Tuesday, July 3
Kruishoutem – We spent the first two hours of today’s race in single file. We raced up the steep, cobbled Nokreberg 11 times. Of course, everyone raced on the sidewalk weaving in and out of spectators and signs. Halfway through the race, a lady who owned a bakery halfway up the Nokreberg decided that she didn’t want us so close to her door. She blocked the sidewalk with a sign and nearly half the peloton creamed into it.
Saturday, July 7
Pittem – The wind’s been gusting off the North Sea all week. We got to Oudenaarde at 35 mph and after a few loops through the Flemish Ardennes, raced back to Pittem at about 20. The interclubs in West Flanders are a lottery won by those who want to risk their life at 40 mph before the cobbles. I sat on the front over the Tiegemberg and on the back two miles later going into the Kwaremont. Game over.
Tuesday, July 10
Beitem-Rumbeke – The legs were flat from the start, and I spent the whole day scheming on how I could avoid all possible work. I almost wormed my way into the break that formed after an hour by profiteering off the others. It didn’t work out and I was left with the rest chasing 14th place. 500 meters before the finish was a narrow, washed out turn followed by a section of cobblestones. The final two hundred meters were paved but there was no way I was going to risk sprinting, so I attacked 10 km from the finish and again a kilometer out to split the group down to me and a guy named Sigi. Sigi snocked me in the sprint.
Saturday, July 14
Dadizele – 90% of life is just showing up. At least it is when you’re paid 25 euros in start money and 10 euros for finishing dead last.
I thought it would be cool to accept an invitation to race behind dernies, little gas powered bicycles. What a wretched race. Following a Belgian ex-pro’s wheel is hard enough, let alone when you give him a derny to draft off of. I counted down the laps for the 24 kilometer race and after finishing last in my 12-man heat, laid down on the sidewalk slowly recovering from death. I was then told I was racing again an hour later in the half finals. Puke.
Monday July 23
Izegem-Bosmolens – People are dying all over Eastern Europe from the heat wave, but it totally missed Northern Europe and we’re sitting in the middle of one of the rainiest summers on record. It rained throughout the night and all day. By the time we raced at 3:30, everything was flooded.
50 km into the race, there were 10 left at the front. And it was still pouring. The group split, I missed, and I chased alone. I chased for 30 km, and the closer I came, the more people cheered, or maybe that was the sound of my brain cells popping. Ten kilometers from the finish, I was within 15 seconds and I heard a fat, old man drinking Jupiler on the side of the road say, “Verdorie, he’s gonna catch them.” I finished in 7th, half a minute behind the breakaway and a minute behind the chase group. That’s the closest I’m going to come to a time trial all year.
Todd