modified bicycles with reinforced joints, more compliant seat stays for add dampening, and longer wheel-bases to handle the incessant pounding. Welcome to Flanders!
Here is a quick video of me prior to starting the ride:
All told, there was a record crowd on the course for the day. Some 19,000 cycling fans, ranging from shaven legged boy-racers on higpriced carbon bikes to the pant-wearing old codgers on heavy mountain/commuter bikes took to the course to tackle the legend. It was quite a spectacle. So not only were there plenty of people to meet and talk to on the roads, there were large numbers of fans on the side of the course watching the bikes go by and encouraging those struggling to continue. My personal favorite was a very old little gentleman brimming with enthusiasm. This man sat in a lawn chair in full Quickstep team uniform (lycra shorts, jersey, and even the hat). And next to him was a life-size cardboard cutout of Tom Boonen (the Michael Jordan of Belgium cycling) and a large homemade banner written in Flemish. He gave me two enthusiastic thumbs up as I went by. And from there he sat, cheering on every rider that passed. He had me chuckling even a few miles down the road.
The ride was super-well organized with large rest stops along the way to pick up some orange slices, bananas, Belgian pastries, sports drinks, water, granola bars, etc. And usually, atop every significant climb you could find entreprising Belgians selling all sorts of food and goodies. I found these to be great opportunities to guiltlessly eat as many Belgian pastries as I could find. One in particular was a sweet rice baked goodie that had the texture of flan and tasted like nothing I've every had before. Amazing! I'd probably get huge if I lived there.
And as far the ride itself: I'd probably say it was the best 6 hours I've ever spent on my bike - no exageration. I found that I actually somewhat enjoy riding cobblestones. Sure, your backside goes numb after a bit and your entire body starts itching because its vibrating so much, but it takes a certain focus, concentration, and power output that, for me, keeps things interesting. I can see though, that when ridden at a lung-searing race pace, they would be anything but fun. And the climbs, well... they're worth every ounce of respect that they garner. And with all the fans on the side of the road I felt like I was on team Quickstep, racing up the climbs with the peloton chasing me down. I don't think anyone passed me on any of the climbs. I felt like a pro, that is until I saw my final average speed. Haha, we can still dream can't we? The Kapelmuur was the most memorable climb for me. I had to keep yelling for people to walk their bikes on the side of the cobbles as there was no way I was going to walk up that hill. I thought I was going to crash on a few different occassions as my speed neared the tipping point due to the steepness. At the finish line, with all the cameramen lined up, I decided to finish in style with a sprint, crossing the line with both arms raised. I did, until some inconsiderate guy cut me off and almost caused a horiffic spill. I'm pretty sure that photo didn't turn out like I envisioned it. But throughout the past 3 years of cycling, I don't think I've ever had that much fun or smiled more than I did during those 6 hours.
Afterward, I showered and spent some time shopping and hanging out with my Basque friends. Among a mixture of Spanish, English, French, and their native Basque language they were teaching me, I learned that one of the guys frayed his derailleur cable in a collision and rode the remaining 100 miles in one gear! Now that's crazy!
Well, I survived the night as an amateur camper. I woke up and began a full day of carbo loading (one of the reasons I love riding bike!) in preparation for the long ride ahead.
Let me see if I can describe the course and try to try to put the legend into perspective. The race itself starts in Bruge, known as the Venice of the north. The finish is in Ninove, an academic Belgian town about 30 miles west of Brussels. The first 100 miles of the course are pretty flat and rather uninteresting, a nice warm-up ride, until the Flanders countryside turns its head dishes out some of the hardest racing conditions on the planet.
160 miles is a bit much for me, so I decided to bite off the second degree 90 mile version of the course which included all the famous last 16 category climbs and cobbled sections. And interestingly enough, for the entire duration of the ride, I was no farther than 15 miles from the finish in Ninove as the course just winds around the Belgian backroads in search of the the cobble stretches. Every one of the 16 climbs is named, and within the cycling community names such as "Koppenberg", "Paterberg", and the "Kapelmuur" ("muur" translates as "wall") are mentioned in the same reverent tones that accompany the names "Galibier" and "Alp d'Huez" mountains of the Tour de France. Riding over cobblestones is bad, but climbing on them at up to 23% (on short sections) at the end of a race is just devastating (for comparison: a 1 mile 10% climb is likely not surmountable by recreational cyclist http://bikecalculator.com/wattsUS.html). Bike manufactuers often provide the professional teams with specially modified bicycles with reinforced joints, more compliant seat stays for add dampening, and longer wheel-bases to handle the incessant pounding. Welcome to Flanders!Here is a quick video of me prior to starting the ride:
All told, there was a record crowd on the course for the day. Some 19,000 cycling fans, ranging from shaven legged boy-racers on higpriced carbon bikes to the pant-wearing old codgers on heavy mountain/commuter bikes took to the course to tackle the legend. It was quite a spectacle. So not only were there plenty of people to meet and talk to on the roads, there were large numbers of fans on the side of the course watching the bikes go by and encouraging those struggling to continue. My personal favorite was a very old little gentleman brimming with enthusiasm. This man sat in a lawn chair in full Quickstep team uniform (lycra shorts, jersey, and even the hat). And next to him was a life-size cardboard cutout of Tom Boonen (the Michael Jordan of Belgium cycling) and a large homemade banner written in Flemish. He gave me two enthusiastic thumbs up as I went by. And from there he sat, cheering on every rider that passed. He had me chuckling even a few miles down the road.
The ride was super-well organized with large rest stops along the way to pick up some orange slices, bananas, Belgian pastries, sports drinks, water, granola bars, etc. And usually, atop every significant climb you could find entreprising Belgians selling all sorts of food and goodies. I found these to be great opportunities to guiltlessly eat as many Belgian pastries as I could find. One in particular was a sweet rice baked goodie that had the texture of flan and tasted like nothing I've every had before. Amazing! I'd probably get huge if I lived there.
And as far the ride itself: I'd probably say it was the best 6 hours I've ever spent on my bike - no exageration. I found that I actually somewhat enjoy riding cobblestones. Sure, your backside goes numb after a bit and your entire body starts itching because its vibrating so much, but it takes a certain focus, concentration, and power output that, for me, keeps things interesting. I can see though, that when ridden at a lung-searing race pace, they would be anything but fun. And the climbs, well... they're worth every ounce of respect that they garner. And with all the fans on the side of the road I felt like I was on team Quickstep, racing up the climbs with the peloton chasing me down. I don't think anyone passed me on any of the climbs. I felt like a pro, that is until I saw my final average speed. Haha, we can still dream can't we? The Kapelmuur was the most memorable climb for me. I had to keep yelling for people to walk their bikes on the side of the cobbles as there was no way I was going to walk up that hill. I thought I was going to crash on a few different occassions as my speed neared the tipping point due to the steepness. At the finish line, with all the cameramen lined up, I decided to finish in style with a sprint, crossing the line with both arms raised. I did, until some inconsiderate guy cut me off and almost caused a horiffic spill. I'm pretty sure that photo didn't turn out like I envisioned it. But throughout the past 3 years of cycling, I don't think I've ever had that much fun or smiled more than I did during those 6 hours.
Afterward, I showered and spent some time shopping and hanging out with my Basque friends. Among a mixture of Spanish, English, French, and their native Basque language they were teaching me, I learned that one of the guys frayed his derailleur cable in a collision and rode the remaining 100 miles in one gear! Now that's crazy!
my Basque friends
*Koppenberg photo taken from http://3.bp.blogspot.com
1 comment:
dude, i totally have friends form the basque country too! they are acquaintances through my friend Judit, the one from spain. was the language they were teaching you, Euskera?
keep the blogs coming, boy!
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