tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38048357096232399632024-03-13T16:14:45.977+01:00Zander's FlandersZanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-74678468446294671332014-03-11T05:20:00.002+01:002014-03-11T05:21:49.836+01:00Scratchings at the SurfaceA fair bit of time has passed with numerous activities taking place in the interim since I last posted here - including a trip to China, a second bout in Belgium, and representation at my second cyclocross world championships.<br />
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Due to circumstances much of my experiences during this time have remained unreported, but last week I had a bit of time to myself fairly isolated from everything, something which I feel like writing about now.<br />
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I had the opportunity to do some work on a new project to link, via shared use singletrack, the townships of Linkwater and Havelock, in the Marlborough Sounds. It is planned that one day it will stretch all the way across to reach Picton too.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not a bad view for the commute.</td></tr>
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My friend and fellow builder Thomas was also involved, and I met him in Havelock after the ever-reliable scenic beauty of riding along Queen Charlotte Drive from the Picton ferry.<br />
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A quiet week ensued, free from the chains of most of modern life's accoutrements. No internet or television, poor cell phone reception, but plenty of books and music to enjoy. That is, when I had the energy to do so after scratching around through a mixture of exotic weeds and native bush all day. We were following a very old track from two centuries ago, with the aim of that making it an easier job - following a pre-made, evenly graduated bench would surely mean less work than going completely from scratch. It would have been, had it not been significantly eroded in the centuries since its inception and had large trees not been growing up through it. It was mainly working from scratch in the end - our time being spent predominantly clearing blackberry and matagouri and gorse, up and over slips with loppers and a Silky (a small but very sharp and effective Japanese hand saw).<br />
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Korimako, Tui and Piwakawaka were flitting all about us as we stirred up insects from beneath the dry leaves and pebbles covering the ground, singing amazing songs and taunting us unashamedly with their feats of agility right in our faces. Not to mention the Weka sneaking around through the undergrowth, sniffing out our lunch and threatening to coordinate a team assault on us.<br />
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I found my Mavic Crossmax shoes are not only an ideal shoe to have for trail riding, but equally too for trail building. The grippy sole and neoprene section around the top of the ankle were particularly useful for staying put on slippery slopes and not having rubble and thorns slip inside. Perhaps they will make a steel-capped version for ultimate protection.<br />
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The link track project is still a fair way off completion, probably another year or more in fact. But considering it's been about 8 years already just getting to this point, I guess it's actually nearing completion.<br />
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I can recommend finding an alternative to riding back to Picton into a headwind with a pick on your backpack, although it does make for a greater sense of relief when you finally make it to your destination.<br />
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<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-91152987913563569512013-09-13T06:08:00.001+02:002013-09-13T06:08:34.014+02:00Bike Hutt Cyclocross 4 EvahFor the last few years cyclocross in Wellington has meant mostly one thing: The Bike Hutt. Conceived by Mike and Alison Anderson after a relocation from Texas to Upper Hutt, the shop has spread its name far beyond the hills surrounding the alluvial valley from whence its name. Similarly the cyclocross races that they have been hosting since 2009 have spread in infamy to all quarters of these isles and even <a href="http://www.cxmagazine.com/bike-hutt-july-cyclocross-series-new-zealand-2010">internationally</a>. A recent attempt to leave the Hutt Valley was only partially successful, and they canoed down the length of the river to Petone, where Abi the Jack Russell jumped ashore to chase a tennis ball. They decided to stay there and are now on Jackson St doing bike business and drinking beer.<br />
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This year saw yet another great series of 8 races put on around the bubbling metropolis of Upper Hutt featuring Moonshine, California and Harcourt parks on repeat. With races for kids, beginners, intermediates and more seasoned cyclocross riders it's made a big impact on the area and has had great support from everyone - from riders; with over 100 regularly turning up to race through to the Upper Hutt City Council for kindly giving permission for us to temporarily shred and chew up all the ground every weekend.<br />
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The final race in the series was last month, but as 8 races just wasn't enough Mike and the team are putting on another, more enduring race tomorrow (Saturday September 14th) at Moonshine Park from 4pm. This is preceded by a skills clinic, going over technique for cornering, dismounting and remounting for obstacles and other things such as tyre pressure in a cyclocross-specific setting. Then there's a kids race of 20 minutes plus a lap, and lastly the big one - a 90 minute cyclocross enduro for individuals or teams of two or four riders. Unlike other teams races this one will require changes of rider upon every lap, so it should make for a close event for all competitors. The course will encompass all that we have come to love about cyclocross in Wellington, and as a last bonus half of the proceeds will go towards helping fund my travels to distant shores to compete in international cyclocross races this coming season.<br />
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So please gather up your families and bicycles, jump into your jauntiest riding pyjamas and come along to squeeze the last drop of cyclocross out of the NZ season! <br />
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<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-71512322108432107452013-08-17T12:40:00.000+02:002013-08-17T12:40:01.443+02:00Thank Youse and Yonder HorizonIt's a week out from our national championships in Wanaka, which also signifies one of the last races of the season. I wanted to acknowledge the support I've had of late from people and places most generous.<br />
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I have been riding and racing on my Yeti ARC-X for the last few years, a great bike that is now also a great piece of memorabilia - for me personally as it took me on many great rides over and through the cobbles and muddles of Belgium, but also because it is no longer being manufactured.<br />
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There have been many good times on Yeti bikes </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Gregg Germer www.thechainstay.com</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Caleb Smith</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Although it's had a fairly hard life with lots of riding and cleaning, the Yeti is still providing most excellent service. It will be joined in service, however, by the recently acquired Singular Kite.<br />
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I'm currently building it up with parts from a conflagration of sources, united in their jaunty and unerring generosity. Especial thanks to Jonty at the hallowed bicycle retail establishment of Revolution Bicycles, in Northland, Wellington. When not being raced on the Kite should make for a lovely gravel road navigator, and explorer of the world of somewhat-un-chartered terrain.<br />
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Also helping me, but more with regard to either when the conditions deem it less than desirable to go forth and explore or if the ride will involve a certain dedication of purpose as to render other essential faculties less than adequate, are the folks behind LeMond Revolution turbo trainers. It takes the place of your rear wheel so one machine can fit any bike - road, cyclocross, MTB - and doesn't involve melting your tyres down to a flattened rubbery mass, so is ideal for cyclocross preparations. They have a showroom where you can try one out at Armstrong Sport on Barker Street in Wellington.<br />
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From the same people I have also been given a helping hand into my shoes, courtesy of their Mavic agency. Even when it's muddy you still can't miss them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp4KEIGUVRUqqUvclmGefdbaNmVXjcuKyql_XQnrdVxW04AmCIuLzlv7uxXVXSn4-Omah9-m7GlSx0YExSC7Il8y5UoSCJdHihL5xXRZ-scUfEt7GaiVce1bY21FhzV2x9jhVuQ5YGtY8/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp4KEIGUVRUqqUvclmGefdbaNmVXjcuKyql_XQnrdVxW04AmCIuLzlv7uxXVXSn4-Omah9-m7GlSx0YExSC7Il8y5UoSCJdHihL5xXRZ-scUfEt7GaiVce1bY21FhzV2x9jhVuQ5YGtY8/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Lisa Morgan/Cowbell Coaching www.cowbellcoaching.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Riding through mud is quite hard work, especially when it's really thick. Fortunately there are FMB tyres to ride, which make it easy. Well, if not easy they at least make it possible. Paul Larkin is the Australasian distributor and a lovely guy to boot, who has helped me ride much closer to where I intended than I would have otherwise, and is a wealth of information and practical advice for fitting and riding tubular tyres for cyclocross, road and track. They are handmade in France and awesome.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbyw06we_lkdpxPrwt7GroAyj-WsEn7k72YWHuCIvYJw7x0sRFk9OIDnULpkud3DPTx6auSvfBJx75amQv9A-2sea0lYUbdLLUhQEQNGBPsaUDVqLABkbAldwYPUe6HdT_LjKfgz8bLQ/s1600/FMB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbyw06we_lkdpxPrwt7GroAyj-WsEn7k72YWHuCIvYJw7x0sRFk9OIDnULpkud3DPTx6auSvfBJx75amQv9A-2sea0lYUbdLLUhQEQNGBPsaUDVqLABkbAldwYPUe6HdT_LjKfgz8bLQ/s400/FMB.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FMB Super Mud</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
While the cyclocross season will be winding down after nationals in New Zealand next week, overseas it is just about to begin. About a month ago invitations were sent out for riders interested in competing at the first ever Chinese cyclocross race, in Yanqing, Beijing on September 21st. Myself and Jenna Makgill, supported by Paul Larkin, are heading over to participate in what promises to be a historic and awesome occasion, and marks a milestone for the growth of the sport outwards from Europe and America. It promises to be a remarkable experience and I'm sure I'll have plenty to write about from it so I can't wait.Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-69528381546180436452013-08-12T07:48:00.000+02:002013-08-12T11:30:17.977+02:00Continuously 'CrossFor the past seven weeks cyclocross races have been a
regular fixture on the weekly calendar in Wellington. The Bike Hutt series has
continued to blossom in popularity, and I have been to a mixture of Mike’s
races in Upper Hutt interspersed with the first three of the national series
rounds in the Hawkes Bay, Blenheim and last week in Christchurch. It is
fantastic to have so much cyclocross available now to do, thanks to so many
people taking on the role of hosting races and making it happen.
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A few weeks ago winter seemed to decide it had had enough,
and it’s been pretty warm since the middle of July. I made my way over to
Blenheim towards the end of the month with the two JGeffeoffries, Geoffrey and
Jeff, for the second round of the national cyclocross series at Wither Hills.
Geoffrey and I made our way over with our bikes on the ferry, and rode the 25
or so kilometres from Picton with a delicious combination of bright sunshine
and tailwind on our backs, following a hearty top-up of sweet treats at
Picton’s answer to Holland’s <i>Bakkerij. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">One
of the things I was most excited about leading up to this was the anticipation
of once again visiting the infamous Voodoo Lounge, full of odds and ends and all kinds of figures embued with occult significance. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbPyrK1AZI8xK-RUOHLZuAtXuWSmfP3Jq3TFrmJtwxA2qxE1Zg3-C2iCxmBIh2_hAafjrnGWhcsNWcsinruRwPH2pMCilLSh9H7uCJMYGg15l6qgWxL3q2swTExaHnNPKgtcwonCrhiA/s1600/2013-07-20+14.33.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="58" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVbPyrK1AZI8xK-RUOHLZuAtXuWSmfP3Jq3TFrmJtwxA2qxE1Zg3-C2iCxmBIh2_hAafjrnGWhcsNWcsinruRwPH2pMCilLSh9H7uCJMYGg15l6qgWxL3q2swTExaHnNPKgtcwonCrhiA/s400/2013-07-20+14.33.43.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lounge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-style: normal;">This realm of curious
sanctity is tucked away in the back of the garage at Jeff’s parents’ place,
with entry limited to a select few upon careful invitation only. I was last
here in a sandwich around the 2012 Kiwi Brevet, and while it was my virginal
experience of the lounge, I didn’t undergo any formal initiation rites. This
was swiftly rectified with the aid of a small taxidermied crocodile, a
poncho-blanket and a certain </span><i>je ne sais quoi</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> of mumbo jumbo.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gDdO5CmY2_RyQC-wamkIC5SurYbnaWs7lYD48tw9mhq9-CFWsQEOf5dBJsytJ78yqCL4uimqQeRJ-AFTmLTW6xNuhcpTdh0SKStvZhej9bnNqjWmCwMHrp86WvNnQawsO3JVk3zPrIY/s1600/20130720_210509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4gDdO5CmY2_RyQC-wamkIC5SurYbnaWs7lYD48tw9mhq9-CFWsQEOf5dBJsytJ78yqCL4uimqQeRJ-AFTmLTW6xNuhcpTdh0SKStvZhej9bnNqjWmCwMHrp86WvNnQawsO3JVk3zPrIY/s400/20130720_210509.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ritualistic voodoo shenanigans</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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With the voodoo’s juju satisfied, the following day’s race
was largely a success. Apart from tripping on the first of three sequential
barriers at the end of the 2<sup>nd</sup> lap, subsequently landing with all my
weight and momentum directly on my thighs on the next barrier, I had a steady
and enjoyable race. Unfortunately for Logan Horn, who was looking to be very
competitive, he had problems with his tyres unseating on the sharp off-camber
sections and as a result lost significant time swapping wheels. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl36NOk3-E8liqVdHzmhBfrln3rYkp8h11LLBnlKMJUVfJzHskX29dlfIQrirbRibhN1NdqUb5clLonR0CT6UIPjCopN32OM4GXFKjyvS4oLoXiUV3finRt_a7_TBl5bqgmBWYolGWj-4/s1600/Cyclocross_Withers011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl36NOk3-E8liqVdHzmhBfrln3rYkp8h11LLBnlKMJUVfJzHskX29dlfIQrirbRibhN1NdqUb5clLonR0CT6UIPjCopN32OM4GXFKjyvS4oLoXiUV3finRt_a7_TBl5bqgmBWYolGWj-4/s400/Cyclocross_Withers011.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy Sarnim Dean - www.sarnim.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglELNsBS5JqMA-xa1DRF03K45zsB-tBBSuIgRUcesG2mt9CZiK6dRs67w-RbPj1x3E7STBVwnWMuRS8PtWeZKMiyfPjjALSfLkmXeVppjQqbzty6CkKWimlr2q2ihNX-NJXXc-NV2y8rs/s1600/Cyclocross_Withers067_BW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglELNsBS5JqMA-xa1DRF03K45zsB-tBBSuIgRUcesG2mt9CZiK6dRs67w-RbPj1x3E7STBVwnWMuRS8PtWeZKMiyfPjjALSfLkmXeVppjQqbzty6CkKWimlr2q2ihNX-NJXXc-NV2y8rs/s400/Cyclocross_Withers067_BW.jpg" width="381" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo courtesy Sarnim Dean - www.sarnim.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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That evening
provided some spectacular entertainment by way of the significant movement of
the ground. A large earthquake centred close to Seddon shook like none other
that I’ve ever experienced, causing lots of noise and violent tremors, and also
the untimely decapitation of a delicate South American cowboy with a porcelain
head. May he rest in peace in the garden of voodoo.</div>
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Back in Wellington the Bike Hutt series was reaching its
zenith, with newcomers and more seasoned riders alike getting into the flow of
it and improving steadily over the weeks. After a fairly big week of riding and
massaging my bruised thighs I had some fairly stolid sensations in my legs for
the next weekend’s race at California park, a soft but very windy course in the
sun. Brendan Sharratt accelerated away early on and it was all I could do to
lose only 10 seconds or so per lap. </div>
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During the week I was made a very generous offer from my
friend and all-round bicycle-riding legend Kim Hurst, to help me get to the
Southern Cross and next national series race in Christchurch the following weekend. So after a
slightly easier week to freshen up I put my jumbled up bicycle into a bag and
flew down for the race in Ferrymead. Kim and Lisa picked me up from the
airport, and after a short ride to look at the course (although we were too
early and it didn’t yet exist) and a visit to a bakery’s factory outlet on the
way back for deliciousnesses, we checked in with our excellent hosts Michelle
and Richard. </div>
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I hadn’t been to central Christchurch for a number of years
before the big quakes, and when we went in to look around at the reconstruction
I was almost completely disorientated. As we approached I felt a strange
sensation of familiarity, on quite a subconscious level, as while I didn’t
recognise where we were some sort of intuition told me that this was Manchester
St, and sure enough we then went past a road sign indicating that to be the
case. There is definitely the sense of a collective appreciation for people and
company around the place, born out of the loss of so much I’m sure.</div>
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Ferrymead park, while largely a sort of wasteland, has a plump
grassy knoll in the middle, with a small railway loop around the outside. These
were some of the key features of the race, which involved crossing the tracks
twice each lap – just as the small scenic tram made its way around in circles
brimming full of small children and families. There was also an ex-Wellington
trolley bus taking tours, and surprising riders, as it popped out of the gloom
alongside part of the parcours. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMGK-N91kQfeiYgQPOKpQ9Sr2_6bqfG-fG1yqHOPHVoGFEWX_sgM2M-TDQyroLguluKLdeLKwV6EhBMZrHOFXf-p58BcC5oP_nClgC1MjZLx9aKmIlEtjoMhmcYYTuBld-Ijgs5AxgkE/s1600/photo%25284%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMGK-N91kQfeiYgQPOKpQ9Sr2_6bqfG-fG1yqHOPHVoGFEWX_sgM2M-TDQyroLguluKLdeLKwV6EhBMZrHOFXf-p58BcC5oP_nClgC1MjZLx9aKmIlEtjoMhmcYYTuBld-Ijgs5AxgkE/s400/photo%25284%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Lisa Morgan/Cowbell Coaching - cowbellcoaching.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We started, as usual, in an awful hurry and Scott Lyttle,
Logan Horn and I got a gap ahead of the others through the first lap. I was
feeling great and thought I could perhaps push a little bit harder, so started
to creep away from the other two as we criss-crossed the railway line. After a
few laps I saw the train approaching our crossing point just ahead of me, and
soon found myself waiting as it passed, all waving hands, excited cries and
puffs of steam. It was probably all of 10 seconds but I could feel Scott
breathing down my neck and wanted to keep the gap growing. I managed to do
this, and while the great number of people taking part meant the course was thick with riders, making for occasional queues
to pass, in all it really grew on me throughout the hour and I enjoyed the
race.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXYmaXUGT_iJPzQ8OCxzha7cK3ww4GUgNQuTTjdX6ChhiyYGr-g5hqSiMbVzCQYYhgUjlNnid-1fr91stAr0WimoZpC4KMDh2-Jik-D26wTZKoLGe0fQQMt1_fJeUTO8BUhI_UxIPTYqE/s1600/photo%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXYmaXUGT_iJPzQ8OCxzha7cK3ww4GUgNQuTTjdX6ChhiyYGr-g5hqSiMbVzCQYYhgUjlNnid-1fr91stAr0WimoZpC4KMDh2-Jik-D26wTZKoLGe0fQQMt1_fJeUTO8BUhI_UxIPTYqE/s400/photo%25283%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Lisa Morgan/Cowbell Coaching - cowbellcoaching.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0areusfQMcRiGfA1EEhSKJ1lJYpOL_AJB21GvaA6IRtqPnNKWOH9ySGuSkQ9JoZN8wIv9X5gZtrkBnewOPBPYROY6gmKGMJkFnXsPut7QsrULMBa1tvRVutny9xKAGwN6RSDYMdlp5TE/s1600/photo%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0areusfQMcRiGfA1EEhSKJ1lJYpOL_AJB21GvaA6IRtqPnNKWOH9ySGuSkQ9JoZN8wIv9X5gZtrkBnewOPBPYROY6gmKGMJkFnXsPut7QsrULMBa1tvRVutny9xKAGwN6RSDYMdlp5TE/s400/photo%25282%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Lisa Morgan/Cowbell Coaching - cowbellcoaching.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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On the way back to the airport Richard took me on a quick
tour of the workshop where he has started up an operation by the name of
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Revolution-Components/275564785920529">Revolution Components</a>
finely cutting out chainrings, derailleur hangers and more or less any other
particular small parts that riders need made upon request. My only prior
experience of anything much mechanical and automatic was a small lathe at high
school technology class in third form, which I used to fashion a sort of
useless ornamental wooden candlestick as part of a failed project in something
or other. Needless to say the tools and machinery in their workshop are far
more sophisticated than anything I’ve ever seen, and more intimidating to the
thought of a stray hand than anything I’ve ever encountered too. But they are
making some cool and very useful stuff with it, and most importantly they know
what they’re doing. They can also protect their hands by telling a computer to do it.</div>
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Yesterday was the finale in the Bike Hutt Cyclocross series
for this year, and was a fittingly fantastic outing, but I’ll say more about
that next time. Coming up is the week of racing down in Wanaka/Queenstown,
featuring the national championships on Satuday August 24<sup>th</sup>. I’m
heading down by land a few days early, and it promises to be a historic few days
with lots of racing. Not quite as much as the Christmas period in Belgium, but
definitely indicative of a significant groundswell in the sport which is great
to be a part of. Beyond that are some exciting plans and hopes, which I shall elaborate more on shortly.</div>
Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-14641202349661452422013-07-05T06:20:00.000+02:002013-07-05T06:29:32.306+02:00Back in two itNew Zealand's cyclocross season has begun with a hiss and a roar, from the chilly southern depths of Otago through Canterbury to Nelson, Marlborough, Wellington and the Hawkes Bay. I've had races the last couple of weekends, the first being race one of the <a href="http://www.thebikehutt.co.nz/">Bike Hutt</a> series at Harcourt Park in Upper Hutt. I designed the course for this one, hoping to be able to re-create a little of what I experienced in my time riding overseas. It's a beautiful park, almost entirely devoid of dog shit, with a neat combination of grassy banks and treelined singletrack. Unfortunately the huge storm that I wrote about in my last post had barged through right the way up the Hutt valley and toppled many of the trees on the course. Because of this the lap was shortened roughly by half, but with about a hundred off-camber corners it managed to stay challenging and entertaining, without being too repetitious. There had been plenty of rain in the preceeding days to overload the draining capacity of the ground, so combined with a clear calm day it was the perfect introduction to cyclocross: whether as the beginning of another season or for the first time.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9tzYyln5CpnmMHDxRo2kVlsIpr_8SLe2SOaqE2LBMjr8qicJkQfves35JUmwhktRxSgRWkUCFEkHKkAYjypAAZPk1-2pXDbNxK2vmoOVzXvU3aL5_2HjmIa0AVJWenYL1LFEBLeUce8/s720/Harcourt+mud.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9tzYyln5CpnmMHDxRo2kVlsIpr_8SLe2SOaqE2LBMjr8qicJkQfves35JUmwhktRxSgRWkUCFEkHKkAYjypAAZPk1-2pXDbNxK2vmoOVzXvU3aL5_2HjmIa0AVJWenYL1LFEBLeUce8/s400/Harcourt+mud.JPG" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: The Bike Hutt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
There were about 20 people in the A grade race, most of whom were on dedicated cyclocross bikes. So far the growth of cyclocross in New Zealand seems to have come predominantly from those who otherwise ride mountain bikes. It was great to see some new faces out, exclaiming about how much more exciting it is than racing on the road, their usual mode of recreation and competition.<br />
<br />
My last race was in Hoogstraten, Belgium in early February - hovering around freezing there was the most perplexing and excruciating combination of snow, mud, ice and water about the course that I could ever have imagined. I found it to be rather tough, and things didn't go my way.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWN11j4a0m5iZON8oJfj4c5yMouT99ri-HX9_ISl-UbYlPxSSPOt3zkgAuO9KzoELCT3QAzm_knG0tSmQY-8fmVpFbBj6UbsaK9HpDclPoXeP-VJdyXH4aiXO95Lvs4Slq7-QOBYI6QQ/s960/Alex_Peter_Schepens.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXWN11j4a0m5iZON8oJfj4c5yMouT99ri-HX9_ISl-UbYlPxSSPOt3zkgAuO9KzoELCT3QAzm_knG0tSmQY-8fmVpFbBj6UbsaK9HpDclPoXeP-VJdyXH4aiXO95Lvs4Slq7-QOBYI6QQ/s400/Alex_Peter_Schepens.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Peter Schepens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Thankfully June in Wellington is a much more mild climate, and thus makes for a much easier transition into the lung-searing intensity that is a cyclocross race. There were a few of us together for the first lap, after which I managed to get a gap on Brendan Sharratt and Tom Bradshaw, which I was able to hold onto for the rest of the race.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpYnAHXJbf7rHX7bXPo680rw-oI7aF2V9LXUTuPlU5L4EalMCD0QAwcYHnBBaB0NuoFKdZaqicVUUUsxvVuf8sfXdzUiVwPvyk_qpk6nX0vX2aVN3jzoFIiH-3jCJd7lCt4LvldimCMg/s700/Alex_etc_Harcourt_park.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSpYnAHXJbf7rHX7bXPo680rw-oI7aF2V9LXUTuPlU5L4EalMCD0QAwcYHnBBaB0NuoFKdZaqicVUUUsxvVuf8sfXdzUiVwPvyk_qpk6nX0vX2aVN3jzoFIiH-3jCJd7lCt4LvldimCMg/s400/Alex_etc_Harcourt_park.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: David Connor </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It had been a while since I'd ridden my tubular tyres, so as a precaution against damaging them through rough riding I put in a bit more air than I would have a few months ago, and did my best not to brake while skirting around the various twisting muddy bends.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrKlzdCywbjjIrs1vXTc5S3stTQUqeh8QvUjrdgrdzOmCSvp26u9z4xxN-_wr4a0S2C3WbBa8a9uc8l32K80cQwQ_fI0jFrPmgBHIiIXQED0hahyphenhyphenluiDQsSxPpaqYPSZ1OTGtfnxlXms/s720/Alex_David_Connor.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrKlzdCywbjjIrs1vXTc5S3stTQUqeh8QvUjrdgrdzOmCSvp26u9z4xxN-_wr4a0S2C3WbBa8a9uc8l32K80cQwQ_fI0jFrPmgBHIiIXQED0hahyphenhyphenluiDQsSxPpaqYPSZ1OTGtfnxlXms/s400/Alex_David_Connor.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: David Connor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
Andrew Kerr made this video of the B race, sliding around in the thick of it.<br />
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<br />
The following weekend I had hopes of getting up to Havelock North for the first round of the NZCX national series. In the week leading up to it I needed to warrant and licence a car I was borrowing, and renew my driver's licence. I was able to do all this just in the nick of time, and made my way up to the Hawkes Bay on Saturday.<br />
<br />
It felt like about 5º warmer than in Wellington, and totally windless, and with the sun shining yet again it was another perfect day for riding in the mud. Not too much mud, but enough for it to get stuck in and around your pedals and cleats, and it also facilitated the unwanted gravitation of lots of the dry dead leaves that were lying around on the course. I knew to expect some very good competition, namely in Gary Hall, our current national champion. Also present were Dunedin's Scott Lyttle and Bay local Josh Page. I figured I had nothing to lose by going all out from the gun, and doing my best to keep up the pace. After a section of barriers that were only 20 or 30cm high, therefore within my range for bunny hopping, I got to the front up a steep climb and lead the way for the first 20-30 minutes of the race.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9sjzZK3idW7URmZSDqjvC_Xg47zU7LafFfGj52n96DnRetivtmd41SQbd3swsrIEjpM77fX9Ao_5VdAFSeji3d8cpVsPaKN-fTz9_d64LQ1mJMnNDEPGD0YxlTksN360CAMTlptwHHw/s720/Alex_Gary_etc.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9sjzZK3idW7URmZSDqjvC_Xg47zU7LafFfGj52n96DnRetivtmd41SQbd3swsrIEjpM77fX9Ao_5VdAFSeji3d8cpVsPaKN-fTz9_d64LQ1mJMnNDEPGD0YxlTksN360CAMTlptwHHw/s400/Alex_Gary_etc.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Cycl1n</td></tr>
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Gary and Scott were close behind me for this time and as is always the way in a race such as this, I was going as hard as I could while questioning whether it was too much and could I hold them off. I imagine they were feeling pretty similar, and after what I think was about half an hour Gary came past me and accelerated off ahead. My chain slipped off below my little chainring at the top of a bike carry section, and after a few seconds' worth of floundering I got it back on and was able to pedal once more. However the mud had crept its way around my cleats and the gummy grass was thick in my pedals, making it difficult to engage them together. I started to lose focus and went a bit wide on a corner, wrapping my crankset up in course tape, ruing the simple errors that were now costing me valuable time as I untangled my steed. We now had three laps to go and Gary was out of sight from nearly all points on the course.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_AZQXchJc_OInAOmGSitE8PWs4bh6YO1SigknwmH5nLkKXnQiDl2keywR-_5X5IsHuUp9w7vJJC1UVt_TutJIbQyGucItk7Rr0qfKPcESHciCMOVHu1HA9PUmeuRaBFFoz9g-tTrEXQ/s720/Alex_Cyc1n.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ_AZQXchJc_OInAOmGSitE8PWs4bh6YO1SigknwmH5nLkKXnQiDl2keywR-_5X5IsHuUp9w7vJJC1UVt_TutJIbQyGucItk7Rr0qfKPcESHciCMOVHu1HA9PUmeuRaBFFoz9g-tTrEXQ/s400/Alex_Cyc1n.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Cycl1n</td></tr>
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I strung together a couple of steady and accurate laps, and before long was able to see the figure of our national champion ahead of me again. Towards the end of the last lap I soaked up the support of my friends and family who had staked out several points, and drew forth numerous ragged breaths to make it back to Gary. It was only in the last 50 metres or so of the race, as we slid through the boggiest section that I managed to get a faster line and slither to the final corner just in front. Unfortunately because of the angle that I approached it by I didn't think I'd be able to make it in an upright fashion. So I jumped off to run through, only to then lose my footing as well on the slippery ground. I don't know if I took Gary out exactly, but I definitely got in his way, and I felt bad for this. It was totally unpredictable so I don't think it justifies feeling this way but it was an anticlimactic final few metres over the finish line. Gary wasn't phased and we both aknowledged the great race that we'd had, and next time I'm sure will be another close affair.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhqfTAF8XpvErwcuC2FI7Bk1EKvR1Cy0JbIgsV_HAHuLtXvPJ5iF4jzq9Jv4OMtFSXylv7FS_re745XvB13lJraFS1Arh2A7OLpxT4e9B-BqOzIITpWtRDmoYrbI9Q91vARvWyGD-O7c/s720/Alex_run_Cycl1n.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhqfTAF8XpvErwcuC2FI7Bk1EKvR1Cy0JbIgsV_HAHuLtXvPJ5iF4jzq9Jv4OMtFSXylv7FS_re745XvB13lJraFS1Arh2A7OLpxT4e9B-BqOzIITpWtRDmoYrbI9Q91vARvWyGD-O7c/s400/Alex_run_Cycl1n.JPG" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Intended course of action. Photo: Cycl1n</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The next few weeks' races will be back in Wellington, before I potentially go to the next round of the national series in Blenheim on July 21st. My hopes of getting to America to race later in the year are still smouldering away, and I may have some more to say on this in the next while. Likewise with Belgium, it may be that <i>de snor is niet achter de rug</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-11562580092498468172013-06-22T07:50:00.000+02:002013-06-22T07:51:25.611+02:00AcrossticAs the rain comes down, torrentially of course, I find myself at the beginning of yet another cyclocross season. Tomorrow is the first round of the Bike Hutt series, which is going to accomplish two things for us. It will answer the question we are always seeking an answer to, namely <i>how long is a piece of string?</i> because the series will be in a string 8 weeks long. I think it's been tricky to answer that questions in the past because I've always thought of length as a measurement of distance, rather than one of time. Perhaps some of the Iyenga yoga I've been doing lately at <a href="http://wellingtonyoga.co.nz/">Wellington Yoga</a> has increased the flexibility of my thinking as well as that of my hamstrings. The other thing it will accomplish is to satisfy a city that has waited almost a year since its last cyclocross race, desperately champing at the bit to get going again. The addition of two rounds to compensate for the unfortunate demise of the Hot CX series (due to land use restraints) has gone a long way to keep chipper everyone who was so looking forward to getting muddy and exhausted from slightly earlier in the season.<br />
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It seems quite some time since my early races in Belgium last year, riding under sunny skies and with wide-eyed wonder. I wonder how different the races here at home will feel now, after such a contrast of cultures.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7phKQKfAUVqPuAcCNqDY4-S2JUqZTUY_aFjRZ36M7QmT0JO5GLbdK1vqMbjVRBITnLKwP7ai36FvICqjvmLDMq0OP3cVkI2qCqOHvFwYsoCokRkQx2Cg6ywYqf4WJBsizps8ADt7N6k/s1600/2012-09-29+14.14.38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7phKQKfAUVqPuAcCNqDY4-S2JUqZTUY_aFjRZ36M7QmT0JO5GLbdK1vqMbjVRBITnLKwP7ai36FvICqjvmLDMq0OP3cVkI2qCqOHvFwYsoCokRkQx2Cg6ywYqf4WJBsizps8ADt7N6k/s400/2012-09-29+14.14.38.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Neerpelt, my second race against the pro's</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
But in terms of the season and the time of year relative to the northern hemisphere, now would be right at the peak of it - December, with the <i>kerstperiode </i>or Christmas period. It's a pretty different climate, and while I didn't see any snow in Belgium until January it's pretty far off being icy right now. Although saying that these past few days have seen an amazingly powerful storm ravage the country, in particular the South coast of Wellington, moving the footpath from one side of the road to the other:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHj23bwzn8e5zMVR83k_0SHy2ue1JoEit_nr25DC_JVGuz-IWnaprnJ6HPNVtoxH9uJTJAsuTe9f7dhLv6yfnNYJNSW421OgHL53yOiKqpffDfaUkty-8d3_pfLODZnkdJxYp0GM5_-RI/s1600/2013-06-21+14.34.51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHj23bwzn8e5zMVR83k_0SHy2ue1JoEit_nr25DC_JVGuz-IWnaprnJ6HPNVtoxH9uJTJAsuTe9f7dhLv6yfnNYJNSW421OgHL53yOiKqpffDfaUkty-8d3_pfLODZnkdJxYp0GM5_-RI/s400/2013-06-21+14.34.51.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Formerly quite an ordinary-looking street</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the lead-up to this season I have been for some lovely rides in relatively unfamiliar places:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9oRvLSNPCuAoeap0YlpGsZq_U44QXfdl4WPnEFrDkkS4camaeT6H313J3ukkX0ToiQ2OHCXJJtPwRE3wf1Ac7vncz_YAnINwOJqE62o44AY1GyJDjw3_fbn77FQTHk4PIDGNjH87pFs/s1600/2013-05-30+09.13.40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc9oRvLSNPCuAoeap0YlpGsZq_U44QXfdl4WPnEFrDkkS4camaeT6H313J3ukkX0ToiQ2OHCXJJtPwRE3wf1Ac7vncz_YAnINwOJqE62o44AY1GyJDjw3_fbn77FQTHk4PIDGNjH87pFs/s400/2013-05-30+09.13.40.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Making the most of my time and the opportunities presented by a generally kind onset of winter.<br />
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I have a mixture of new and old bicycle riding necessities to take me through the next while, from my trusty Yeti ARC-X, to Mavic shoes<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBIAbuSP-uBR75mmqDGi5D0eSPpSCzdAp019rIcr25hPX0xdjtKpiM1EXCHheEeRo8vvYoXqN3ONrqz_cEFXNvC51DmDFV6oriJEqDpwgE-DhPCmEDKR7QYDMgQNokh8AarRCRkD543g/s1600/2013-05-22+11.36.52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFBIAbuSP-uBR75mmqDGi5D0eSPpSCzdAp019rIcr25hPX0xdjtKpiM1EXCHheEeRo8vvYoXqN3ONrqz_cEFXNvC51DmDFV6oriJEqDpwgE-DhPCmEDKR7QYDMgQNokh8AarRCRkD543g/s320/2013-05-22+11.36.52.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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And a supply of Vittoria clincher tyres for general riding and in races where I'm not using my pair of Dugast tubulars<br />
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Lately I've been doing a bit of work at the Makara Peak MTB park gravelling and tidying up some of the tracks with my friend and entrepreneur Thomas. Here he is making the tank engine work.<br />
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My plan for the season has roughly taken shape, based mainly around the Bike Hutt series and a few of the <a href="http://www.nzcyclocross.co.nz/national-series-2013.html">NZ national series</a> rounds. In and around Queenstown in late August there is a week of racing which includes the Winter Games NZ Cyclocross Series, so that will be the busiest part of the year. At least in New Zealand - I am hoping to arrange a period of racing in America later in the year as their season builds up, and if possible a return to Belgium for December and another taste (hopefully somewhat more acquired) of things over there. But these international plans depend an awful lot on things like money, so at the moment are looking rather limited.<br />
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On another note, it looks like we may not have a UCI-endorsed national championships this year, which is a great shame after the success of last year and the momentum that has been generated around the country. I'm looking at a way of facilitating the growth of the sport from all fronts - riders, race organisers, industry representatives and the national federation - to come up with a plan that suits everyone, in order to keep it going. There is huge potential in the sport, and already a lot of interest in New Zealand so it can't be let fizzle out. If the international success recently of some of our cross country mountain bikers is any indication, we may not be far off in 'cross if we steer it in the right direction.<br />
<br />
Creamy mud<br />
Yikes<br />
Conglomerated mud<br />
Languishing brakes<br />
Oh my<br />
Crestfallen<br />
Riding on a rim<br />
Oh well<br />
Superfluous<br />
Skids<br />
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Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-72981857696385914682013-04-11T08:27:00.000+02:002013-04-11T08:27:06.409+02:00Back on the HorseWhile in a Brussels department store looking for a Dutch language book
to assist in my Flemish assimilation last year, I stumbled upon
something that struck me at the time as being quite unique to that part
of the world. I'd been aware of computer games in which you manage a
football team, but they'd always seemed like they were missing the best
part - ie. you never actually got to kick the ball or make the players
sprint to exhaustion and do radical slide tackles causing them to get
sent off, which was definitely the best part. Instead you just did
whatever else there is to do in running a team, and I never really
thought that sounded like much fun.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ShtsBdn-cJjfgbJJjhDOhspJ1iY42g4IV3luBdt7_0kmpQJ3uTsr6XxAQ855c6p1kY1a88E9MotPu_2Y1Wy5CApSuIvBdX6oYHBkJk_LihEvrUh6ZLqnJxGex62AyeCb0KCTslLo7hk/s1600/2012-09-28+13.10.19.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ShtsBdn-cJjfgbJJjhDOhspJ1iY42g4IV3luBdt7_0kmpQJ3uTsr6XxAQ855c6p1kY1a88E9MotPu_2Y1Wy5CApSuIvBdX6oYHBkJk_LihEvrUh6ZLqnJxGex62AyeCb0KCTslLo7hk/s400/2012-09-28+13.10.19.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You could be the next Patrick Lefevre<br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
As curious as I was to see what exactly was
involved with the management of a pro cycling team, there was plenty of
evidence coming out in the media at the time of what some key
components were in the last dozen or so years. I suspect that
institutionalised doping wasn't a feature in this game, as crucial as it
seems to have been in riding the road to success.<br />
<br />
I had a few offers of management while I was in Belgium, all of
which were from strangers over Facebook or email. I never actually met
any of them throughout the length of my stay, but apparently one was a
teenager, while another was rather disinclined to reveal anything much
about himself. The closest I ended up coming to any actual management
was seeing myself available as part of the <a href="http://cross.fantasysport.be/">Fantasy Cross</a> online game where you have a budget to pick riders for your hypothetical team and
get points based on their results. Unsurprisingly I was the cheapest
rider, and while my results were never sufficient to earn anyone
anything it did have the upside of meaning I was quite affordable as a
final rider, filling the empty space left when people's budgets had been
virtually exhausted by purchasing all the big names of the sport.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSL1jeDbk7rW1JiTcjp4lM-ZDDh_Nq5Wx_26K6uhxKCToWcWhL14UCTDwHXzes9Y1Dl_S60H1qSncVfsOr65R17VkBTtI4betph2Z8iVaoD0Tt8RJmDtUemqSh1zwtbcAhZgXZrqfqYgo/s1600/Mt+Vic+Roots.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSL1jeDbk7rW1JiTcjp4lM-ZDDh_Nq5Wx_26K6uhxKCToWcWhL14UCTDwHXzes9Y1Dl_S60H1qSncVfsOr65R17VkBTtI4betph2Z8iVaoD0Tt8RJmDtUemqSh1zwtbcAhZgXZrqfqYgo/s400/Mt+Vic+Roots.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome back</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One thing I thought about a lot between the
hedonistic cyclocross races and the enchanting whispers of heavy
snowfall was mountain biking in New Zealand, or more specifically riding
the native bush singletrack. By all accounts there is plenty in the
Luxembourg region of Belgium and the Ardennes, but apart from a few
exceptions in Flanders the closest thing to this was narrow trenches and
small slabs of concrete between corn fields. As my impending return to
Wellington approached, the anticipation of warm weather and great riding
gripped me ever tighter. Despite only having a fully rigid bike to come
back to initially, the first rides up big hills and down narrow rocky
descents in the sun were a bumpy breath of dusty but fresh air.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvf340wRJUXgqp3wEH_zmXJhO3V3U_EYWai8pTZXJNY0_QsRDrNS_DugXOI3nDzdhRkLe3sFZYXePwu9O8jkwE94wMITOFHm9vI9mLkmt2hXUYPjXMEJtqeHHr3MjHoAc2mJD9TdMv-s/s1600/Wgtn_Panorama.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="52" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvf340wRJUXgqp3wEH_zmXJhO3V3U_EYWai8pTZXJNY0_QsRDrNS_DugXOI3nDzdhRkLe3sFZYXePwu9O8jkwE94wMITOFHm9vI9mLkmt2hXUYPjXMEJtqeHHr3MjHoAc2mJD9TdMv-s/s400/Wgtn_Panorama.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't beat Wellington... etc
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Despite making the decision to ride Karapoti on my cross bike (which you can read about on my <a href="http://spokemagazine.com/2013/03/09/sicko-cross/">Spoke blog post</a>) I was looking forward to having the use of a <a href="http://yeti.blackseal.co.nz/bikes/SB-95-Alloy/">Yeti SB-95</a> for some of the upcoming Super-D and Enduro races courtesy of Kashi Leuchs at <a href="http://www.blackseal.co.nz/">Black Seal</a>
in Dunedin. The numbers in the name correspond to the following: 9 for
29" wheels, 5 for 5" of rear wheel suspension travel. Smooth and grippy
up hills while incredibly confidence inspiring back down, it has been
inordinately helpful in bringing me back up to speed on tricky trails
and forgiving me for what I had lost in finesse by riding through more
or less flat stretches of mud for 6 months.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgQnvKvjCsaiPAE67nHgy435PnPhONV1t1uJIeS-JVh4ZHr6tU_YGnF4FaO4UgyMvoHqupz5mbATcXnRdMNqUK-EaVCKBfj-lw3MoJuWe2O1_mFSR-cKgAyTtZLk8GhweRR5ZreSAbFM/s1600/2013-03-12+12.13.34.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgQnvKvjCsaiPAE67nHgy435PnPhONV1t1uJIeS-JVh4ZHr6tU_YGnF4FaO4UgyMvoHqupz5mbATcXnRdMNqUK-EaVCKBfj-lw3MoJuWe2O1_mFSR-cKgAyTtZLk8GhweRR5ZreSAbFM/s400/2013-03-12+12.13.34.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqVZGPb4lLdW_SFEb23m3jiGm8FK1lYVgUIGoD6pZtDyyxVWedjzUYACAd4h1R7uV64T6AO7zvhik_6sOPIj19HnM8MNI6iVtxs_oJ65hZ43blnLBIj7Xn3EwM7sKmynDffkfesSZgwNY/s1600/2013-03-12+12.13.53.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqVZGPb4lLdW_SFEb23m3jiGm8FK1lYVgUIGoD6pZtDyyxVWedjzUYACAd4h1R7uV64T6AO7zvhik_6sOPIj19HnM8MNI6iVtxs_oJ65hZ43blnLBIj7Xn3EwM7sKmynDffkfesSZgwNY/s400/2013-03-12+12.13.53.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
This
is a size large demo bike, and is available to be taken for a test ride
by contacting Kashi and the Black Seal team here -
http://www.blackseal.co.nz/about-us/ - but be warned that it will most definitely cause spontaneous good times and a renewed enjoyment of all things mountainous.<br />
<br />
Between now and the resumption of cyclocross in late May I
have the Mt Crawford Enduro and Mt Vic Super D events lined up, at
which I shall be astride the majestic SB-95 looking to profit from its
abundant suspensive and fat-tyred qualities before returning to the
skinny and rigid in the field.<br />
Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-15242460888485886492013-03-01T00:24:00.000+01:002013-03-01T00:24:14.473+01:00From Be to KY and NZFor most of the past cyclocross season in Belgium I had been hoping that things would work out for making it to the World Championships at the beginning of February, but at the same time hadn't wanted to put too much pressure on myself or get too excited about the possibility of going just in case it didn't happen. As January rolled around I was able to plan going to Louisville, Kentucky properly and thanks to all of the generous donations people made through my fundme site I could book my tickets and start packing up my bikes and gear for two weeks with two races in the States.<br />
<br />
I have written about this trip in two parts on the Spoke magazine blog (<a href="http://spokemagazine.com/2013/02/08/merica-f-yeah/">one</a> and <a href="http://spokemagazine.com/2013/02/22/kiwis-of-the-worlds/">two</a>) so will now jump forward to slightly closer to the present and my final week in Belgium.<br />
<br />
Returning to Belgium after the high of the trip to America - meeting so many great people and getting to be part of an amazing and historic event - was somewhat of an anti-climax, and although the snow had temporarily cleared it was still cold and a bit miserable. As I had decided to return to New Zealand some time previously it was all I could do not to think about the magnificent summer that everyone was raving about back home in Wellington. Up until this point I had been sufficiently distracted by all of the racing, living in a different country and the novelty of the Belgian fans and their reaction to my moustache so as to not get down about the summer I had swapped for the coldest winter I've ever experienced. But now, seeing the end of my season approaching I couldn't contain it any longer, I missed the warmth of the sun.<br />
<br />
I decided to make my final race the penultimate Superprestige in Hoogstraten, on Feb 10. I was due to leave for NZ the following weekend, and had arranged to meet and visit some friends in Holland and Germany over the days between, so wanted to have a good last sprint around in the mud or ice with my extended cyclocross family before bidding farewell. In the end it didn't quite work out to be the best time - I couldn't find the GPS so although I was fine for heading to Hoogstraten, I had to track back and forth a fair bit when I got there as I looked for the arrows in the street pointing me in the right direction. Snow had fallen overnight and the temperature was hovering just above freezing, so it was an awful combination of wetness and sloppy mud with occasional patches of frosty terrain. Due to my problems of navigation and time management I didn't manage to fit in a pre-ride of the course. This is generally considered essential, as it is really the only way to work out what tyre selection and then tyre pressure you are going to use in the race. And it allows for practising tricky sections. Most of all it just makes sense to have some idea of what you are going to be racing on. I ended up relying on a combination of advice from other riders, my experience after a 6-month season, and my general relaxed demeanor to get me and my bike to the start line in a state of more-or-less appropriate readiness.<br />
<br />
I had a good start, and for the first while was riding alongside a few riders who I am generally quite far behind. This didn't last long though, and the first moderately tricky section of ruts caught me out and spat me off to the side and into the barrier tape. By the time I had extricated myself and my handlebars from the tape I was at the back, and the subsequent discovery that my front brake was largely disconnected as I accelerated down into the next descent caused me some small amount of discomfort. Once I had that back together it wasn't long until I dropped my chain, twice in a short space of time, slipping off just like my hopes of a combative and successful final endeavour in the mud of Belgium. Although this was a bit disappointing, I could never forget how amazing the whole time has been and how every race has really been a new and great experience for me, with lessons to be learned in every case.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEoG0CKDE_SfeeGVCA1u7NIDjROiTU5NnTIwzq1puxB1aMzn5-7ij1P8XkXvC3FWM6o2eiyUVfgdyhkBCagflLxDGG6M35D3KHeAGnmeMARbJ0GIH83LQrQeFj8N2MtVwORDEWT1EYzk/s1600/Alex_Peter_Schepens.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKEoG0CKDE_SfeeGVCA1u7NIDjROiTU5NnTIwzq1puxB1aMzn5-7ij1P8XkXvC3FWM6o2eiyUVfgdyhkBCagflLxDGG6M35D3KHeAGnmeMARbJ0GIH83LQrQeFj8N2MtVwORDEWT1EYzk/s400/Alex_Peter_Schepens.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Peter Schepens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So after the busiest season of racing ever for me, ready for a bit of rest and recuperation I cast my eye back to New Zealand and allowed myself to look forward to the sunshine and company of family and friends once more. I had seen that one of the biggest MTB races of the year in Wellington, <a href="http://www.karapoti.com/">the Karapoti Classic</a>, was adding a cyclocross bike category to its roster for March. It is a brutally steep and rocky course, and while I realised how unpleasant it may well be on a cross bike, I have done it on my mountain bike several times and figured after my time overseas I might as well continue on with my 'cross bike and give it a crack. If not a crack, then at least a few punctures that's for sure. So now that I've finally got around to writing this, the race is on tomorrow. I think there are only a few other individuals testing themselves in this way, so it will be interesting to see how we fare against our MTB counterparts.<br />
<br />
Whether it goes well or not, it feels like a nice finale to book-end my time racing cyclocross in Europe and dovetail into the coming cyclocross season in NZ, due to start in about June.<br />
<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-22777475114811755062013-01-12T13:30:00.001+01:002013-01-12T13:30:49.445+01:00A Day in the Life of a Minor CelebrityI had a day off on December 27th and spent it in Gent with Esther and some other
guests of the Chain Stay - Luke, Aaron and Mark - wandering the streets looking for trouble,
coffee, lingerie, art supplies and a movie theatre. After roaming for a
few hours picking up various people's desires we got tickets to see The
Hobbit, and while waiting for it to start we headed into the bar next
door.<br />
<br />
It's been a slow and unscientific progression of tasting
the beers on offer in this country, for me at least, due to the
combination of the sheer number and strength of the beers, and my
relatively weak fortitude. An 11% one I tried recently had me struggling
to stand steady, looking for a seat and almost nodding off after just
one sip. Despite the factors working in favour of a higher consumption -
the price of beer and wine here is unfathomably cheap in
comparison to New Zealand, especially for the quality - I have tended
not to indulge apart from on the odd occasion.<br />
<br />
After we'd
finished our drinks and were putting on our jackets about to go, I saw
the bartender glance at me. He gave me a look of recognition and
mouthed hello, or possibly hallo, then walked over to ask me if I was
going to be racing that coming weekend, and wished me luck. Suitably
surprised and entertained by being recognised in a city I've only
visited once before, we then went into the cinema to watch a drawn out
and unconvincing replica of LOTR. The main highlight for me was that it
had two sets of subtitles the whole way through - French and Dutch.
Although it took up about a third of the screen, it was a great chance
to practice my Dutch reading undisturbed for a few hours.<br />
<br />
We then
traipsed out into the night, seeking a source of sustenance. Finding
mainly only high-brow establishments we made our way down a few streets
until we came across a pub jam packed with people, most of whom were
sitting down with meals. We waited at the bar until a table became
available, watching as the barman almost singlehandedly ran the place.
There were two other waiting staff doing tables, but this guy was doing
all the drinks and coffee for both the restaurant and bar, answering the phone, taking
orders for food and cleaning glasses. He also did a good job of
defending me when an impatient dude, presumably of the opinion that I was
hogging it, tried to grab the menu out of my hands. He took it in turn
out of his hands, put it back in mine, and told the guy to go back to his seat. I saw a couple of
small bowls of peanuts come back from a cleared table, which he put
aside - presumably, I thought, for him to eat later or to throw out when
he got the chance. He washed a few more glasses, then with wet hands
stacked the bowls of nuts on top of one another. I really started to
wonder what was going to happen to them now, but had a sneaking suspicion of what he might be up to. Esther and I then watched as he
poured drinks for the impatient guy, following his movements with smug amusement as
he proceeded to wack down the half eaten, slightly damp peanuts in
front of him. The guy gobbled them down like they were delicious. It was
poetic justice before our very eyes.<br />
<br />
Once we had been seated and
were about to start eating, the waiter asked me if I was famous in New
Zealand as well. When I said no, he explained that there was a woman
from NZ at a table on the far side of the restaurant and he wanted to
know if she would know who he was talking about if he mentioned my name.
I replied that she would probably not have a clue, and we laughed at
the bizarre nature of being famous in a foreign country for something
that most people have never heard of back home.<br />
<br />
The Canadians, Aaron and Mark found it particularly amusing to be in my company and witness it. It's been quite useful sometimes, in particular for getting good parking spots at races. Generally the big professional teams arrive on site very early, sometimes even the night before. They take up a lot of space with their trucks and mobile homes, which tends to force the smaller contingents such as ours out along the access road, or at least to a second and more distant parking space. At the race in Leuven in December Aaron was driving us in, and when we were stopped by a parking volunteer it looked like we would be turned around and told to try elsewhere, as the car park was "full" (most of the time full means half-full, especially if you are neither part of a big team or an elite men competitor). Just as it seemed he was about to utter the bad news, I leaned forward and looked across from the passenger seat. The guy's eyes opened wide, he exclaimed brightly and pointed us in the direction of an area taped off for the Sunweb-Revor team, saying we could just park in their space.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBj1QXCyL-JNHWfNOJ65dEKWa3NkaPqeDlzf0RDUaNk03A6-dwbxayLx6hdLSqtUJMvFAcTqHkGUY0PX3TexU_OpZ6823qIg86CORjmVIR5IwEY8lC7K6yAuRX7iB0OmrB-Rfv9poQxhM/s1600/Alex_fan_Patrick_Staes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBj1QXCyL-JNHWfNOJ65dEKWa3NkaPqeDlzf0RDUaNk03A6-dwbxayLx6hdLSqtUJMvFAcTqHkGUY0PX3TexU_OpZ6823qIg86CORjmVIR5IwEY8lC7K6yAuRX7iB0OmrB-Rfv9poQxhM/s400/Alex_fan_Patrick_Staes.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I have got a little more used to people wanting to take photos of me at races, even though it often seems just to be a shot of me positioned awkwardly on my bike that they are looking for. Families with small children (typically covered in Sven Nys or Niels Albert merchandised clothing) come up and pose excitedly beside me, and wandering adults too linger near the van when I'm warming up looking for a cheeky snap. Most of the time people ask, but sometimes they just stand off and take a photo without saying anything which is a bit weird. I don't know if it's a language thing, but even so gesticulations and sign language tend to work pretty well if spoken communication is out of the question. I've met some great characters, and enjoyed as much as I can being recognised most of the places I go, so even if it all ends with the racing in a few weeks then I will look back happily upon the strangest time of my life as I slink back into the crowd.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvamB_C_xlXhqHwj3wW0RRTmjj694jzfjLBGTfWOzAH2uG7iM6LxFFwKfomzDFHIdgzsC4iNkQRouJ53Sn8tuRpd5BKQpZ2MsZx_zOefPYaNo70Q7jp8BSPsFZ7DrcONdG9O7Zx5hRbg/s1600/Alex_met_fan_Julie_Vanbelle.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWvamB_C_xlXhqHwj3wW0RRTmjj694jzfjLBGTfWOzAH2uG7iM6LxFFwKfomzDFHIdgzsC4iNkQRouJ53Sn8tuRpd5BKQpZ2MsZx_zOefPYaNo70Q7jp8BSPsFZ7DrcONdG9O7Zx5hRbg/s400/Alex_met_fan_Julie_Vanbelle.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Julie Vanbelle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-41515127933453676972013-01-08T12:25:00.000+01:002013-01-08T12:25:54.817+01:00Post-Christmas Daze: Part OneEvery year around Christmas the cyclocross season in Belgium reaches its peak, climaxing with a combination of World Cup and Category 1 races from the major series, and other category 2 races that aren't part of any series but want to squeeze in nonetheless and be a part of the action. Despite having ridden mountain bikes for a few years now, I've never had more than about 3 consecutive weekends of racing, even at the peak of the season. Certainly I've never had midweek races in addition to this, so my schedule of races looked to me like a lot. However it was only a selection of what was available to do and the top professionals race almost every other day during this fortnight.<br />
<br />
I've written about the first half of it in my blog on the <a href="http://spokemagazine.com/2013/01/04/murry-chrossmas/">Spoke magazine website</a> so I will leave the description of it there, but here I will include some more photos that didn't make it into that blog. I am very thankful to the many generous Belgian photographers who come along to all the races, take great photos and then share them with us riders. It's made my posts much more interesting to look at, and will be a great source of memories once the season has ended.<br />
<br />
Leuven Dec 16th:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sabfMVopWHFsr3oDUr36UOenY9d94YQs8r6fs16ZZq5l5QQQz9ix27Rx0UBVqER65BMq033EIT6fiIDGJDFMJ0WOq5XubpqmKDzXDTX9Utvdk1NWBj_bH64zmilV2GjSztKvqLZZGfc/s1600/Alex_Aaron_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4sabfMVopWHFsr3oDUr36UOenY9d94YQs8r6fs16ZZq5l5QQQz9ix27Rx0UBVqER65BMq033EIT6fiIDGJDFMJ0WOq5XubpqmKDzXDTX9Utvdk1NWBj_bH64zmilV2GjSztKvqLZZGfc/s400/Alex_Aaron_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Schooled by Canadian Aaron Schooler! Photo: Jozef Cooreman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZpdZ1XByIYx7zQ2_y10Lyz3SQCnTEbFhu0bNUMBML2t2yJQPc_z0wWbrK7RsEheOXGUVjrtWj0rZMI8a8SSICZtoH_vx_5wDjYCokoAoPt5grXh7NMCU84LUGkzsjldYniGoOOvu8IQ/s1600/Alex_Rita_Thienpondt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOZpdZ1XByIYx7zQ2_y10Lyz3SQCnTEbFhu0bNUMBML2t2yJQPc_z0wWbrK7RsEheOXGUVjrtWj0rZMI8a8SSICZtoH_vx_5wDjYCokoAoPt5grXh7NMCU84LUGkzsjldYniGoOOvu8IQ/s400/Alex_Rita_Thienpondt.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can't beat a fist punch. Photo: Rita Thienpondt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sint-Niklaas, Dec 19th:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99UMKX-E2Md0ZUkzJf4JaSBBgdifP6msu5Y1UI5pUcC1jqS1Ab0jTfqWcARBqMDH7G-THewojKzUMgxgBYV8sxbQWymZFs_t7FVRum1TEhOU1ZV5-XN60Toszs-F9GEJa2rIyOA-e-Rk/s1600/Alex_Geert_van_den_Bossche.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj99UMKX-E2Md0ZUkzJf4JaSBBgdifP6msu5Y1UI5pUcC1jqS1Ab0jTfqWcARBqMDH7G-THewojKzUMgxgBYV8sxbQWymZFs_t7FVRum1TEhOU1ZV5-XN60Toszs-F9GEJa2rIyOA-e-Rk/s400/Alex_Geert_van_den_Bossche.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Geert Van den Bossche</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQno9JCJL4BkL9x7Nt10L7uj6gJYBEO9OwiD-8DQ3d2TKKEhDDkiq16vfu-P6RJztmYwpZK3b8ifAArx1pPLTUF_jhUH8rBGPMFI6L2UwomKrRZg6EmsopGRkK8Lv9p7CidWPU9sByso/s1600/Lewis_Alex_Rita_Thienpondt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaQno9JCJL4BkL9x7Nt10L7uj6gJYBEO9OwiD-8DQ3d2TKKEhDDkiq16vfu-P6RJztmYwpZK3b8ifAArx1pPLTUF_jhUH8rBGPMFI6L2UwomKrRZg6EmsopGRkK8Lv9p7CidWPU9sByso/s400/Lewis_Alex_Rita_Thienpondt.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lewis Rattray sneaking away. Photo: Rita Thienpondt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthnywCp6MIaSBp7V5H5sFsiS_IwpA-3e3E1qNcl1qvJg0ikXFgGQATrtts16Fx9UNhoSONuUxFIzQiieKRfYf6FrQzlemEgUh_Kyrah-YSrh4J16XIvI0OC6eX3V7lQB6rdo41P14c4M/s1600/Alex_et_al_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjthnywCp6MIaSBp7V5H5sFsiS_IwpA-3e3E1qNcl1qvJg0ikXFgGQATrtts16Fx9UNhoSONuUxFIzQiieKRfYf6FrQzlemEgUh_Kyrah-YSrh4J16XIvI0OC6eX3V7lQB6rdo41P14c4M/s400/Alex_et_al_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Single file early on. Photo: Jozef Cooreman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Namur World Cup Dec 23rd:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin5n4TBKy_-74Rj3zgEEqjgKunWE3xAGWL0I_Qj7AWAyY44CeUtJi02Yc4dgcaMIAEMQcYlkUmo5Y8QDFcSyEv1ICFLOBgjZLHS0vQ2uZ4oj1tX3EU3Lk8LH3lD0XKxEA34DbPyazh-VE/s1600/Alex_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin5n4TBKy_-74Rj3zgEEqjgKunWE3xAGWL0I_Qj7AWAyY44CeUtJi02Yc4dgcaMIAEMQcYlkUmo5Y8QDFcSyEv1ICFLOBgjZLHS0vQ2uZ4oj1tX3EU3Lk8LH3lD0XKxEA34DbPyazh-VE/s400/Alex_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" width="263" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Jozef Cooreman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtGqp7RBSP7tB1q6C0UYJfzXu4HA6bFQr9fltHUae9xNQbJ0t6iv_T6T30YOt2qrSDFqcNbfQW3lnRacWKaZWrosTEfnUO_VWuSmDoYXMwyKKGJWz2b9CsiBMJpGUaZ066m8uSQsrF24/s1600/Alex_2_Dirk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAtGqp7RBSP7tB1q6C0UYJfzXu4HA6bFQr9fltHUae9xNQbJ0t6iv_T6T30YOt2qrSDFqcNbfQW3lnRacWKaZWrosTEfnUO_VWuSmDoYXMwyKKGJWz2b9CsiBMJpGUaZ066m8uSQsrF24/s400/Alex_2_Dirk.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There were greasy corners a-plenty. Photo: Dirk Bruylant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0poBoPEo0Ri21QRZfG4GmgSqePvNIweUc4QX-gf_OX1Le7Z-oowjbeuZEPoCi-SnGSvhI1UoPxnlp7yXL6vK3Rmz-QbZ9RzNQtmOjtjheiE-2KK7BJpikBFQE-bge088S6aNB5ClN1z4/s1600/Aaron_Mark_Alex_Ludo_Nagels.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0poBoPEo0Ri21QRZfG4GmgSqePvNIweUc4QX-gf_OX1Le7Z-oowjbeuZEPoCi-SnGSvhI1UoPxnlp7yXL6vK3Rmz-QbZ9RzNQtmOjtjheiE-2KK7BJpikBFQE-bge088S6aNB5ClN1z4/s400/Aaron_Mark_Alex_Ludo_Nagels.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Canadian bro's Aaron and Mark. Photo: Ludo Nagels</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUxRZwDM6m8N-xyM0ZyXdBzVNmdnsa2QlKTa-750H9yvtrhGSYrjlexbfIrsgxfnEOEKMbxajTuLwoj7jgaTov08HvHywEhKG9t9nylHoMQbDVw0qf4bwVSn1dHdpTXXHTOiiAhQasRvs/s1600/Alex_abouttoblock_Kevin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUxRZwDM6m8N-xyM0ZyXdBzVNmdnsa2QlKTa-750H9yvtrhGSYrjlexbfIrsgxfnEOEKMbxajTuLwoj7jgaTov08HvHywEhKG9t9nylHoMQbDVw0qf4bwVSn1dHdpTXXHTOiiAhQasRvs/s400/Alex_abouttoblock_Kevin.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I got some good airtime on TV when I blocked the world's view of Pauwels leading!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-MnLBBONujWhWRKj957QYyR_nwgNBCLYiiCHBUq7XNvt2O8iUQwUptOH5Zwchf6b55r3dPxgRcHxeS2S-PGsz1zqMZlczCFCw7xuaQczCFHZaswJRbF3l5z1DIJ-e9gRpXhVnj89bR_U/s1600/Alex_blocks_Kevin.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-MnLBBONujWhWRKj957QYyR_nwgNBCLYiiCHBUq7XNvt2O8iUQwUptOH5Zwchf6b55r3dPxgRcHxeS2S-PGsz1zqMZlczCFCw7xuaQczCFHZaswJRbF3l5z1DIJ-e9gRpXhVnj89bR_U/s400/Alex_blocks_Kevin.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYyj3I2EksMifriVxIAeDksbyt4Mqhlpxm5FUBwhdnoB5HMYck8zE3mQHOR09_cYnjJ9bQJMselezEn7dmHWW4Ak3AT09tsOXPUnHEtAGKwD45ORS2mDRW4yjCaMobs1jCPXqbKHpJ0Q/s1600/Startline_John_de_Jong.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYyj3I2EksMifriVxIAeDksbyt4Mqhlpxm5FUBwhdnoB5HMYck8zE3mQHOR09_cYnjJ9bQJMselezEn7dmHWW4Ak3AT09tsOXPUnHEtAGKwD45ORS2mDRW4yjCaMobs1jCPXqbKHpJ0Q/s400/Startline_John_de_Jong.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Biggest World Cup field so far, over 60 starters. Photo: John de Jong</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Heusden-Zolder World Cup Dec 26th:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5RF9innV6ojeAjdBiuP0erh1o-4YbKv8T1U_vW3-u0eSTTrdAYoqrQCoekAbNO_JjFzZbal9ZwzFQQmbA3YcWgTiCyI5fsv-LX8bITPxeozDEd_iOVvPGT4OGLK5VMpbr2av_2RzufE/s1600/Alex_1_Tom-Prenen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl5RF9innV6ojeAjdBiuP0erh1o-4YbKv8T1U_vW3-u0eSTTrdAYoqrQCoekAbNO_JjFzZbal9ZwzFQQmbA3YcWgTiCyI5fsv-LX8bITPxeozDEd_iOVvPGT4OGLK5VMpbr2av_2RzufE/s400/Alex_1_Tom-Prenen.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rubbish begins to cover course. Photo: Tom Prenen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWaAMQkRWuhZiWHjP9U_v4LJUFhCNt2q3FQeZbXpeDm68gE888Ol9uVpFoTQQI6ZI8Ki5MNqs5FRXA4WOE9qxJ_sfsEsJD-OncyaCPy-Gj2J2QBqheNoUDAPIWOYXMB2xemgdeRpVfQs/s1600/Alex_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAWaAMQkRWuhZiWHjP9U_v4LJUFhCNt2q3FQeZbXpeDm68gE888Ol9uVpFoTQQI6ZI8Ki5MNqs5FRXA4WOE9qxJ_sfsEsJD-OncyaCPy-Gj2J2QBqheNoUDAPIWOYXMB2xemgdeRpVfQs/s400/Alex_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One lap down, feeling good. Photo: Jozef Cooreman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsWh8mqUFtscf4IhuN07obxP93FC3XdBBe6j7gESUxrapRtE24JuAQ0SWWKw8uw2zYld-B_KwciyTAbfCgSSxUwOodMabBDXdcSCA8wNVJkAA_XOeisJ7eH0JEa1B8nHEairPJwKiVkw/s1600/Alex_1_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsWh8mqUFtscf4IhuN07obxP93FC3XdBBe6j7gESUxrapRtE24JuAQ0SWWKw8uw2zYld-B_KwciyTAbfCgSSxUwOodMabBDXdcSCA8wNVJkAA_XOeisJ7eH0JEa1B8nHEairPJwKiVkw/s400/Alex_1_Jozef_Cooreman.JPG" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two laps down, bad crash, not feeling good. Photo: Jozef Cooreman</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaMIYr8VI1ci_6cXM8jj9m2ThDdWG8WxNAY_V36LnSiWrU1KfIWI1xqyghYhG-M-wipVTCEldaKJN0EyivZoUzOgUTLPMFs5NaaDd1Id5RH7LzKNjUJ0Acy-QwaiiiVNw7_Um1y3I1TE/s1600/Alex_Tom_Prenen.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidaMIYr8VI1ci_6cXM8jj9m2ThDdWG8WxNAY_V36LnSiWrU1KfIWI1xqyghYhG-M-wipVTCEldaKJN0EyivZoUzOgUTLPMFs5NaaDd1Id5RH7LzKNjUJ0Acy-QwaiiiVNw7_Um1y3I1TE/s400/Alex_Tom_Prenen.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Tom Prenen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'll put out a second part in a few days once I've come up with the words, and made my way through a ton of leftover Christmas chocolate.<br />
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<br />
<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-20140969171678043152012-11-30T16:28:00.000+01:002012-11-30T16:28:58.382+01:00Koksijde and the Road to RoubaixWith my first World Cup at Koksijde now done, dusted and sanded off, it's time to start looking a bit further ahead. For a race report from the day, have a look at my post on the <a href="http://spokemagazine.com/2012/11/28/mud-sand-and-gears/">Spoke magazine blog</a>. In summary, it was a great course and awesome to be part of. There's so much sand that it's very difficult to ride it all, but that didn't stop me from appreciating the unique nature of the parcours. Well, maybe for the 40 minutes or so that I was in the race.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlaZThhavRLoZxytgLii09ap9bQYEaK2MK6p-conP6Yj-83_OmHYlrLYEWrzhanAiJ4d0qX-On52Edd5W5H28DMTWp9xh2aHU7IdKsr73wbC3MjCzSsYn5LMN34Kj9GQOQl3uIxNzxJ8/s1600/Alex_Luc_van_der_Meiren.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrlaZThhavRLoZxytgLii09ap9bQYEaK2MK6p-conP6Yj-83_OmHYlrLYEWrzhanAiJ4d0qX-On52Edd5W5H28DMTWp9xh2aHU7IdKsr73wbC3MjCzSsYn5LMN34Kj9GQOQl3uIxNzxJ8/s400/Alex_Luc_van_der_Meiren.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was running a lot. Photo: Luc van der Meiren</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I have had a massive influx of donations recently on my <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/1bp2t0">Gofundme site</a>, thank you to everyone for the support! I'm not sure how much of it was race-related or just general kindness, after I got through 4 laps at Koksijde. Although I didn't reach my goal of finishing, I did make it into the top 50 - placing 47th. For those interested, my idea was for people to pledge something per lap that I can complete at the World Cup races. On Sunday December 2nd I will be racing at Roubaix, France. This is typically a very muddy course, so usually quite a change from sandy Koksijde - but last week's rain blurred the edges a bit, and meant that when there wasn't sand there was mud. I expect there will be a similar number of laps in Roubaix if the weather remains wet, so probably either 8 or 9. I will of course be aiming to finish the race, and once again try to gain a top-50 placing.<br />
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For some example viewing of what to expect Roubaix to be like, below is a Youtube video of the 2010 World Cup. <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-A3IkRQE8aE?feature=player_detailpage" width="640"></iframe><br />
<br />
I'm having a weekend off racing next week, and taking the opportunity to visit family in London and Paris. When I get back to Belgium it will be a week and a half until the infamous Christmas 'Cross period - in which there are races more or less every other day for a fortnight. I'm yet to entirely work out which ones I'll do, but will decide before I go away. There are two World Cups - Namur on Dec 23 and Heusden-Zolder on Dec 26 - so I will work around those.<br />
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In the meantime keep your eyes peeled for mud-spattered riders in Roubaix, and I'll do my best to remain visible for as long as I can!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHJ16s9nxAFPTY6KTTBDcv4CR-EYZ6Nmi_R0cHzZRF2SX1UrHdv0IgQSL2kBa7o8jzP-tke29OFkuL9x96J4uWWCCcMcYiVuPyvABx6kGytoBGuF_kWizL6KhPZjnuK77ZwecS_w9Qtw/s1600/Alex_1_Zelck.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHJ16s9nxAFPTY6KTTBDcv4CR-EYZ6Nmi_R0cHzZRF2SX1UrHdv0IgQSL2kBa7o8jzP-tke29OFkuL9x96J4uWWCCcMcYiVuPyvABx6kGytoBGuF_kWizL6KhPZjnuK77ZwecS_w9Qtw/s400/Alex_1_Zelck.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Los Pedalos fan club sandwich. Photo: Danny Zelck</td></tr>
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<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-39595362177547732212012-11-20T17:34:00.000+01:002012-11-20T17:34:17.890+01:00World Cup TimeAs I've mentioned quite a few times over the course of recent months a big part of my trip to race cyclocross here in Belgium was to take part in as many of the World Cups as possible. I used to always get confused by the difference between the World Cup and the World Champs, so just to clarify for newcomers to the sport the World Cup is a series of races throughout the season. There are 8 in total this year, two of which I didn't do in the Czech Republic have already been. The next is Koksijde, Belgium this coming Saturday followed a week later by Roubaix, France on Dec 2nd. There are two more late in December, Namur and Heusden-Zolder both here in Belgium, then I will skip Rome in early January and enter the final one in Hoogerheide, Netherlands on January 20th. The overall winner of the World Cup series gets lots of money and fame but generally the world title is more sought after. The first weekend of February is when the World Championships is on in Louisville, Kentucky, USA. This is a one-off competition to decide who is the world champion, and thus who wears the coveted rainbow stripes on their jersey. I am going to be there to contest the title, representing New Zealand. Faced with the international airfares, comprehensive racing and travel insurance and ongoing costs associated with travel to and from races, not to mention worn out equipment and other material, I need a fair bit of help to do this.<br />
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<div id="gfmwidget4991">
<a href="http://www.gofundme.com/">Crowdfunding</a></div>
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A month or so ago I set up a <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/1bp2t0">paypal-based gofundme.com site</a> where people could donate towards helping me realise this dream trip of racing cyclocross in Belgium and going to the World Championships. I have to thank the many people who have already generously supported me so far, from friends and family to complete strangers. I still have a fair bit to raise to continue, so I wish to propose another, more interactive way in which to earn this support.<br />
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Being from New Zealand, I grew up with bikes as a small part of my life. While they have always been present and I have always enjoyed a bit of mountain biking and touring with friends, I have only been racing competitively since the age of 23. Here in Belgium, racing often begins at the age of 12 so some of my competitors have 15-20 years' racing experience over me! The cyclocross scene in Belgium is like nowhere else in the world, so while it really is the best place to come to learn from the best and therefore gain rapid experience, it is incredibly difficult and I find myself struggling while others make it look easy. I aim to get as close to finishing each race as possible, but as riders are automatically pulled from the course if they fall behind the leader by more than 80% of the leader's first lap time, this is a most tricky business. If a typical race has 6 minute laps, and thus 10 laps over the course of the hour of racing, I can only lose up to 4 minutes and 30 seconds before it's over. That leaves a maximum loss of 27 seconds per lap in order to stay in it, but sometimes I lose a whole minute in one lap! Considering I'm facing the best in the world, it's a tough ask.<br />
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My proposal is that while I am racing in these World Cups, I ask people to pledge a certain amount per lap that I complete, to donate towards my campaign. Some of the courses will have shorter laps and therefore more of them, others longer and fewer. But overall the average seems to be between 8 - 10 laps per race, depending on conditions and terrain. Pledges could take the form of a one-off amount per lap for all five World Cups, or individually by race. There are typically between about 70-90 riders in a race, and my goals are to stay in the race as long as possible (preferably right to the last lap!) and to reach the top-50.<br />
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So if you think you are able to donate, please have a think about how you might like to do it. You could choose to let me know what your method will be, to motivate me. Or alternatively not disclose it and make it a surprise. I will post on this blog before each race and describe the course to the best of my ability, what to expect and what I hope to achieve if it differs from my aforementioned goals. I have been overwhelmed with the support I have received so far - whether it be financial, vocal from the sidelines or simply friendly messages with encouraging words, it all helps and keeps me even more motivated to continue to push myself and gain as much experience and improve as much as I possibly can during my time here.<br />
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On another note, my team <a href="http://lospedaloscyclingteam.blogspot.be/">Los Pedalos</a> have made a whole bunch of merchandise which they will be selling at races on my behalf, with proceeds going towards my campaign. They have had cycling caps, beanies, T-shirts and jackets custom made with a special moustachioed theme. They are a lovely bunch of people, and have really taken it upon themselves to help me as much as possible, for which I am extremely grateful. So for the Belgian fans and supporters out there, please look out for the team truck at races. For those of you in New Zealand, I will soon be sending a package to Revolution Bicycles in Wellington for further national distribution. For those around the world, it may be tricky! I'll bring some to the World Champs in February, so if not for a moustache then come along for what I'm sure will be an amazing weekend of races and festivities.<br />
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I'll add below some of the videos that have surfaced from the various interviews I've had in the Belgian media since my arrival. For further post-race debriefings and other intriguing observations from my travails please check my blog <i>The Cyclo X Files</i> on the <a href="http://spokemagazine.com/category/exclusives/the-cyclo-x-files/">Spoke magazine</a> website. Thanks again for all the support so far, and I look forward to doing you proud!<br />
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<a href="http://www.sporza.be/permalink/1.1472376"><i>Iedereen Beroemd</i> - segment from Belgian TV programme <i>Everybody Famous</i></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.sporza.be/cm/sporza/wielrennen/veldrijden/121015_repo_Alexander_Revell">Sporza.be Reportage at Ronse round of the bpost Bank Trofee</a>Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-88248012928803509302012-11-15T14:06:00.000+01:002012-11-15T14:06:01.365+01:00Tribute to EnghienMy first port of call when I had just arrived here in Belgium was the town of Enghien (in English and French, and Edingen as it is known in Flemish). Hosted by the great Koole family, who have always put the family in family friends, it was in all regards with a warm and enticing welcome that I was met. From the family lunches in the sun, with clear skies and 30ºC+ temperatures, to the myriad of small country roads and treelined lanes down which to ride my bike, the first couple of months were most definitely a welcome relief from the drizzle and grizzle of a wintry Wellington.<br />
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I'm a big fan of cats, in particular cats in unusual or unexpected surroundings. I couldn't resist taking photographic evidence of some (or all) of these chaps and chappettes, so please have patience while I briefly indulge my passion for the local talent. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbZKYLRceEqgo7MAeh1LFSscnfSrVpFkVjCjtazZG_sb1sM01-1yYDFpP5MJ6-wGXLQGNFGzraayHRwROR7JgmUIoaJkBxlv0WatLC2GJMRsT-cWvgxmK7v7FuFGKsCAnT4Jfg7b34GE/s1600/2012-09-10+10.52.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbZKYLRceEqgo7MAeh1LFSscnfSrVpFkVjCjtazZG_sb1sM01-1yYDFpP5MJ6-wGXLQGNFGzraayHRwROR7JgmUIoaJkBxlv0WatLC2GJMRsT-cWvgxmK7v7FuFGKsCAnT4Jfg7b34GE/s400/2012-09-10+10.52.47.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alcoholism, particularly binge drinking, is a real problem with the local cats in this part of town</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stealthy and sneaky, the jungle cat prowls the corn fields.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwP6YlW5zoVQg-bDFZlPthGItSFo_jXfs2H3CY7CscAd74nuL7BlLALqjH-4LfstpxMPJeFUvLlKynYYid2psIFV4zaDPuYya0PW8bpUMpJOidG8btsiMTSZpsSLOiev9rs2JLhnZfmwU/s1600/2012-08-23+11.49.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwP6YlW5zoVQg-bDFZlPthGItSFo_jXfs2H3CY7CscAd74nuL7BlLALqjH-4LfstpxMPJeFUvLlKynYYid2psIFV4zaDPuYya0PW8bpUMpJOidG8btsiMTSZpsSLOiev9rs2JLhnZfmwU/s400/2012-08-23+11.49.41.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cold steely gaze of eyes that have known nothing but years of incarceration</td></tr>
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As I started to explore more widely around the area I encountered a vast array of historic places, ancient cobbled roads and a ménagerie of animals that seem to be commonplace here on people's property, but would rarely be seen in such a context in New Zealand. Let me guide you on a typical ride through the countryside of my Belgian initiation, replete with all my favourite local man-made and animal quirks, along with plenty of other curious inexplicables.<br />
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I caught this guy staggering around drunkenly, disoriented and clearly lost.<br />
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One of my more regular sections of road for training took in a beautiful, quiet tree-lined boulevarde near Bierghes, between Enghien and Rebecq. Judging by the size and architectural nuances of the housing constructions it was obviously where many well-to-do's choose to live. There's nothing like living in the forest, at one with nature. That is, only once you've cleared the section of hundreds of mature 30m high trees, planted grass, and erected some of the most industrial-looking metallic walls known to man.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9web_glY0hJZ1NY6qWG1OnRK-oljkhgB8JFzaFgn1wRtYXKbROeomRElIPYCORhtzrYfVG7AGZi8SII5v4pPZCtHT-Zga1MZlZUdI9zQ6LrdP9DPv_1QBTAGzSbVzdQy_Fj-N193zXL4/s1600/2012-09-14+13.50.23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9web_glY0hJZ1NY6qWG1OnRK-oljkhgB8JFzaFgn1wRtYXKbROeomRElIPYCORhtzrYfVG7AGZi8SII5v4pPZCtHT-Zga1MZlZUdI9zQ6LrdP9DPv_1QBTAGzSbVzdQy_Fj-N193zXL4/s400/2012-09-14+13.50.23.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">There's actually a Zebra in there by the door, with a baby. Of course.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The typical Belgian horse. Although it could well be a Trojan horse...</td></tr>
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Cycling in Belgium enjoys a status similar to that of car usage on the road. It is an everyday activity for many people, especially elderly ladies who you see loading up their panniers with groceries every time you head to the local supermarket. There are often many options for navigating via cycle paths, small roads between main ones, as well as recreational routes through scenic landscapes. Sometimes I didn't feel like wearing a helmet, and would take the opportunity to feel the wind through my hair unimpeded, savouring the sense of freedom that it inspires.<br />
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It's often quite surprising to find out exactly what some of the sponsors of professional teams actually do. Some make jeans, watches, or GPS units, others are car rental companies and many are banks. This one was a revelation, and I found it while ripping out the old 19th century flooring of the house of my friend's relative. This was to be the replacement! <br />
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I always find it interesting to read the graffiti in foreign languages, occasionally being able to make sense of what I see. However it seems tagging in English is the cool way to do it. As always with a second language mistakes are inevitable, and an essential part of the learning process. They also make for good comic moments when on display in public:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">better luck next time</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dangerous intersection - not one staked out by pirates with a map showing hidden treasure.</td></tr>
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Not being one to ever let the opportunity for a predictable joke pass by unsaid, this was too good to refuse.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikbXwdtx8ZNNN-tdfnQQyV852E7K1OGpuDdW1q2KBxnkDvThyQ_tAdyY9F_cZ7krCcQ_u2iIDlENzu12VJ_JoX8eL-47UZ63OC-qICHiq9OiQBWceciwh0V1L2QYe8jlXg_Yn8Utj0vt8/s1600/2012-09-13+14.20.17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikbXwdtx8ZNNN-tdfnQQyV852E7K1OGpuDdW1q2KBxnkDvThyQ_tAdyY9F_cZ7krCcQ_u2iIDlENzu12VJ_JoX8eL-47UZ63OC-qICHiq9OiQBWceciwh0V1L2QYe8jlXg_Yn8Utj0vt8/s400/2012-09-13+14.20.17.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You are so silly!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9smSmJ44Pcw6f0GQ3wRPmGmIX20yNGoHGOM2Sl2dLt_Ox1UPB5gP4vFavnUbouIxeY9wamK9MTeMNYcZCTd0ZJQJzkBu2zvcKDsZUZ27gbeu4BngPIRWMWc4JqhY7axVt-dXHv-Bki8/s1600/2012-09-13+14.20.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9smSmJ44Pcw6f0GQ3wRPmGmIX20yNGoHGOM2Sl2dLt_Ox1UPB5gP4vFavnUbouIxeY9wamK9MTeMNYcZCTd0ZJQJzkBu2zvcKDsZUZ27gbeu4BngPIRWMWc4JqhY7axVt-dXHv-Bki8/s400/2012-09-13+14.20.47.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Come on now, don't be silly.</td></tr>
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If ever I was riding past the main motorway to Brussels at about 2pm I would witness the passing of the French TGV, the high speed train from Paris. In some ways it was impossible to miss, due to the volume of the noise it creates rushing through the air. But on the other hand, if you didn't look up at the right moment it's actually quite easy to miss because it just passes through so quickly. Add to this the occasional fly-over courtesy of the local Belgian Air Force jet flighters, and humans' ability to make very fast machines that make lots of noise and are very expensive to run was most explicitly displayed. Only for very brief moments however. Then, like the children playing on the church organ after mass getting overly enthusiastic and physical with the instrument, the dusty velvet would once again be draped over the keys, and hushed tones would issue forth about it being time to move on.<br />
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My favourite aspect of a regular ride I did had to be a road sign by the motorway offramp near Rebecq. Well, it was actually three road signs. And each actually had about 10-15 smaller signs on it. I marvelled at how much new information I was able to garner at each passing, yet never really having the time to take in anything that I saw in the time I had. I could just imagine people in their cars leaving the motorway, only to find themselves confronted by this scene. The frantic darting of their eyes as they try and take everything in, hurriedly looking for their destination while the pressure of being at an intersection and having cars queued behind them fuels their growing unease. There is so much there that apparently must be pointed out immediately, from a piano shop to a removal company, even an abandonned velodrome. And that's only the first sign. They almost need to have a cafe alongside, so you can take your time to find the place you are looking for, maybe have a coffee while doing so. But then they would most likely be closed when you visited, as it would probably be lunchtime. Or it would be a Sunday, when everything is closed. Or a Monday, which is sort of like another Sunday. If indeed it was a day that they were open, by the time you'd finished reading the sign and worked out which way to go, they probably would have long since closed for the day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_pBsDx44ajXmHDqKv14xF-eNhqB9oSWizJcdpS0eiDZiOLjOsPblHcRk4WlPxEZCqZr4pKPIvVc8_UvSLXTieY3_C70a3fi8zjGJak-4-MOEMZ3NGYijDuUSNN9-aBdlJ0P9JSidw_w/s1600/Crazy_Signs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_pBsDx44ajXmHDqKv14xF-eNhqB9oSWizJcdpS0eiDZiOLjOsPblHcRk4WlPxEZCqZr4pKPIvVc8_UvSLXTieY3_C70a3fi8zjGJak-4-MOEMZ3NGYijDuUSNN9-aBdlJ0P9JSidw_w/s400/Crazy_Signs.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5xla_1z2z9vWCOaC7_IHlhppmkRicdu5DIfZlkqhk_I97WbYU6e5A3MfdEcdYEsE727KhGj5Ie-P-mMIlDN6VYGD6reXxu3SDIQU0KhH4tKxAnDOoGuFwumUiqQMaE4zpVFSZ7oG7uU/s1600/Sapins_Noel.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5xla_1z2z9vWCOaC7_IHlhppmkRicdu5DIfZlkqhk_I97WbYU6e5A3MfdEcdYEsE727KhGj5Ie-P-mMIlDN6VYGD6reXxu3SDIQU0KhH4tKxAnDOoGuFwumUiqQMaE4zpVFSZ7oG7uU/s400/Sapins_Noel.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas trees already in September? Looks a bit like a permanent sign...</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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I had one puncture in all my rides through August and September. Despite potentially having clocked up a few thousand kilometres, among which many were over cobbles, my tyres held up extraordinarily well over some very rough terrain. The one time they couldn't quite handle what was thrown at them, it was fairly evident why. I have had a more impressive object go through my tyre before, but that was passing through an industrial part of town as a cycle courier in Wellington years ago. This nail was a good 4-5cm long, and on a fairly innocuous stretch of cycle path just outside of Enghien. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAf-15UV9FfEswBG6ssNpiHU30fBuSU8ILjw87n_ksfaCh60iXTz9DghN-h6YrkNeAOTTub-7SUgDt8_y2YIBmPD1d_sgfvmltbR-hPLDJ4U1Nt94mbtjelbCIJqazrVQwVly4REH1xg/s1600/2012-09-13+14.32.49.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAf-15UV9FfEswBG6ssNpiHU30fBuSU8ILjw87n_ksfaCh60iXTz9DghN-h6YrkNeAOTTub-7SUgDt8_y2YIBmPD1d_sgfvmltbR-hPLDJ4U1Nt94mbtjelbCIJqazrVQwVly4REH1xg/s400/2012-09-13+14.32.49.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It reminded me a bit of this guy, from the Kiwi Brevet back in February, at Castle Hill heading towards Arthur's Pass. Both prickly characters, in their own way:<br />
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Lastly, where would we be without thousands of small breweries scattered all over the countryside? Not Belgium, that's for sure. I have found a few in my travels, the wares of which I have even managed to taste on a small scale. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmMSROkkluAaUhNSnPFjHzrMoW0MJVz4Ey3e82REUVCwpzPAsF8iUCsXvxoFxTl4nhwQA5gxYZsj2nLtedWZpiXMniE4v8RmJAB5wJWEKb3m41KHo9oH-hUCTwOBnPRuG1H6nShn0Nvo/s1600/2012-08-31+12.02.33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmMSROkkluAaUhNSnPFjHzrMoW0MJVz4Ey3e82REUVCwpzPAsF8iUCsXvxoFxTl4nhwQA5gxYZsj2nLtedWZpiXMniE4v8RmJAB5wJWEKb3m41KHo9oH-hUCTwOBnPRuG1H6nShn0Nvo/s400/2012-08-31+12.02.33.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brasserie Lefebvre in Quenast</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGQ3e94PQzX1BhtaE-FzEUbszchDAJOFmTTpMlFfKmzbnVILGRAi0tYxSqVtkxJolcaPUJ6FK95YM9bHplHK2cECBv7mPci2t5ZZFelqxP5XLBoa51notvHtG5QYhRkDZQzBex1tdmx4/s1600/2012-08-27+11.32.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGQ3e94PQzX1BhtaE-FzEUbszchDAJOFmTTpMlFfKmzbnVILGRAi0tYxSqVtkxJolcaPUJ6FK95YM9bHplHK2cECBv7mPci2t5ZZFelqxP5XLBoa51notvHtG5QYhRkDZQzBex1tdmx4/s400/2012-08-27+11.32.48.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brouwerij Roman, near Brakel.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brouwerij Den Herberg, Buizingen.</td></tr>
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I have since moved to the town of Oudenaarde, in the heart of Flanders. Close to much of the cyclocross races, the only hills in Flanders and a long flat stretch of calm canal road, it is ideally situated for the life of a cyclist. Like everywhere in Belgium, there seems to be roadworks taking place on every other street. But it's a nice place and I am happy to be here.<br />
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<span id="goog_1186452370"></span><span id="goog_1186452371"></span><br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-78435226713475898022012-10-16T22:38:00.001+02:002012-10-16T22:38:39.878+02:00Fast Times At Belgium HighIt's been much longer than I intended since my last post, and time has flown by faster than the professionals I have been racing against. The last weekend of September I had my first double header racing amongst them. Saturday was the first of the Soudal Classics in Neerpelt, and a UCI category 2 race. This means the all-important points, which determine the riders' start positions in all races, are up for grabs. For the top 15, that is.<br />
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After almost three hours of driving for the first time in Europe, for the first time in the left of a car and for the first time on the right hand side of the road, following for the first time an in-car navigation system as best I could, I made it only slightly panicked and frazzled to the course in the far north-east of Belgium, parking up alongside the team trucks of BKCP-Powerplus - sponsor of current world champion Niels Albert. I just squeezed in between a couple of trees on a patch of grass, happily just out of view of the hoards of passing celebrity cyclocross-spotters. Due to the late start of my race at 5pm, I had plenty of time to look around and check out the course both on foot while other races were on, and then on my bike when there was free time.<br />
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It was a very sandy base, with an actual sandpit at one point which we went through twice per lap. I've never ridden much in sand, and it showed. I'd try and get up as much momentum as possible before entering it, then abruptly come to a halt not long after. This is definitely something to work on over the coming months, as one of the World Cup races is at a place called Koksijde, and it is essentially just a race over a whole bunch of sand dunes.<br />
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When I was scouting around the course I was recognised by a man with his family. He asked me if I was racing, and when I confirmed that indeed I was, we started to chat about why I'm here and how it's all going. His name was Andy and he gave me his email address, and later sent through a bunch of photos that his wife had taken of me.
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Crucially though, we became Facebook friends. I didn't realise it at the time, but this was the initial trickle of a series of events that would turn into a veritable raging torrent and be by far the most surreal and unexpected experience of my life. At the startline I was approached by a journalist who had seen I was from New Zealand, and wanted to write a story about me. I had photos taken of me, and generally felt like a bit of a star, especially rubbing shoulders as I was with the big hitters of the cyclocross scene.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nQaiTcfgLrQ2lQe0KUMe8cgFehxVRMmWHjd3jUjrMf7K2P6AVonpBAcdeT6tmavNyOOHZ_tGSVXjyscEG0SkesSQCCVSniqAIGPXqSwAoB-ly8X3tkd4rZywO3EzpdlxiTM4yvB8g5A/s1600/Alex+BvL.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8nQaiTcfgLrQ2lQe0KUMe8cgFehxVRMmWHjd3jUjrMf7K2P6AVonpBAcdeT6tmavNyOOHZ_tGSVXjyscEG0SkesSQCCVSniqAIGPXqSwAoB-ly8X3tkd4rZywO3EzpdlxiTM4yvB8g5A/s400/Alex+BvL.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Het Belang van Limburg</td></tr>
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The race I had wasn't one to write home about, I felt out of my depth and struggled with the course's sandy features - let alone everyone else in the race disappearing off ahead very early on. I think I got through only about 3 or 4 laps before being pulled off the course, lungs heaving and my morale sifting lazily through the sandy ground beneath me.<br />
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I set about heading back home - my new home in Oudenaarde, which is situated in the province of East-Flanders. It was just before sunset, and the sunstrike was the most intense I've ever experienced. Heading almost directly west was no fun at all, and combined with feeling blown to pieces from the race, discombobulated from the car's controls being backwards and driving on the right, I couldn't really see anything. Cars were overtaking me on a stretch of road with the sun directly at eye level, as I couldn't see what the speed indications on the side of the road were saying. I didn't know whether it was a 50km, 70km or 90km per hour zone, so I chose not to drive over about 55. I quickly got tired of this retina-burning exercise, and pulled over to buy a falafel and have a rest. Employing my slowly-improving Dutch I managed to order what I wanted, but when it came time for the sauces I had a bit of trouble. I understood that "pikant" was spicy, so I got that, but none of the other names registered anything familiar. I asked for the owner's recommendation, and so I had some "cocktail" with it. It was gigantic, delicious, full of a funny tasting mayonnaise and had about 10 medium-sized whole green chilies on the side. I bit into one, and finding it suitably "pikant" set about putting the rest of them onto my possibly-but-probably-never-having-later-on napkin.<br />
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It didn't take long for the sun to set, and I got on my way again. I took wrong turns several times on the massive motorway exchanges around Brussels and Antwerp, backtracking frustratingly and confusingly each time, watching the GPS clock as it showed the estimated arrival time getting later and later. I did eventually get home at about 10, so after washing my bike in preparation for the following day's race in Kalmthout, I had a chat with the others staying here at the <a href="http://www.thechainstay.com/">Chain Stay</a>, finding encouragement where previously I had been feeling pretty down. I went to bed determined to use this day as a lesson in what it's going to be like here. Always physically challenging, and therefore also mentally very difficult, but as I've mentioned previously, this is all part of what you need to be able to handle to do this here, so I just have to work out how to cope.<br />
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I woke up the following day feeling much better, and excited once again about racing in this huge events. I wasn't alone at this race, as Luke Gray - fellow resident of the house and former British U23 cyclocross champion - was also competing, albeit in the separate U23 category a couple of hours earlier in the day.<br />
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It was a nice winding flat course through a grassy forest, with an overpass construction and only a small couple of patches of sand. There were several sections of steps, some quite close together, but overall it looked like a fast and not too demanding loop. The organisers had started to notice the presence of a New Zealander in their midst, and made a special mention of this as I was called up - last, of course - to the start line.<br />
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I had a good start, keeping up with the back of the race train for about half of the first lap. I then had a slip up on a corner, and they disappeared off ahead. I rode as hard as I could, desperately trying to get back into the race, but it didn't happen. So after about 3 laps of racing by myself, I knuckled down in preparation for what would probably be my final lap. But the next time around I was shown the sign saying 5 laps remaining, so I figured I had just slipped through and might as well ride this one like it was my last. So I did, and again, as I rounded the corner into the finish straight I saw that I now had 4 laps remaining. I had just ridden as hard as possible to stay in this for another lap, and now I still had other laps to ride!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEn66viTC839gtDQu_vBHJYRXpd_6KXryGYGcq_qtnuhqJJRzU4xp3THIDVODZGOTUJMxKsIL5YM1H3H7a7xVuvy8v7O1Q3qbnUq9U3REn99kUCXactEhEBSYlahmWcFFVkqOp7GOEH7w/s1600/Alex_Nagels_4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEn66viTC839gtDQu_vBHJYRXpd_6KXryGYGcq_qtnuhqJJRzU4xp3THIDVODZGOTUJMxKsIL5YM1H3H7a7xVuvy8v7O1Q3qbnUq9U3REn99kUCXactEhEBSYlahmWcFFVkqOp7GOEH7w/s400/Alex_Nagels_4.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Ludo Nagels</td></tr>
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So I forced myself to push at my limit for another lap, and again I approached the finish straight assuming I would be taken off. It was at about this time that someone texted the commentator (who knows how they got his number!) and asked if the New Zealander was still in the race. He replied that yes indeed, the Nieuw Zeelander is still in the race. Shortly after they cut to this shot of the aforementioned antipodean:<br />
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The next time I came around I was sure it would be the end for me, but no, it was instead still 3 laps to go. I couldn't believe it, was it really possible that I might finish a race? The crowd of spectators had gone from general support with a healthy dose of jeering directed towards me, into all-out shouting and rapturous encouragement of blasphemial proportions. They really wanted me to finish this race, as did I. I had made a few mistakes in the first lap, but since then had been getting smoother and smoother as I went, taking corners a bit faster and generally feeling in control. So after all this time of expecting to have my race end as I reached the section of sealed road, when it finally happened with 2 laps to go I found myself almost in disbelief that I wasn't still in the race.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9am9UWE0DRkJML7gE6_PyGjxW2nKqcjBNrRueb4YfxSTj8djT4X2LrEwyZH-CAFTSac9WeRI-FqF_B0HgbbZCGLIhtwyliL-U4yZeLfwzbihSzNBPCrKSBGQlCHDQXdCTtSCDfJb-Xrk/s1600/Alex_Foncke_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9am9UWE0DRkJML7gE6_PyGjxW2nKqcjBNrRueb4YfxSTj8djT4X2LrEwyZH-CAFTSac9WeRI-FqF_B0HgbbZCGLIhtwyliL-U4yZeLfwzbihSzNBPCrKSBGQlCHDQXdCTtSCDfJb-Xrk/s400/Alex_Foncke_1.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Andy Foncke</td></tr>
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I had lasted much longer than I ever expected, about 48 minutes in total. The average speed for the leaders was a very high 27/28km per hour, and through the majority of the race everyone else had more or less stayed together as one very long line of riders. Despite being totally satisfied with how things went, overwhelmed even, I couldn't help but feel a tinge of what if I'd just had a better first lap.... But there'll be plenty of races in which to make up for it over the coming months. One of my main goals - in fact probably my main one - is to finish at least one of these A races on the lead lap. Although it may not seem like that big a deal to lots of people, the level of competitivity of these races is just incredible in comparison to anything else I've ever done, so it's a pretty lofty goal. But seeing I've come all this way, why not?<br />
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During the week after these races, I had my interview with the journalist, and found it printed in not only the local Kalmthout newspaper <a href="http://www.hbvl.be/sport/wielrennen/aid1254137/nieuw-zeelandse-componist-crost-tussen-nys-en-co.aspx%20"><i>Het Belang van Limburg</i></a>, but also in the larger <a href="http://www.gva.be/sport/wielrennen/aid1254137/nieuw-zeelandse-componist-crost-tussen-nys-en-co.aspx"><i>Gazet van Antwerpen</i></a>. It also then spread onto the web through <a href="http://sporza.be/cm/sporza/wielrennen/veldrijden/121005_veldrijden_nieuw-zeelander">Sporza.be</a> and <a href="http://www.wielertoerist.be/Bfrancky/verhalen/Nieuw-Zeelander%3A+%22Rijden+me+niet+in+de+gracht%22/?did=16542&modus=view">Wielertoerist.be</a> and suddenly my phone started ringing every day with various kinds of reporters looking to write a story about the rare moustachioed far-flung Kiwi.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLLDQKulu0Os1QsrubhwBi4HpQijpLX7dVo4-OzFm-hm5Rdlg7t2yrOhp_BHlpMw2VLOYq7VAlVV0DVgAeHBKCuY2yQ5Vxpa79iAtSxuxbhi7_o6cXDZien4Ff0BTKUy_TPGS8LPPkxXU/s1600/A.Dugast.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLLDQKulu0Os1QsrubhwBi4HpQijpLX7dVo4-OzFm-hm5Rdlg7t2yrOhp_BHlpMw2VLOYq7VAlVV0DVgAeHBKCuY2yQ5Vxpa79iAtSxuxbhi7_o6cXDZien4Ff0BTKUy_TPGS8LPPkxXU/s400/A.Dugast.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stuff cyclocross dreams are made of - the elusive Dugast whale foreskin 320 threads per inch casing. </td></tr>
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Equally too I began to receive offers from generous locals offering all kinds of services from bike cleaning, to applying warm towels to the back of my neck, to the use of a van and even a teenager who is trying to find me some sponsorship for shoes and sunglasses. So it has been an overwhelming few weeks. The publicity eventually attracted the attentions of Los Pedalos Cycling Team, who are being extremely helpful and supplying me with two Focus Mares cyclocross bikes, a stack of tubular wheels and tyres, and lots of their kit. Also they have begun to wear moustaches at the races, and further fuelled the growing hairy support club that has inched its way into the fray. I am extremely grateful for all this help, and it has been very humbling. Having a second bike means I will now be able to continue to race when I crash my bike or it just gets full of mud, as it is likely to do given the conditions that I will be racing in more and more from now. I have set up a Fundme <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/1bp2t0%20">site for donations</a>, for financial help to go towards my campaign over here in Belgium, in which I plan to take on the nearby World Cups, and to take me through to and literally over to the World Championships in America in February. It is a long and increasingly cold season, but the reception I've had here has been warm and embracing.<br />
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People are constantly cheering me on at races, giving me thumbs up and words of encouragement and congratulations after races, and they even get excited about taking a photo of me! I am just as excited about all of this, and am looking forward to a great continuation of what has been so far the most unusual yet also encouraging and genuinely exciting time of my life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaR7vtDJs7z2yttYDpVCXPITDUL7fhJCU3Vf0R1RF-rS5axRAjmKjm8r7hwmxPpTgKj8z8qTeQymHzxd6GpIztS5FyueOE-kYCHGXLdNQwmwU5-qnwvBP_X6g_q3mbnjdQpvu983bB008/s1600/Alex_Zelck.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaR7vtDJs7z2yttYDpVCXPITDUL7fhJCU3Vf0R1RF-rS5axRAjmKjm8r7hwmxPpTgKj8z8qTeQymHzxd6GpIztS5FyueOE-kYCHGXLdNQwmwU5-qnwvBP_X6g_q3mbnjdQpvu983bB008/s320/Alex_Zelck.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Danny Zelck</td></tr>
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<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-54657546989286938712012-09-22T20:35:00.001+02:002012-09-22T20:35:57.289+02:00Steenbergcross: A Taste of ProOn Sunday last weekend at Erpe-Mere I had my first professional cyclocross race. That is to say, my first race against professionals. I was under no illusions of where I stood in relation to them, but I had it further reinforced just how fast being professional really is.<br />
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I'd stayed with Darryn and his family at their place in Gent the night before, and he generously offered his services as my race mechanic and officer of transport and logistics. He's done a lot of 'cross races in the past year or two, including some of the World Cups so he knows what it involves. I am still used to leaving home and riding down the road an hour before the start of the race, putting on a number and going for it. As I am finding out, things happen quite differently over in these parts, especially at the big events.<br />
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By the time we got to the race, everyone else was there and set up with their faces plastered to the sides of their personal motorhomes, team trucks and marquees. The sponsorship of riders goes from the professionals right down through elite without contract and to juniors. Of course, only the pro's get a salary but the fringe benefits for the others of bikes and equipment, mechanics, team vehicles and race entry combine to cover virtually all the costs of a young cyclist's life.<br />
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After sorting out my entry and getting my race numbers (two small ones for my upper arms, one for my back) I rode a few laps of the course. Although everybody was already there, they must have been tucked away in their palatial vehicles warming up on trainers because I hardly saw anyone out on the course. I did see that there was quite a crowd building up, keen to be part of the first A grade cyclocross race of the season. With around 5,000 spectators it's certainly not as big as some of the races later in the year will be, but as a first look at the top Belgian riders and my first experience of a race with fans (not just family members and friends!) I thought it seemed like a pretty big crowd.<br />
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I have written about the race on my new section of the <a href="http://spokemagazine.com/category/the-cyclo-x-files/">Spoke Magazine blog</a> which I will be contributing to on a weekly basis now. In an effort to avoid treading on my own toes and repeating myself however, I'll be looking for different aspects to comment on here.<br />
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One person who I recognised when I got there was this man, consulting with his mechanics just before the start of the race (probably having .125 of a PSI added into his rear tyre). <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The consumate professional: Niels Albert</td></tr>
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As is standard for these races, all the riders gather in a starting pen just off the main start/finish straight. From here riders are called up to the starting line in the order they are ranked based on the international UCI points that they have. For these early races it is based on last season's points, and although I earned 60 points from my 2nd place at the NZCX National Champs back in July in Napier, it was considered out of season for the northern hemisphere racing calendar, and won't apply until this coming January. So it was unsurprising that I found myself called up dead last, taking my spot about 4 rows behind the above World Champion.<br />
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The course for this race was quite different to the others I've done so far. The Dutch word for cyclocross is <i>veldrijden</i>, literally field riding. That is basically what the B-grade courses have been so far - flat grassy dusty sandy off-road criteriums, straight from the gun, full spead ahead. I had been told that the A-grade courses are nicer, more interesting and typically more challenging. Erpe-Mere definitely fitted this description, with the usual flat early section punctuated by corners and a couple of barriers leading into the forest, and with it a big mix of terrain. It has been very dry the whole time I've been here, with only a few days of rain in nearly two months. However there was a small section of sticky, slightly boggy mud that somehow managed to survive through the drought of summer intact. I don't know how it did this, but it made for a good spot for spectating: deep ruts that are fine if you can follow, but as soon as your balance leads you off to either side it can end in spectacular fashion. As was the case for several riders in front of me on the first lap, and again later on.<br />
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We then headed up and down several very short and very steep slopes, with tight corners between them. It was really important to carry as much speed as possible down the ramps in order to make it back up the next one, but it was a hairy business what with the combined elements of the angle of the corners, them being off-camber in parts, and very dry and dusty. I was glad to have practised the course a few times over as part of my warm up for the race, so I was able to anticipate the necessary manoeuvres. This being said, when someone crashes in front of you at the apex of a corner, there's not a lot you can do to avoid getting held up.<br />
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My favourite aspect of this race was definitely the supporters that lined the course all the way around, but particularly in several key spots. It is traditional for the fans and public to come along, pay around €5 to enter the course zone, then spend the afternoon drinking beer and getting progressively more rowdy as the day goes on. A lot of them are just families out for a day spectating or following their favourite cyclocross star, but a lot of them are groups hell-bent on getting really into it and moving around the course cheering like mad, seemingly with a penchant for extra encouragement towards underdogs or foreign novelties such as myself.<br />
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There was a long bumpy corner after we came down back out of the trees that lead into the finishing straight, where one particularly enthusiastic group were located. I could hear them from quite far off calling out my name, in various forms - Alex, Alexander, Nieuw Zeelander - and the closer I got the more manic their fanaticism became. After I had passed, and been through the home straight, the course looped back around and they would all rush across to the next section to repeat their chanting and bellowing. I couldn't take the smile off my face riding around hearing it, so much encouragement, and it gave me so much energy!<br />
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The other section where the crowd were really going off their trolleys was a section of two very steep ramps one after the other, with a bike-length between of flat. This was absolute brain-haemorragingly steep material, accelerating as much as possible into it, then super low cadence pedalling trying not to have your rear wheel skid or your foot unclip. A few times through here I was alongside another rider, and the shouting was completely defeaning. <br />
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After the race I had a few people come up to me and sort of hover around, not always saying much. Others directly spoke to me, and wanted to know more about why I was here and what was cyclocross like in New Zealand. When Darryn and I were getting ready to go, a big group of teenage boys came over and asked me for autographs. They didn't have pens or paper, so when I found a pen all there was for me to sign was various limbs and bits of skin. It was a bit weird, but I appreciated being humoured for my celebrity status. I definitely need to work on a more pro signature, and something that incoporates my biggest drawcard, this big hairy thing between my mouth and nose.<br />
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I couldn't help but enjoy the celebrity status I gained that day, however genuine it all was. According to Darryn it will get to the point where I'm sick of it because I won't be able to go anywhere without people stopping me all the time, not ideal in the middle of winter when you're wet and muddy and need to change clothes. But for now I'll let myself indulge a little, happily using distance from home over podium spots to get my fan base going.Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-88778893086910782352012-09-15T10:27:00.001+02:002012-09-15T10:27:26.850+02:00Double up at Wiekevorst After my Belgian cyclocross debut at Zemst-Hofstade on Saturday, my appetite was whetted for another day out in the sun, riding around frantically chasing other people in the dust. I was fortunate this time around to be able to get a ride in the morning with the cousin of a friend of my brother - despite the long-winded link, they were a family of the loveliest sort.<br />
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They had come from the complete other side of the country, on the coast near the border with France. They were coming quite far out of their way to get me, so I met them at the motorway on/off ramp for Enghien and after slotting my bike into the back of the truck, alongside Wim and Tibo's various cyclocross machines, we set the Navman GPS to Wiekevorst and made haste while the sun was shining.<br />
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I got changed and rode around the course with the guys in preparation for their races, which were both earlier in the day than mine. This course was somewhat similar to the day before, but with more variation. Several very dry grassy straights were punctuated by hairpin turns which then lead in to forested singletrack, again with a very sandy base.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tibo got off to a flier</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wim shooting the breeze</td></tr>
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There were a couple of sand pits to negotiate, basically long trenches where you just had to hold the straightest line possible to avoid succumbing to the speed-thirsty bog. Sometimes I hit them perfectly, almost floating along at full speed. Other times I almost stopped dead, my wheel pushing a wave of sand ahead of me like a front-end loader.<br />
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As both their races were over by 2pm, my friends were heading back home. My race wasn't until 3.15 so I wouldn't have wanted them to stay and wait just for me to be finished. I got changed into my race mode vestments, enjoying the cool of the back of the truck for a moment longer before bidding them farewell.<br />
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I chatted with a young guy as we warmed up, who told me the field today was pretty big and featured some strong riders. Apparently it's quite common, especially early in the season, for roadies and other semi-crossers to come along to the Sunday races and attempt to snaffle the top spots against the true cyclocrossers who have raced already the day before. I wasn't too concerned by this, mainly my goal was to improve on yesterday's 24th place, preferably making the top-20 as the small amount of prize money would help fund the train ride home.<br />
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The sun was absolutely roasting us on the start line, with a high of over 30º. I had the good fortune to be called up early, as after riders with UCI points were seeded it was ordered randomly by drawing lots. Although I earned 60 points at the national champs in July, because they were considered out of season they will count from January 1st 2013, which is roughly the time of the northern hemisphere national championships. I was the first to line up in the second row, so settled myself in behind the national champ. There were maybe 12 in the front row, and 55 starters in total in the race. The commissaire reeled off a set of instructions in Dutch first, then in French and lastly said "and for our New Zealand friend..." then repeated himself in English. There was a bit of laughter and a few cheeky comments such as <i>just follow everyone else. </i>I played along with the banter, but I laughed last because I'd understood him the first time and the second time too.<br />
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It was a good thing he reminded us all of the direction of the first corner, because by the time we got to it we were motoring along at 40-50km an hour. He'd said that the first lap will turn left at the end of the straight, but from then on the course turns right. I had a bad start, with my right foot coming unclipped immediately (again - this is something to sort out!) so I all but lost my early advantage, having to get back up to speed as I became immersed in a wave of whirring, buzzing carbon and tubulars. As I came up to the corner I found a traffic island I hadn't expected right in front of me, as another rider suddenly moved to the side ahead. I haven't practiced bunny hops on my cross bike for some time, not since I messed one up last year and the nose of my saddle attempted to perforate my backside. I didn't have any choice, so just gave it everything and managed to get over it cleanly and make it into the corner without drama.<br />
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The next series of grassy straights and hairpin corners was crucial to securing a good spot going into the sandy singletrack, which extended the line of riders out to twice its former length. I took a photo of the junior race at this point, which appears to have some of them racing head on against others.<br />
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I felt like I was about mid-way through the pack, and generally held this position through the race. I made a couple of mistakes early on which cost me a few places, and I dropped my chain on a remount about halfway through, causing me to stop to get it back on. But I was feeling good and continued to progress through the field. As we neared the end and the lap count neared 1 I was still a good way off being caught by the front of the field. After a somewhat narrow escape from being lapped the day before, I was very keen to ensure that didn't happen again. As it was so hot people were able to have drink bottles handed to them in the technical zone. I should have thought about this and found someone to help me, but as I didn't I had to grit my teeth and grind my way through with dusty mouth and throat as others sipped the sweet nectar held aloft for them in passing. I had drunk quite a bit before the race, so I felt alright, but I did start to cave in a little towards the end.<br />
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Coming through into the bell lap I approached the following right-hand bend as I had every other lap, but this time didn't clear my rear wheel over the curb sufficiently going into the singletrack. It made quite a bump, and I cursed, fearing the worst. Sure enough, a couple of seconds later I heard the roaring hiss of a tyre going flat! I carried on stubbornly for the next section of singletrack, trying in vain to keep the dream alive. Thinking about my rims and my lovely tyres, I reconsidered staying on my bike and instead hopped off and ran alongside for a few hundred metres. I then picked it up and ran with it over my shoulder for a while, then walked, then stopped and ambled my way to the finish line.<br />
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It was a very frustrating way to have to end the race, especially as I'd been feeling strong. Relative to others from the previous day's effort I was ahead of where I had been, and based on who was in front of me when I punctured I was in around 24th place again, although this time the field had been significantly larger. As it was I finished 32nd, so I was pretty happy with that. The position I was in before the puncture and having had a race the previous day has given me confidence that I'm going to be able to make some good progress over here. These may be the easiest races that I will do, but I'm sure my progress will be even more rapid when I am pitted against the best in the world over the next few months! Starting this weekend, in Erpe-Mere on Sunday.<br />
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As I was now alone after the race, I set about hunting down a generous person to give me a lift to the nearest train station. After approaching a couple of people with no luck, I started to face the fact that I might have to sort out my puncture and ride the 20km or so before beginning the long haul three train combo back home. It turned out I actually had a slow leak puncture in my front tyre too, and an hour later it was also flat. Fortunately the next family I approached had room in their van for me and my bike, and were going towards Mechelen, the perfect place for me to hop onto one of the regular trains to Brussels. They set me up a comfy, although perhaps not especially secure, throne in the back:<br />
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Stijn and his twin brother were great company for the drive back to Mechelen, and I am most appreciative to them and their father for helping me out. I invited them over to New Zealand for a cross race or two, so if they get sick of summer next year they may well pop over.<br />
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Again after this race, as after the day before's, I found myself feeling really good and excited about being here despite having ridden myself into the ground two days in a row. I've had a less enjoyable week since then, suffering from the bites of what must have been a bunch of fleas or something that found their way into my bed. I counted 50 bites all over my body the other day, and it's made it almost impossible to sleep at night. Combined with a pretty cold week (the temperature has been hovering at around 15º) with rain on several of my rides, it's been a glimpse I think of the winter that awaits just around the corner. On Sunday I will be lining up against professionals, so my main goal will be to not come last. If I can manage that then the next step will be to try and stay in the race to the last lap. It sounds like the course has a bit of hill in it, and as it's been raining it might slow things down and let me stay in the race for a bit longer. We'll see. I'm excited about it and looking forward to doing what I can at what is sure to be a slick event. I'm heading to Gent this afternoon to stay with Darryn tonight, and he's generously offered to be my mechanic for the day tomorrow at the race. <br />
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Here we go folks!<br />
<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-44799596183457738222012-09-12T10:26:00.000+02:002012-09-12T10:27:22.687+02:00True Cyclocross, Belgian StyleThis weekend marked the beginning of the official getting down to business stage of my expedition here in Belgium. Despite having been here for a month now, September has only recently arrived and so with it the cyclocross season. After missing out on the race I planned to do last weekend, I double dipped this time and had one on each of Saturday and Sunday.<br />
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I have one or two items to catch up on before all that though, so let's go back to where I last left off. I was making arrangements to enter the professional road race Stadsprijs Geraardsbergen, on August 29. I had called the organisers and although all the wildcard entries had been given out, someone had broken their leg or something and therefore a spot had come available which I could have. All I needed to do was fill in the PDF entry form and then turn up a bit earlier the next day. I got so excited by this, and even though I knew it would be nothing short of a miracle if I could stay in the race for any real length of time, I was looking forward to lining up against the liniment-infused professional slickness.<br />
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Alas I got an email back later that day with the sad news informing me that I would need to either be on a professional New Zealand team to enter, or failing that, have a Belgian license. As I meet neither of these conditions it was with no small amount of disappointment and confusion that I eventually ceded to the reality of it not happening. I felt ripped off because my letter of introduction from BikeNZ says that I can enter any race under the (UCI) sun. I don't imagine this includes the Tour de France, which I can understand, so it shouldn't really say any race. This was admittedly a race for professionals, but it isn't UCI-ruled so I thought that would make it easier for me to enter, but maybe that meant they can make their own rules. Either way, I went along with my camera and enjoyed the atmosphere as much as I could from the sidelines. Not as much as this guy was enjoying his ice cream sandwich though. I marvelled at his technique, while surreptitiously capturing the moment. He's clearly done it before.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ice-cream tongue</td></tr>
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I went up to the top of the Kappelmuur to watch as the race passed over it on the last lap, getting up close to the riders in such a way that I could manage comfortably despite the repeated attacks.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Viral product placement</td></tr>
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After the riders had all been through, I observed a bunch of drunk guys half running/half sliding and tripping down the steep grass bank from the chapel. They were making a beeline for a young female journalist from Het Laatste Nieuws, one of the local newspapers. They saw me standing there with my bike and called me over to join them. Not sure quite what I was in for I went over to them and found that they wanted to set up a photo of them cheering from both sides of the road as I passed through them. I was happy to oblige, and they started chanting "Freddy! Freddy! Freddy!" Not quite sure where they came up with that name, but it was a lot of fun. They asked me about my trip and what I'm doing here, and I explained along with the details of my non-participation in the race. I then spoke to the journalist for a while and she took some more photos of me and my bike. I haven't been able to get copies of any of these yet, but I'll put them up when I do. I rode back home feeling much happier about things, and looking forward to the first 'cross race of the season that coming weekend.<br />
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It was at a place called Kessel, South-East of Antwerp and a little bit remote. I had my bike all ready, and had made a lunch to take with me. I caught the train at 10 in the morning, heading for Brussels. After a short wait there I changed to the Antwerpen Centraal connection, and then waited for another half an hour or so for the local line. After about 2.5 hours on three trains I rode the 10 or so minutes from the station to the race course, and was greeted enthusiastically by a young guy from the host club. He paraded me around and to the official tent, whereby I was asked to produce my license - ....oops! In all the times I've had my license on hand at races only to not be asked to present it, this time despite my organisational diligence I had managed to take the wrong wallet and leave the one with my cards in it at home. No amount of gesticulation or conflagration of emotion would suffice to assuade the official's officious will. So I moped around dejectedly for a couple of hours watching jealously as the mid-teenagers and juniors raced their hearts out, eating my lunch and drinking my lightly salted sugary race drink. I had a quick ride around the course when there was a beak between races, then headed back to the station to begin the trip home, arriving at last at 7pm.<br />
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I made myself get over the disappointment, and chalked it up to futureproofing my routine from now on - much better that I should do it now at the very beginning than at a later stage and risk missing a World Cup or something monumental like that.<br />
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Despite it having been about two weeks since I had broken the spoke on my rear wheel, I still hadn't managed to find anyone who could help me fix it. I asked several shops, but all came back with the same answer, that it was an unusual spoke and they could only buy them in boxes of 100 and seeing I only wanted a couple it wasn't worth it. This was obviously a rather unsatisfying response, but one I had half expected. I was fortunate to be lent a spare one in the interim, by the local shop here in Enghien called Action Bike. I didn't really like the idea of racing on a borrowed wheel, not cyclocross anyway.<br />
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A few weeks ago Darryn put me onto a great website here in Belgium called <i>Wielerbond Vlaanderen</i> which is basically the region's cycling website. It lists the whole calendar for the year in all disciplines, so as you can imagine in a country such as this, that is a mighty accomplishment. Scrolling through it, there are just races every day all over the country. As a replacement for the missed 'cross race, I had a look at what was on offer during the week on the road. Lo and behold there was one very close by on Monday evening, a <i>kermis</i> in Denderwindeke. I headed up the road towards Ninove and signed in, being sure to have both my international license and letter of introduction on hand. The sign-in was successful, and I was greeted with a mixture of surprise and good-natured derision at my presence so far from home. The hub of the evening was the local pub, which had set up an outdoor bar in the carpark, serving beer and frites to the crowd of locals enjoying the warm late summer evening. The organising crew were predominantly older gentlemen with haughty paunches and prodigious smoking habits, giving off a hazy air of insouciance. However at the slightest request they were quick to help out. One drove home to get me some pins for my jersey race number, while another sought some zip ties to attach my bike's number. I rode a couple of laps of the course, then settled in for the start.<br />
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It was super fast straight from the gun, as the race was only about 70km long. It looped around a 5km circuit, the first half of which headed up a slight incline on a rather broken up road - large plates of concrete that inevitably start to separate over time. Then it flattened out, and was smooth until the final run to the start/finish over some very gentle cobbles. I was breathing pretty hard immediately, but able to stay near the front and respond to the fluctuations in speed every few seconds.<br />
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Accelerating out of a corner on the second lap I heard a loud unpleasant noise from behind me, or was that beneath me? A light tinkling sound continued for the next 10 or so seconds, then it fell silent. There were lots of us all close together going as hard as we could so it was impossible to tell where the noise came from, but I had a bad feeling about it. Sure enough, on the next corner the noise struck again and my heart fell as I looked down to see a broken spoke in my rear wheel. I stopped to pull it out, and undo my brake as it was rubbing. To say I was upset would be somewhat of an understatement, but it was largely a feeling of disbelief that overwhelmed me. I gingerly made my way through to the finish line, trying to avoid all bumps in the road. After handing in my number I took my deposit (this is standard protocol, pay €10 to enter and get €5 back when you return the race number) and headed for home, gently making my way along the cycle path for the 10km back to Enghien.<br />
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Things hadn't been going well for me lately, and I was understandably upset. Admittedly some of it had been my fault, but largely it was bad luck. After an evening of disillusionment and questioning of my resolve along with my reasons for being here, I put myself to bed, hoping to do the same to this unfortunate run of affairs. Like it or not I did come here of my own volition, so I'd better get my head around that. All I could do was redouble my efforts to solve the various problems I felt like I faced. Either that or learn to manual on my front wheel very comprehensively.<br />
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The next day I took the borrowed wheel back into the shop, found a correct spoke (it was easy as it was a common one) and trued it up like new. The owner was happy for me to keep using it, so thankfully I wasn't without a bike as well for the foreseeable future. In the meantime I had been to another shop 15km away to enquire about a spoke for my wheel, and the mechanic informed me he could get one and would call me when it came in. A few days later I still hadn't heard so I went out there again and he had gone on holiday, and the boss indicated that it wasn't possible to get the spoke. Feeling somewhat aggrieved now back at square one, I was about to give up hope when I went past one last bike shop on the way home. This one had generally looked closed when I'd peeked in before, so I hadn't paid too much attention in passing. However once inside, and especially once I'd met the mechanic, I knew I'd come to the right place. He looked at the wheel and nodded, saying "I think I can fix that now." <br />
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About three or four spokes later Gregory, the mechanic, had successfully managed to cut and re-thread a replacement one. He installed it and after what seemed like about one minute in the truing stand it was done. I stayed on for a while chatting with him, and it turns out he has done a lot of mechanical work for the United States cyclocross team in the past. He doesn't have too much planned for this season, so if things go well I could have a cool guy and a highly competent mechanic helping me out a bit.<br />
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So it seemed the tide was turning in my favour at last, and I now had my own wheels back and a double weekend of cyclocross races to get stuck into. I hadn't intended all that preamble to be quite so long, so bear with me here. This is the exciting bit now anyway.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGuwcGmHv9CfsGCbQsVuUvR0sgTIkVSE4xPUdnj6kOcEx_gQ0QC8H2ej-bdmD4eAITPEtsT5XdBorzrYcIUHbDkr2vUHBgXi1XUrWbSRRN6gRNqcCjuFDWkr5235QGEMZk6iqwRpx1Sc/s1600/IMG_2602.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGuwcGmHv9CfsGCbQsVuUvR0sgTIkVSE4xPUdnj6kOcEx_gQ0QC8H2ej-bdmD4eAITPEtsT5XdBorzrYcIUHbDkr2vUHBgXi1XUrWbSRRN6gRNqcCjuFDWkr5235QGEMZk6iqwRpx1Sc/s320/IMG_2602.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>It's a heartbeat, beat street.</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv7_znI679lYsWh9rN35nVfxJZ7g2nlk9HMCIveR0GvlHpLexydVpTTgMJvbR2zXmQcsHb9zV6w-mqZYmKHiECktCF1I1KxP38QY7vKRkF4WRAew6jEajse-9DNWIEVDNV5kGuxGFEkBc/s1600/2012-09-08+11.32.55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv7_znI679lYsWh9rN35nVfxJZ7g2nlk9HMCIveR0GvlHpLexydVpTTgMJvbR2zXmQcsHb9zV6w-mqZYmKHiECktCF1I1KxP38QY7vKRkF4WRAew6jEajse-9DNWIEVDNV5kGuxGFEkBc/s320/2012-09-08+11.32.55.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Candles of flowers?</td></tr>
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Here I was now in Belgium, at my first cyclocross race. Finally I had made it! It was again a bit of a mission getting there, but only two train rides each way this time, with a 5-10km ride from the station to the course. The location was Zemst-Hofstade, a cool name if ever I heard one. It was already about 25º at 11am, and it showed on the course. High speed sections on dry grass with plenty of dust and a very loose and extraordinarily bumpy section through a sandy forest was the order of the day.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smoking and eating hamburgers not prohibited on the course</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2MqW_cTMrJsUTlGY6VXqVqFfdviNy7DjvSoTpTZdspu9coTBzeRMKNYzQmBnQUp4B0gbCU8cDjwO0_cbVf5dpFgoY6KPALf-1SHq_zCRi7xsKUWxk_t7XzAarKuo-irXGVCLySOh4Nk/s1600/2012-09-08+12.13.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2MqW_cTMrJsUTlGY6VXqVqFfdviNy7DjvSoTpTZdspu9coTBzeRMKNYzQmBnQUp4B0gbCU8cDjwO0_cbVf5dpFgoY6KPALf-1SHq_zCRi7xsKUWxk_t7XzAarKuo-irXGVCLySOh4Nk/s320/2012-09-08+12.13.06.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Any semblance of a tree root must be highlighted!</td></tr>
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There was a race starting just as I got there, kids aged about 12 - 15 by the looks of it. It's quite a different dynamic to that of New Zealand. Still a more relaxed community when compared to the road racing crowd, but so much more competitive over here. Even for these kids, check out the video of the start:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzbtRxTi0JfU7mPSPYVbBZ5-G4ntIRvOo4MkiK_GHCIlPq6_JhlIk7kjtUa4qdDzH54tD6mlbk_COTfGXXSng' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Just what was I going to be up against if that's how they race at half my age?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOQ01c8NGp3Me6Ut41dlrkZV7p7Sqpw0ICLh0jNYP0CrWmIutsn8S05l4QhGUcHenexYLBvLo83BxHDFNF7c2XE1ydn_rtANzVoBxiEkMn9nI4PuhwSNR6e3xpyDqMMRbffIz590ZrPK8/s1600/IMG_2604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOQ01c8NGp3Me6Ut41dlrkZV7p7Sqpw0ICLh0jNYP0CrWmIutsn8S05l4QhGUcHenexYLBvLo83BxHDFNF7c2XE1ydn_rtANzVoBxiEkMn9nI4PuhwSNR6e3xpyDqMMRbffIz590ZrPK8/s320/IMG_2604.JPG" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rooster, bro!</td></tr>
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When I had signed in and got my number, I was relaxing in the shade outside having some food when a guy came up to me and asked me if I was the Kiwi entered in the race. Not one to deny these universal truths, I acknowledged the attribute and asked him about himself. He said he was an Aussie, but he had quite a German accent, so I was a bit confused. After a bit more conversation I found out his name was Max and he'd spent a number of years in school in Australia, before getting onto a road team there and eventually the Rabobank Continental team. He isn't still on the team, but had always enjoyed including a bit of cyclocross into his schedule.<br />
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I started to get a feeling for the quality of the field I was going up against. I'd seen a guy warming up in a Belgian national champion kit, and sure enough that was the national champ of my grade - <i>elite zonder contract</i> (elite without contract). He looked quite a bit like Niels Albert. I rode a couple of laps with Max, then got changed and headed to the start line.<br />
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I was called up somewhere near the end, which had me sitting in the 4th row, each with about 10-15 people across. It was frantic, boisterous, and everyone wanted to be at the front. I unclipped on my second pedal stroke, so by the time I got back up to speed I had a good bit of space between everyone else and me. This is not ideal, as nice as it sounds. As soon as the course narrowed and wound through a few corners and up over a steep but very short mound, people were off their bikes running around each other, desperately taking any opportunity to get past at this early stage.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Several laps in, grinning the grin</td></tr>
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I managed to sneak through a gap that appeared at the edge of the course just as people were remounting, gaining about 4 or 5 places in the process. I then had to set about sustaining this pace, or close to it, for the next hour. Although I'd ridden through the wooded section a few times, everything is harder when you are in oxygen debt, in particular technically demanding sections. We haven't had many races on sand in NZ, but this whole section was dry mush, and so it was that I proceeded to ride through it in a very erratic fashion. I came off at least 4 or 5 times in the first few laps, having passed riders just before, only to have them pass me again each time. I did eventually start to find a rythym, and just paid more attention to riding smoothly and not over-braking. The sand tends to slow you down as is, and any extra braking force just upsets the line of your wheels and throws your weight around unpredictably.<br />
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I definitely noticed the benefit of my trying to maintain a steady consistent pace and control through the sand, as I began catching back up and passing others. I also put this down to the large amount of riding I've been doing in the past month or so. While I might not have had the explosive power and intensity of the top half of the field, I felt like I could keep this pace up with only the requisite amount of pain and discomfort. It was my first race, and with a long season ahead of me speed will come - I'm not in any hurry to crack into my top form just yet - especially if it means I cave in towards the peak of the season, when I'm really up against the big boys.<br />
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On my last couple of laps I could tell that the race leader was approaching, due to the spidery nature of the course through the trees. I really tried to put everything I had into these last laps, mainly to avoid getting lapped, but also to see how it felt. Beneath the sand the ground was extremely corrugated, with moguls about the length of bicycle wheels. It was incredibly hard to ride through; too much bouncing to be able to pedal effectively, and you couldn't rest on the saddle for all the bouncing. It was mainly hard work on my lower back, fortunately though the rest of the course was on grass and provided adequate time to stretch it out and recuperate.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even further in, somewhat less of a grin</td></tr>
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I wasn't sure what place I was in, but I knew it was pretty close to the back. Some riders were pulling out, coasting along as I passed them. It was very hot, so everybody was getting a drink bottle hand-up at the feed zone each lap. I'd drunk quite a bit before the race so was feeling ok, apart from having a face and mouth full of dust.<br />
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When eventually I made it to the finish line, I stopped to acknowledge the guys I had been racing against, then carried on to warm down. Although I'd given it everything on my final laps, I was feeling good and found myself smiling, thinking about how cool it is to be here doing this. There's a lot more where that came from, so it's just as well!<br />
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Back on the train home I was looking out the window as we approached Brussels North station, and I saw what I thought were mannekins down below behind a window on the street level, until one of them moved and was talking to bunch of men outside! I thought it was a typically Amsterdam thing, but apparently not. Perhaps not quite as sophisticated though.<br />
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I was home in time to clean my bike and my person, have something to eat and then more or less go to bed in preparation for another day racing in the sun on Sunday. It was a great feeling to have uncorked the bottle and tasted a little 'cross, and I felt the successful day out had vindicated my effort to maintain a positive attitude after a recent rough patch.<br />
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The next day was at Wiekevorst, which is in the same area but even less accessible as the nearest train station was about 20km away. I was anxious to see how I went in back-to-back days of racing, but I'll write more about that in the coming days.<br />
<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-26281738294370160692012-09-05T12:19:00.000+02:002012-09-05T18:33:54.320+02:00Ronde van Vlaanderen: How to Ride CobblesThis will be the final post in my trilogy of Ronde van Vlaanderen novels, featuring suspicious characters and shady exchanges of all varieties: be it pecuniary, alimentary or linguistic-ary. Sometimes even all three together. Most of the time, in fact.<br />
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Last week I made my familiar migration over the hills (I have since found out it's actually about 40km each way, taking about an hour and a half) to the town of Oudenaarde to complete the final leg of the coloured triumvirate that I began a few weeks ago. All that remained for me to discover was the blue route, which covers 80km and in particular some of the longer and rougher sections of <i>pavé</i>, or cobblestones.<br />
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This loop heads North out of town, generally in the direction of Gent, before veering East to Zottegem, and back around to the South through a series of twists and turns until it arrives slack-jawed and trembling once again on the doorstep of Oudenaarde. It is pretty flat, at least on paper, but as these things always feel like in reality, it's up and down most of the time. Not only that, but there seemed to be a fairly brisk headwind at all times, just to make sure it wasn't any easier than its hillier brothers, the orange and green routes.<br />
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The first section of cobbles goes past one of the first of the <i>Molen</i> (windmills) that I have seen here, and I can tell you they're as quaint in real life as are the stereotypically bucolic countrysides you see them in, on TV documentaries and in National Geographic photospreads with the be-clogged people of Holland and Flanders. I was concurrently trying to make it through the constant bumping and clanging of this stretch of cobbles as I took the photo, so my hands were anything but still. Somehow it seemed to come out alright!<br />
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I'd heard it said, probably by Phil Liggett or some other mollusk of the cycling world, that the best way to ride <i>pavé</i> is to chuck it into a big gear and pedal at a moderate yet comfortable cadence, maintaining a decent clip. This is definitely good advice, as the bigger gear keeps tension on the chain which stops it from slapping the frame so much, and potentially falling off. But there's a limit to how much comfort one can expect to enjoy across terrain such as this. Some of these sections were two to three kilometres long, so even cranking along it's still a few minutes as least. Plenty of time to rattle loose those fillings, expose your root canals have you grinding what's left of your teeth down into blackened stumps. And that's not to mention the other parts of your body that will suffer: hands, eyeballs, internal organs. In the interest of keeping your bum comfy, it's necessary to stand slightly out of the saddle, taking the weight with your arms and thighs. Combine the large gear, trying to ride fast so as to even out the bumps, then standing up, and it adds up to be an absolute killer for your thighs. Interestingly however, of all things I found the itchy bites on my arms and hands were the most affected by riding cobbles. I suppose it's because they are quite firm when swollen (mine tend to get very large, I don't know if it's an allergy or what) so they shake around and feel like they're coming loose. If only they did!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're in for some chop, riding the waves of cobbles</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgb5RYUeXDSGlwcLJv9cHQ067aXJxHpnNq2ZnIgmDDiNDuCHHDa-SdptzyXsLmLHPHCBcZsXpRd8TPJVa-bu9x6KN-P9Kaug4CIH4dzv-oPYeK_oCZBmIYx4emxk3Y2NSzVf_GUJtCzc/s1600/2012-08-27+12.35.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkgb5RYUeXDSGlwcLJv9cHQ067aXJxHpnNq2ZnIgmDDiNDuCHHDa-SdptzyXsLmLHPHCBcZsXpRd8TPJVa-bu9x6KN-P9Kaug4CIH4dzv-oPYeK_oCZBmIYx4emxk3Y2NSzVf_GUJtCzc/s200/2012-08-27+12.35.34.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steady as she goes, captain.</td></tr>
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I was making pretty good progress through <i>Doorn</i>, but I could hear a car approaching from behind. It's a funny sensation, the more you ride on the road the better you get at judging the stealthy approach of vehicles. But riding on <i>pavé</i> turns all this upside down. You hear noises, plenty of them, but they're all coming from your bike. Bits of your bike that don't even move make noise. You hear cars approaching all the time, sometimes very convincingly, only to look back over your shoulder and find a deserted stretch of road between the cornfields behind you. Your bike is capable of making all kinds of new and interesting noises in such a setting, but almost every time you hear an unusual one that could be a vehicle, it's just your rear wheel messing with you. When you do actually witness a car drive over cobbles, you wonder how you could ever have thought that the noise from before was a car. They are so much louder, and you can feel the ground resonating beneath their wheels. That is, if you can feel anything at all. This time I was correct, and there was in fact a Police car on my tail. I was riding more or less in the centre of the road, trying to find the smoothest line over (although most of the time it was between) the ramshackle cobbles. I was worried my bike was going to disintegrate beneath me, such was the roughness of the ride, so I wasn't really in a mood for moving aside into the even more marginal state of roading on the right. Whether they were being patient or just not in a hurry I don't know, but they didn't catch up to me.<br />
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I was then able to enjoy a very pleasant hour or so until the next setion of <i>pavé</i>. You really appreciate how buttery-smooth a normal road surface is for the next 5 minutes or so after cobbles, it's like ice cream on a really hot day. The next step was <i>Paddestraat</i>, 2.4km long. At least the first section of it, that is.<br />
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Then just when I thought I'd made it through alive, I crossed a main road and was hit with this, an old Roman road. Cobbled too, of course.<br />
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So I don't know how long it was in total, but by the end of it I was worried my arms were going to give way beneath me. It's really hard to change gear when you're cobbling along as the bike, and therefore the chain, is jumping around all over the place. Your hands are also sort of floating somewhere around the handlebars, which isn't a very secure feeling either. You've basically got to pick your gear early and stick with it. I learned this fairly early on, and likewise how to put on a Belgian hard-man grimace. It's easy enough to peel off again when you're through the worst of it.<br />
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I stumbled upon what I think is probably the nicest looking goat I have ever seen while on this ride. I've never seen so many goats as in the backyards and hobby farms that are scattered all over these lands. I can only assume people tend to them for the milk and thus cheese products they can produce, because they certainly aren't kind to your front lawn. They'll eat anything - thorns, grass, steel wool - but they normally won't leave it looking pretty. Here is my new friend, who was obviously proud of his patch of pasture:<br />
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I think it helped not getting lost or going the wrong way at all on this particular occasion, as the 80km loop took me about three hours, roughly (but) as I had hoped. As I made my way back home to Enghien I stopped off at a <i>Frituur</i> for a drink and a snack. The owner was a slightly washed-out looking character, but very friendly and happy, enthusiastic even, to point out in detail all the different sizes and vessel materials that he had of Coke for sale. I spotted a chocolate milk for €0,80 and so, reminiscing the week I spent practically living off that stuff during the Kiwi Brevet in February, snapped it up along with a can of coke and a small Milky Way.<br />
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That was an unnecessary description of the Milky Way. An unusually principled stalwart of tradition, the Milky Way has always been small, curiously yet nobly remaining steadfast against the tide of ever-increasing chocolate bar size. I don't recall seeing them around much lately, perhaps they stamped out millions of them in the 80's and 90's then closed the factory, and those that remain as yet unconsumed are really historic artefacts of a bygone era. Even if that were the case this one was still particularly delicious, and with no discernible discoloration despite potentially being as old as me.<br />
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I took a seat and attempted to read the newspaper I found in front of me. I was able to make out a bit of it, mainly because I was familiar with the story already. It was just after the big drama involving Lance Armstrong had begun to escalate:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFq3l2YniEQ6My5Bw32UytEyYt0MAHkctBZvBK5au5TkD4NR4wx9E1OIIU1JdYWUbxdvNpzbe8YzndpYbLn5YMBeETSkTiPodUj-G7kMObGaIHHxmpYyWWB59c91z69dLj1bHHuv_vQd8/s1600/2012-08-27+15.34.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFq3l2YniEQ6My5Bw32UytEyYt0MAHkctBZvBK5au5TkD4NR4wx9E1OIIU1JdYWUbxdvNpzbe8YzndpYbLn5YMBeETSkTiPodUj-G7kMObGaIHHxmpYyWWB59c91z69dLj1bHHuv_vQd8/s320/2012-08-27+15.34.24.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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As I was seated doing my best impression of comprehension, the owner came over to me with several pastries on a napkin. He was clear to point that they were yesterday's, but that I could have them if I wanted. I had one pain au chocolat, but after the Coke, chocolate milk and Milky Way, didn't think I could handle any more. He put them in a bag for me and bid me farewell. He was a cool guy, and whether it was because he didn't know too much English or if he was just patient, he let me try out my somewhat increasing ability to butcher the Dutch language with him. I made a point to remember where I was, so that I could stop by another time.<br />
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Each time I pass through Geraardsbergen I take special pains to go up the <i>Muur-Kappelmuur</i>. Partly because it's on the way and avoids busy roads up the hill, but mainly because it's just such a cool place and you can't help but feel like a legend of cycling history when you crest the final rickety rise. This time I was climbing to a big crowd of spectators, lining the street on both sides cheering. Well, maybe they were just talking, but either way they were buzzing in anticipation for what I soon found coming up where I had just been:<br />
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It was the Stadsprijs Geraardsbergen <i>voor dames</i>, I assume, a <i>kermis</i> race that (at least for the men) has been going on for nearly 100 years in this town. I saw the Australian girls that I nearly got to talk to the other day, still slogging it out in the race on the last lap when it goes up over the <i>Muur</i>. I watched as they all made they way past, most looking pretty whacked by this stage, then continued back home for some pasta and a salad.<br />
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The previous week when I was climbing the <i>Muur</i> I saw a sign advertising the Stadsprijs race on Wednesday 29th of September. I could see that it was for professionals, but when I went to the website I saw that there were wildcard entries available for riders without a contract. I spent a few days wondering about this, and with some encouragement from Darryn I was going to try and enter. When it got closer to the time and I still hadn't entered I thought it was probably not going to happen. But after being there for the women's race it made me really want to just go in it, regardless of the fact that I'd be racing professionals and the moment they put on the gas I would be spat out the ass, so to speak (I realise an ass is actually an animal). So the next morning I took it upon myself to phone the organisers and see about getting myself amongst it. I'll let you know in another post how it all panned out.<br />
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<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-17657487118557317192012-08-29T01:17:00.001+02:002012-08-29T01:18:28.331+02:00Ronde van Vlaanderen: Part IIAfter the success of my last outing in the Flemish Ardennes, dragging myself through the 160 or so kilometers of rolling country lanes in just under 8 hours, I thought it worthwhile to have another crack at one of the coloured routes they have so conveniently laid out in the area. This time I was going to follow the <i>Oranjeroute</i>, or Orange Route. It has been designed as the "hilly" of the three coloured routes, and as you can see it takes in most of the famous climbs of the <i>Ronde</i>. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The white blocks denote sections of pavé</td></tr>
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As I was leaving Oudenaarde to start following the signs, I found myself catching up with a bunch of Australian women, riding in national kit with a guy leading the way. I caught up with them, but unfortunately there was an even number of them, so noone who I could easily get the attention of without interrupting their conversation. What I should really have done is sidled up to them and given them a big "sup ladieeees!" as is the usual approach in New Zealand. But I would've needed to be in my turbo Subaru Legacy with blow-off valve for it to really do justice though. Anyway while I was wondering about the best way to get their attention without crashing into the lot of them, I saw the sign pointing me in a different direction from where they were headed. I followed the arrows, this time vowing to pay more attention and not get lost like last time, and hoping to do the ride in 6 hours. <br />
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After turning off a main road, I found myself on a nice quiet flat stretch heading seemingly away from the hills. The last sign I'd seen pointed straight ahead, but then there'd been an intersection with two paths coming off it so I had taken the one straight ahead. Maybe this was the wrong way? I continued for a while, then decided to turn back as I was definitely not heading towards the Kluisberg.<br />
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I passed a man stopped, inspecting his bike on the path. I stopped initially to ask him for directions but when I saw he was looking at his derailleur I offered to help. When you hardly know anything in a language the most basic sentences can be used for almost anything. I asked him <i>is everything good?</i> And he proceeded to tell me a whole lot of information about his bike, none of which I was able to decipher. I then had to tell him I didn't speak any Dutch, so he laughed and did his best in English. He was friendly and had a sense of humour, I liked the look of this guy straight away. It turned out his bike was fine, and he was just inspecting/admiring the repair job he had done on his own frame by welding a brace over where the chainstay had cracked. He didn't know about the Oranjeroute, but was keen to tell me about all the <i>bergen</i> that I should ride - Kluisberg, Koppenberg etc. I told him that was the plan, and he proceeded to wave down a passing postal service worker to ask him if he knew where I should go. He didn't know either, and before hopping back into his van he smiled and said he was also a big fan of the <i>Ronde</i>. As I backtracked with my new friend Luc, he told me about how he had recently retired from a career teaching design, and I told him about my plans. He was excited for me, and when we parted company wished me all the best and that he hoped see me on TV at some stage.<br />
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I had actually been going the right way as it turned out, but there had been a corner further up which wasn't marked. So after re-backtracking to this point I turned there and found myself once again in the orange. I remembered that the map shows quite a long flat section heading West before you get to the first of the climbs, so I needn't have worried about seeming to head in the wrong direction. I had a pocked full of muesli bars, a bottle with electrolyte solution and about €7 to burn, so I was all set to be able to last the day.<br />
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I decided to try out one of the muesli bars, and found it was a coconut flavoured one (they are all packaged in the same blank white wrapping for surprise's sake). It was absolutely delicious! I couldn't believe my luck, having just grabbed it off the shelf in a supermarket. I got halfway through it then going over a bump on the cycle lane it slipped out of the wrapping and disappeared behind me. I couldn't carry on with the knowledge I was only halfway through it, so I stopped and turned around. Only to find this wee chap eyeing me up suspiciously.<br />
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I looked all over the path, up and down over a section of about 10-20 metres. My delicious muesli bar remnant had to be there! A puffed rice and coconut base coated in rich sweet chocolate, delectable. I looked back at my little mate in the grass, and before my very eyes he poked his tongue out at me! </div>
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Was he toying with me? Smug little thing, I started to wonder about his motive for being there. Surely he couldn't have grabbed my precious snack travelling at about 30km/h and wolfed it down in the space of a second? And now expected even more? I wouldn't have thought it possible, until he had the scurrility to expose his tongue to me in such audacious fashion.<br />
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It was a fairly hot day, perhaps this was getting to me a bit. Sure enough after a few minutes of wandering about wondering, I found my treat lying happily nestled under a few strands of grass right on the edge of the cycle path. With a flourish I popped it in my mouth before the little brat could sink his teeth into it, and continued on my way.<br />
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Before long I made it to the base of the first hill, and it surprised me with its length. I kept expecting it to turn into pavé at any moment, but it remains sealed the whole way up. This is the <i>Kluisberg</i>, and I'm sure the scene of many crazed cheering fans during the actual race. Today it was, well, pleasantly devoid of activity.<br />
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The next section took me, funnily enough, out of Flanders and briefly into Wallonia, the French-speaking region of the country. The next few climbs are technically just going up the same ridge as the <i>Kluisberg</i> (here called <i>Mont de l'Enclus</i>) but from different sides and further East. I wouldn't complain though, as they are all nice leafy affairs, each with different characters. Most importantly they are rare hills in what is a fairly vast sea of corn fields and pasture which, coming from New Zealand and especially Wellington, you can't help but notice, and certainly never forget.<br />
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The <i>Oude Kwaremont</i> was a really nice one - a very steady 4.2% average gradient, maxing out at 11%. At over 2km in length it certainly starts to feel long enough, and is pretty rough in parts. I hadn't gone up too fast, so the bumps weren't so numbing, but they are always discomforting no matter what speed you attempt it.<br />
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People live on these streets, that's probably the thing I find most curious about these places. You can be riding up here in a pastoral haze, just thinking about Eddy Merckx and Roger de Vlaeminck stretching the pace, suffering, and imagining the crowded fans frothing at the mouth hoarse from passionate shouting, soaked from rain or beer (or probably both). Then the next minute you look around and see people opening the boot of their Renault, Peugeot or Citroën taking out their groceries, calling to their children to hurry up, pressing their remote to lock the car and walking up the path to their front door. This was especially the case on the <i>Kruisberg</i>, which is in the middle of the town Ronse. The pavé starts a bit further up, just after the white van.<br />
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It's hard not to try and find equivalents to everything back home, or at least make comparisons with what you see and experience. But in cases like this, it's hard to find a reference point. The history is just so different in this part of the world, and it seems humans are the same the world over, whereby we grow accustomed to our environment and stop taking note of what we have. Some of the roads around here were originally built by the Romans, so are a couple of thousand years old. Perhaps, if it were possible, biking through a forest of thousand-year-old Kauri in Northland would elicit a similar sensation. But the nonchalance with which people go about their daily lives here around these historical artefacts piques my interest almost as much as my desire to be a part of and share in its rich history. In the end though I suppose they have lives to live and this is where they're doing that. They would, I'm sure, have similar thoughts if our positions were reversed and they were visiting New Zealand.<br />
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The next <i>berg</i> was one of the most challenging, and certainly one of the steepest. It came at me suddenly, around a sharp bend at the end of a glorious flowing downhill. I've been borrowing a wheel from the local bike shop after I broke a spoke in my own one last week. I hadn't adjusted the gears properly, so inadvertently put myself in hard man mode, as the rear derailleur won't let me onto the 26t at the back, reaching instead lazily as far as the 23. I managed to ride it all seated, but this is also out of necessity - traction is very minimal at best on the pavé, and standing up just exacerbates this. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzpEqPF5-GscJlLf8LkKcj5H2sOPskgMZG6qypeXuHl_uoocO2F8LQyXWaOYOAm4Leml0Bw2vkY4jsdgrLHC3ADSSvgCyrCEp4Wi-uBxe7RcTi7cztj3gYxy0SOCvt6TfMy4NKxtIdpc/s1600/2012-08-22+13.50.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkzpEqPF5-GscJlLf8LkKcj5H2sOPskgMZG6qypeXuHl_uoocO2F8LQyXWaOYOAm4Leml0Bw2vkY4jsdgrLHC3ADSSvgCyrCEp4Wi-uBxe7RcTi7cztj3gYxy0SOCvt6TfMy4NKxtIdpc/s200/2012-08-22+13.50.46.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_BvzlVyaajWW2QypdXO2XhcKmJWusB7TxLe3VnOpfEPPXd41TS5BqcWkpxQGXQHbjsafsu11Hr52cv4MWcjvI34zdpSE_jFUSSc7IhVpsCyEyWIaJyVN-UT9My9OmnBZ8Cq3lJXkPSrs/s1600/2012-08-22+13.55.14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_BvzlVyaajWW2QypdXO2XhcKmJWusB7TxLe3VnOpfEPPXd41TS5BqcWkpxQGXQHbjsafsu11Hr52cv4MWcjvI34zdpSE_jFUSSc7IhVpsCyEyWIaJyVN-UT9My9OmnBZ8Cq3lJXkPSrs/s200/2012-08-22+13.55.14.jpg" width="200" /> </a></div>
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<br />
At the top I took the opportunity to avail myself of the facilities provided. Namely, a bench seat with a great view of a nuclear reactor and a jam-packed rubbish bin.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4-VQjGnU7tMc5tFihOo26o8e5Rx1SNzhqqQ0AcjKeBAyhNEwf-4rnbOzqUPOfU6iyL19w20-bEr2LdeCUUM1zBZogYotgCbgMAbn0mcO6UTpn5uiGRNFPeQhuU3kpM4tkEuRQBFPIZM/s1600/2012-08-22+13.55.21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi4-VQjGnU7tMc5tFihOo26o8e5Rx1SNzhqqQ0AcjKeBAyhNEwf-4rnbOzqUPOfU6iyL19w20-bEr2LdeCUUM1zBZogYotgCbgMAbn0mcO6UTpn5uiGRNFPeQhuU3kpM4tkEuRQBFPIZM/s320/2012-08-22+13.55.21.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think it's just one of those wannabe nuclear plants. They're a dime a dozen.</td></tr>
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After a brief battle with a wasp for the remainder of another delicious muesli bar, I continued on my way through this much more enjoyable day's worth of riding. I had been looking forward to this next climb for the whole ride, as a lot has been said about it. It is the hill with the cobblestones from which the term <i>kinder koppen</i> has been coined. This translates as "children's heads", I assume because they are rounded and about the size of a child's head. This has in turn been abbreviated to <i>koppen</i>, and thus we have the <i>de</i> <i>Koppenberg</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolKgFihlmxALXVasrsbiKUTSjC_a1L8t8Cq7vLp3r4tDapwuqA5nNeBKa0zUBlP2VrVhwMl_DdVxznY34SehK_rf6DQ_MNrS8f5EMsnV7l494bKRkDvlArOeTLai5dqOBkIvKkTNCCfY/s1600/2012-08-22+14.10.05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolKgFihlmxALXVasrsbiKUTSjC_a1L8t8Cq7vLp3r4tDapwuqA5nNeBKa0zUBlP2VrVhwMl_DdVxznY34SehK_rf6DQ_MNrS8f5EMsnV7l494bKRkDvlArOeTLai5dqOBkIvKkTNCCfY/s200/2012-08-22+14.10.05.jpg" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRaJXI2zpsNTHXud4Fwa27fq01M98so4AOctCL7RNVsibaXq-mYlXq9sUL-GVsYW20ulb4EOpH7j_SQoqQW3ZJcDnhToi2ZkDNOeVlR0OVsOtvWFFqHOtNo0wik8-ujBwgJ_Nxkl3tH6U/s1600/2012-08-22+14.10.26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRaJXI2zpsNTHXud4Fwa27fq01M98so4AOctCL7RNVsibaXq-mYlXq9sUL-GVsYW20ulb4EOpH7j_SQoqQW3ZJcDnhToi2ZkDNOeVlR0OVsOtvWFFqHOtNo0wik8-ujBwgJ_Nxkl3tH6U/s200/2012-08-22+14.10.26.jpg" width="158" /></a></div>
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Over the course of the last century this road had degraded so much so that riders complained and it was even removed from the <i>Ronde</i> briefly due to safety concerns. It has since had a lot of work done to it, and now if it weren't for the distinctive "koppen" shape of the pavé it wouldn't be especially remarkable. It was certainly challenging in its gradient, getting up to 22%, but due to the generally excellent condition it's actually not as arduous as it could be. On a fine, sunny day that is......<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2IxaT-V40TtMXLxctVZkw33PoTMPOj_yR0lUVu8-OtocmZ0xZiWLC5melbfhFbujdmnFEllAlRFyURaAMDmCqJ7-7psh-rSjpKp_Iv-uNzQF3uhdDjXFMohR31CuLOnwukedui19g788/s1600/2012-08-22+14.55.51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2IxaT-V40TtMXLxctVZkw33PoTMPOj_yR0lUVu8-OtocmZ0xZiWLC5melbfhFbujdmnFEllAlRFyURaAMDmCqJ7-7psh-rSjpKp_Iv-uNzQF3uhdDjXFMohR31CuLOnwukedui19g788/s320/2012-08-22+14.55.51.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Token shameless self-promotion shot</td></tr>
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I always find these mirrors a little confusing. I understand what they're there for, but the reality is that in order to get to the point where the angle is right to be able to see what's coming in the other direction, you've gone so far as to be practically in the intersection already. At the very least, if you haven't slowed down to a crawl by now, you're certainly not going to be able to stop in time should you meet something coming the other way and only see it when its reflected gaze meets your eye. <br />
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This leads me to another thing I've noticed so far in my time here. Roads, and in particular the system of physical markings on streets and the use of roadsign designations is very different from New Zealand. At first it's a bit of a shock - when you stop at an intersection, it's easy to go too far forward and not be able to see the traffic lights. They often only have one light per entrance to the intersection, so you have to keep your eyes peeled for it. In fact you have to keept your eyes peeled for everything, and I think that's probably the point. There tend to be few paint markings on the ground, but many more signs about the road with warnings of upcoming features and your responsibility thereby. Combined with generally rather narrow roads, and the excellent law based on your relative danger to other road users (a sliding scale whereby the more dangerous/larger vehicles bear the weight of responsibility in any events that involves others. For example a truck is responsible in conflict with a car regardless of fault, likewise a car is responsible for the safety of cyclists, and in turn pedestrians are at the top and even as a cyclist if one jumps out in front of you it's your job to ensure you don't have an accident) I think this creates and necessitates an increased awareness of one's surroundings, which can in turn only lead to a more cooperative and safer transport environment.<br />
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On a different note, but equally uncommon for a Kiwi such as myself, is the somewhat humorous practicality of this machine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63S3H9koqJIavX-60JniJ28TMuaNXzIxTXrh9kEq5gwbnkp0C49w1zPRjfDGI1oqtqV6kyLiQQwcBz0yZGrzOQ837w046V3dMBbw1lqXHmYfOZQ40aP_ahhrAbmmIbLeoycQw-pCn-kc/s1600/2012-08-22+15.03.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63S3H9koqJIavX-60JniJ28TMuaNXzIxTXrh9kEq5gwbnkp0C49w1zPRjfDGI1oqtqV6kyLiQQwcBz0yZGrzOQ837w046V3dMBbw1lqXHmYfOZQ40aP_ahhrAbmmIbLeoycQw-pCn-kc/s320/2012-08-22+15.03.18.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Gone are the days of having to go to the bakery when it's open, inconveniently paying money to a person in exchange for their produce. With the <i>Brood-matic</i> out and about in the town, you can simply put the correct change in, push a few buttons and 'pop', out comes a fresh loaf of bread. Despite my somewhat insolent tone, I do think it's a cool idea. However, the convenience becomes somewhat less substantial when inevitably the machine is empty by about 9.30am.<br />
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There are also apple vending machines, seeing it is the season for such fruits. But nothing quite takes the cake for novelty goods in a vending machine as this one<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIr5r47IXak-cMjjKV96n3T_ILTXeitSdAt5ah-aNLz-1rpcaDGwcIVmW9Y_lrSyWdrqypCaIB8N7r7_vUTiSCUNiY2-XhXlbFCOpBpLPthuqbcL-edqv2_KTsifzHqNptqVXAm275UU/s1600/2012-08-27+15.02.17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbIr5r47IXak-cMjjKV96n3T_ILTXeitSdAt5ah-aNLz-1rpcaDGwcIVmW9Y_lrSyWdrqypCaIB8N7r7_vUTiSCUNiY2-XhXlbFCOpBpLPthuqbcL-edqv2_KTsifzHqNptqVXAm275UU/s320/2012-08-27+15.02.17.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>come on kids, what do you want to drink?</i></td></tr>
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Yes, I'm certainly somewhere with slightly different societal values, culture and expectations. But it's a great place, and I'm having a blast. My estimation of the ride taking 6 hours was only slightly under the actual 7 hours it took, due probably in part to my improved sign following navigation. Not only was I feeling pretty good throughout the ride (potentially meaning I am getting better at this bike riding thing, or just that I had enough food and drink) I'm also now two thirds of the way through the Tour of Flanders, albeit not quite at race pace. Next up: The Cobbles.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyDIh4s2NJn20Hlme2Up7cMidrKhrYFFzuHr81qauMdBoCVCmQCNcg3ryGkRLPnRtqidms_xg-y8LTi5T2-Nj1ZZAmlHKKHd1FMKVa_fRXJ432xacd3Ej3sfA6nwt4eULdmk3d0I6CqQ/s1600/2012-08-22+15.08.02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoyDIh4s2NJn20Hlme2Up7cMidrKhrYFFzuHr81qauMdBoCVCmQCNcg3ryGkRLPnRtqidms_xg-y8LTi5T2-Nj1ZZAmlHKKHd1FMKVa_fRXJ432xacd3Ej3sfA6nwt4eULdmk3d0I6CqQ/s320/2012-08-22+15.08.02.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can say that again</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-8081667590852920522012-08-24T13:01:00.001+02:002012-08-24T13:02:15.688+02:00Gent - City of Cyclists, Streetcars and Drunk Chainsaw-wielding MadmenLast weekend I took a train to Gent, with a plan of meeting fellow
New Zealander and cyclocross rider (amongst other things) Darryn
Medhurst. He had invited me to stay a few days and go for a couple of
rides - around his local off-road trails and then as part of a Sunday
morning bunch road ride.<br />
<br />
The country has been under a
heatwave for the past week or so, and everyone here has been going on
about it. They express surprise at the unseasonal temperatures, and
with some irony their lamentations of how it was too cold in the
preceeding weeks have been tempered by complaints of it now being too hot.
The Goldilocks of the meteorological world.<br />
<br />
Anyway, it
was a stinking hot day so leaving the comfort of the countryside behind
me I headed into the heat and urban haze of Brussels, waiting only
briefly at the station to catch a connecting train to Gent. For all the
country's passion for cycling, and its generally excellent
infrastructure around cycle lanes and paths, there is little facility
for taking bikes on the train. Luckily I had two pretty empty trains, so
just took it on and rested it in the aisle by my seat.<br />
<br />
A
few hours before leaving Enghien to catch the train, I had noticed a
broken spoke on my rear wheel. It definitely hadn't happened while I was
last riding it, because the wheel no longer turned without touching the
brake pads. It makes me sad when spokes break while not in use, as if
the wheel has been suffering quietly, putting on a brave face only to
crumple when the pressure gets too much. I didn't like the idea of
riding it in this state, as it has a fairly low spoke count, so I was
lucky to have Darryn pick me up from the train station in Gent, and lend
me a wheel for the weekend.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQiAGOjTX-hBByWMIQP5p8514Yp1JnPkSQc6JBvKjM7kZj06P_oSMDoNPYaSFeHgJohG06jVPGfdBSV5F2SS6by_8gMzo2e1mP0P0JPuRutQrYD4A-ln-mYSW4oJtlPX7mLuNPuZptW3E/s1600/2012-08-18+17.59.10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQiAGOjTX-hBByWMIQP5p8514Yp1JnPkSQc6JBvKjM7kZj06P_oSMDoNPYaSFeHgJohG06jVPGfdBSV5F2SS6by_8gMzo2e1mP0P0JPuRutQrYD4A-ln-mYSW4oJtlPX7mLuNPuZptW3E/s320/2012-08-18+17.59.10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bikes, trams and... drunk men dressed up as Australians or Brazilians</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We went for a two hour road ride that evening, up
towards Holland and around through Zomergem and back, following canals
and generally quiet calm roads once we were out of the city. It was a
fairly casual ride until at one point Darryn was putting his drink
bottle back into its cage when he must have suddenly hit a bump,
throwing his balance out. He landed with his chest over his handlebars,
his weight so far forwards that his back wheel was coming off the
ground. For an instant he seemed somewhat in control - first ever nose
manual I've seen on a road bike - despite the awkward appearance, but it
was only a few brief seconds. Then he landed heavily on his shoulder,
on a patch of sandy tarmac, narrowly missing the grass verge. It had
happened so suddenly, yet was very drawn out once it started, meaning I
had time to manoeuver myself out of the way behind him. Somewhat dazed
and confused, and as I found out over the course of the coming days, in
quite a bit of pain from his ribs, he was at least well enough to
continue riding.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQGm9kVZxDhpABo09OV2ing92x6T30KN9Dp9b9B0mqp0Lt5Xhmvnigmg7Ve0lJlulqTljsG5N6KiYvKknnFKlw-5vjquZc17kUjzrMq1MaH3kwKEnX9KnpjFmssJJGq1slW1gHIlc0fw/s1600/2012-08-18+11.30.10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQGm9kVZxDhpABo09OV2ing92x6T30KN9Dp9b9B0mqp0Lt5Xhmvnigmg7Ve0lJlulqTljsG5N6KiYvKknnFKlw-5vjquZc17kUjzrMq1MaH3kwKEnX9KnpjFmssJJGq1slW1gHIlc0fw/s320/2012-08-18+11.30.10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back to some tranquility</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
If we thought that was going to be the excitement
over for the ride, we had another thing coming. Heading along a cycle
lane back towards Gent maybe half an hour later, we were approaching an
intersection where a small lane joined us from off to our
right. There was an old, wild, slightly frantic looking man riding a
bike towards us down this lane. When I say riding, it is in the loosest
sense of the word, as he was perched awkwardly on the saddle only just
directing his momentum - struggling against physics with one hand on the
bars steering and braking as he headed straight towards us, while in
the other hand... a chainsaw! I couldn't believe my eyes. He was drunk
as a skunk, yet somehow he did indeed manage to stop - the bike that is,
while the chainsaw and his arm came flailing around in front of him as he struggled to put a foot down,
almost dismembering Darryn and myself. Of course, the chainsaw wasn't
going, and he'd even taken the time to put the safety cover over the
blade, but I couldn't have been more shocked even if it had actually
been running.<br />
<br />
We had a nice cruise along the canal back
into town, re-running through the scene in our minds, and chatting
about plans for the upcoming cyclocross season. Darryn, I later found
out, had been a very successful road and track racer in the 90's,
including being the NZ junior national champion. Despite living in
Flanders for the past decade or more he only got into cyclocross last
year. As we crossed the canal and wended out way through a few
intersections (the cycle lanes tend to go up and down over the kerb,
around bus stops and next to pedestrian crossings - nice to be separated
from traffic, but very confusing with paths crossing, things coming at
you from every direction and with different give way rules to NZ) I felt
like stretching my arms so took the opportunity on a calm section to
sit up and take my hands off the bars for a few seconds.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1gx27dZmv_scQU5741PdU6-JtWihKLjnxq2Ua5NcDY9QeJg5F4RWurFK3QSZ-hzwYifEZHcHWg8FDm8b48BXU0Nr_ESpgs4lzbms_XHOXsWkY5sU1s1kPf-JtMe8DF-c1gE1IV2tCYU/s1600/2012-08-18+19.51.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm1gx27dZmv_scQU5741PdU6-JtWihKLjnxq2Ua5NcDY9QeJg5F4RWurFK3QSZ-hzwYifEZHcHWg8FDm8b48BXU0Nr_ESpgs4lzbms_XHOXsWkY5sU1s1kPf-JtMe8DF-c1gE1IV2tCYU/s320/2012-08-18+19.51.22.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Photo taken at a later stage)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Immediately I
found a cop on a motorbike beside me grunting at me with an angry look
on his face. I tried to use body language to show that I didn't
understand, as his bike was so loud. This just seemed to anger him even
more and he really shouted it at me now. I told him I didn't speak
Dutch, so he asked me where I was from. I still didn't know what he was
on about, assuming that perhaps I had inadvertantly gone through a red
light at some point. But no, he was telling me to put my hands on the
bars saying "I think that in New Zealand it is the same?" in a very
aggrieved tone. By this stage I had acquiesced and put my hands back on
the bars, so I nodded trying to get him on his way. I don't really know
whether it is in fact a rule, but I've never heard of anyone being
pulled up for it. I think it was more a case of his day not being the
holiday that it was for most other people, and a fairly heavy dose of
pent up resentment. He also had a patch of facial hair above his top lip, but it was more of a common
or garden moustache, and not particularly magnificent.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjbihaY1XJS-qyJdb0HQDyQAnFTul41e01V7iDhd4_NYEEUSIIHp9owQTVDjcWPErhbncmvz5oGl2otXyi5l4-9hHhkc9I-4D6L_P2ANPwfbU5s8gAutXrvwhWr1WXgyE7ToJUTrR1rU/s1600/2012-08-19+11.17.43.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdjbihaY1XJS-qyJdb0HQDyQAnFTul41e01V7iDhd4_NYEEUSIIHp9owQTVDjcWPErhbncmvz5oGl2otXyi5l4-9hHhkc9I-4D6L_P2ANPwfbU5s8gAutXrvwhWr1WXgyE7ToJUTrR1rU/s320/2012-08-19+11.17.43.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cambridge Terrace, Wellington 2015?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We had a nice evening BBQ with Darryn's family,
basking in the night time warmth (I think it got down to around 25º
overnight). The next morning I changed tyres and we headed out for a
ride on some of the local off-road trails. I was feeling a bit fried,
partly due to the temperature at that moment but also the lack of sleep
from the heat during the night. I only have my designer Italian
sunglasses over here at the moment, and they are quite a dark tint. So although they're great for riding in the sun, (or for doing anything that requires style in the sun) transitions into shady leaf-strewn
paths and 4x4 roads with big piles of dumped bricks can make for a bit
of blind riding. Lifting my glasses would mean I got dust and insects in
my eyes, while continuing to wear them made me worry I would puncture
if I couldn't see properly. I probably worried about this too much, and
combined with trying to keep up with Darryn on his home circuit meant I
had just a bit much going on in my head. It was a nice ride, and
definitely a good way to see what the conditions of some of the early
cross races are going to be like - at the moment everything is so dry
and dusty, sandy even.<br />
<br />
Later on Saturday we went into
town to look around and have something to eat. Darryn showed me a
building with the remnants of a bygone era still present:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjrK2wtgLfs-qzvpwuIF4feSZWqQ0GkrSQkhYGsB3nXWh1bONCyFcM-MuamQt5hWR9nz5IU5haKzOF0lyQWUpG2LSpcHoK8KvizXdmagBSul2PX0QgHpcsc0g-kfq4yHJrh_0WYl4n-E/s1600/2012-08-18+17.58.58.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyjrK2wtgLfs-qzvpwuIF4feSZWqQ0GkrSQkhYGsB3nXWh1bONCyFcM-MuamQt5hWR9nz5IU5haKzOF0lyQWUpG2LSpcHoK8KvizXdmagBSul2PX0QgHpcsc0g-kfq4yHJrh_0WYl4n-E/s320/2012-08-18+17.58.58.jpg" width="175" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Within the grey horseshoe at the top</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After some poor service we had a very belated meal at <i>faits divers</i>,
a restaurant I probably wouldn't recommend - especially if you have
children who can't wait an hour for food. We then headed across the
canal to a really nice place with a bar, dancefloor and a huge sandpit
and playground for children. I don't remember the name of the place, but
it was relaxed and really made it feel like the summer you wish for all
through the winter months.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_kr6JwSocGgAKAWGma5FIA6bpXlW9LDhIiToohfYt_KWj6X4iXH7sAXC-unXH1MK8QUufBKGCG0HrnagEjTqbQSewibdR6FtMp0retirF4wsyrBg9zMVUN-9byzLSFZ64IWhL1z0uL0/s1600/2012-08-18+20.15.44.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV_kr6JwSocGgAKAWGma5FIA6bpXlW9LDhIiToohfYt_KWj6X4iXH7sAXC-unXH1MK8QUufBKGCG0HrnagEjTqbQSewibdR6FtMp0retirF4wsyrBg9zMVUN-9byzLSFZ64IWhL1z0uL0/s200/2012-08-18+20.15.44.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBME33-qWU7glrR-z3Z7_YYNS1JZXmWvzI8IL8yLkzwba-YBORb7UdqdF4P7R45x4gkxqyfvgZNrglaRSZtJSDHDiymksnlVFd9j-D6q_t3k9tqtnQFIcdfwMQzBguAAu0dkGKTtU_xc/s1600/2012-08-18+20.20.40.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBME33-qWU7glrR-z3Z7_YYNS1JZXmWvzI8IL8yLkzwba-YBORb7UdqdF4P7R45x4gkxqyfvgZNrglaRSZtJSDHDiymksnlVFd9j-D6q_t3k9tqtnQFIcdfwMQzBguAAu0dkGKTtU_xc/s200/2012-08-18+20.20.40.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
In
the morning on Sunday I forgot to change my tyres over to road mode
again until the last minute, meaning we were running late for the bunch
ride. We met Gabe, a friend of Darryn's, part way there and after a
brief team time trial along the canal we joined onto the back of the
bunch as it made its way south towards Oudenaarde. There weren't as many
people as Darryn has expected, but he'd warned me that they can get a
bit carried away racing each other on the run back into Gent along the
canal, especially in cross winds. It was a calm day however, so I kept
up in the first 20 or so riders and enjoyed the early, more sedate part
of the ride.<br />
<br />
As we neared Oudenaarde we encountered a few
hills, none of which were steep but a few that dragged on for quite a
long time. A couple of guys jumped off the front - one of whom I later
found out has been busted for doping 5 or 6 times, and used to win
Kermis races in solo attacks 60km from the finish, charged up out of his
brain. He's a bit older now, but nonetheless keen to give it a good go
over and over. As the hill wore on I found myself at the front setting a
pace just above comfortable, pulling those two back in. I was feeling
good, and still able to take turns at the front once we'd reached the
top, rolling along undulating roads and back down to the canal.<br />
<br />
The pace on the return leg did definitely step up, but not by as much as I was expecting and it was quite a steady tempo, only occasionally upset by someone having a bit of a go off the front. I managed to hold it together near the front until people started to sprint at the end, which I wasn't interested in
doing. I was intrigued by the company we had on the ride, as I was
aware that pro's often come along. As in New Zealand, there are many
people who wear replica team kits, but some people look so smart and
slick with all the gear and muscles and no hair that you have to check
the bike to make sure that all the parts fit with the team to be sure
whether or not they are actually part of it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqlsIZVAzLdkAOpanMgID2m_3KXk0VxNLP_Aq5n6JN2TYT6kfbFHncuAidVqaC_xxzJm99sHtBIQ_wQaMxyrXLuqnnUeYZRsZyRoL8a5kCvUyaGT6oE4AGl6m2mWfmsNbu0aVM2ACadSU/s1600/2012-08-19+10.57.34.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqlsIZVAzLdkAOpanMgID2m_3KXk0VxNLP_Aq5n6JN2TYT6kfbFHncuAidVqaC_xxzJm99sHtBIQ_wQaMxyrXLuqnnUeYZRsZyRoL8a5kCvUyaGT6oE4AGl6m2mWfmsNbu0aVM2ACadSU/s320/2012-08-19+10.57.34.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iljo Keisse at the front right in genuine Omega Pharma Quick Step</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Incidentally I saw recently what Quick Step
actually is when I was taking out floorboards and putting in new
parquet at my friend's cousin's place:<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM3dXez7Sw3mnnK3EPEYBfAG8_0JhUL-Ze_M6wzPGAtM6Cer8s-oDcuDVU9pdqRJiMmrmlHWbFhWVu0zotqWF-7yrSV_8DK6cIDWZxaBXvCbIE2zMVYJinfBnCFV0I6u8R4hIhglsNJ4s/s320/2012-08-08+09.50.12.jpg" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floorboards - though apparently bottom of the line!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Back
in Gent in one piece I was able to relax a bit and watch some of the
Vuelta a España before heading to the train station once more. I wasn't
as lucky with the return trip to Brussels, because seeing it was a
weekend day and very sunny everyone had decided to go to the beach. The
train was packed when I tried to get on with my bike, so after initially
starting at the back, I passed each door only to see the entranceway
full of people staring back at me. As the whistle went to indicate
departure, I was running along almost at the front of the platform
hoping to find a space. I looked to the conductor, who just looked back
cocking his head and shrugging as if to say <i>bad luck mate</i>. So I
just grabbed my bike and jumped up onto the train via the closest door.
The entranceway had a bunch of people in it, but we shuffled around and
made space for everyone.<br />
<br />
I hadn't had time to get my ticket before
jumping on the train, so was just planning on paying the collector when
he came around. The train was so full though, and the trip only about
half an hour, that I never saw anyone and got off in Brussels unattended
to. I then got on the connecting train to Enghien, which was
surprisingly (for 8pm on a Sunday night) a double decker. There was
hardly anyone else around, so I had plenty of room for the Yeti and
myself to stretch out. Again noone came to collect the ticket I hadn't
yet purchased, so I happily strolled from the train out through the
station and back home, glad I'd taken the opportunity to jump aboard in
Gent rather than waiting an hour for the next train, and saving myself
about €15 in the process.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikckobSvcAOALQX6Uawyo6tcU2dyS-2rreHWnW8I9fTJoRwghJf67KNvmNtrwWI4gKHeVytyG23_rVx04ia-Cp3PKARp3KZuaBmtfVJrSo6OGpzg1an4n5XR-WPZKCANHOSonk9J0vS5Q/s1600/2012-08-19+20.39.44.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikckobSvcAOALQX6Uawyo6tcU2dyS-2rreHWnW8I9fTJoRwghJf67KNvmNtrwWI4gKHeVytyG23_rVx04ia-Cp3PKARp3KZuaBmtfVJrSo6OGpzg1an4n5XR-WPZKCANHOSonk9J0vS5Q/s320/2012-08-19+20.39.44.jpg" width="223" /></a></div>
<br />
I have to thank Darryn for his generosity, it was great staying with him and his family. I have a much better picture of the scale of the cross scene around Flanders now, and I will be much more prepared for the inherent dangers of riding in and around Gent.Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-34085668272464335142012-08-17T13:32:00.000+02:002012-08-17T13:38:10.317+02:00Ronde van VlaanderenThe other day when I was taking a stab in the dark and riding off in a new direction I came across a sign on the side of the road that piqued my interest:<br />
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So I followed it for a while and before long found myself riding along some beautiful country lanes away from the busy roads, with my friends the ubiquitous wheat and corn fields.<br />
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At each sign I noticed it still said 114km, so either I was on a giant treadmill not moving anywhere, or this was a loop. Of course it was a loop - a tour of Flanders. I didn't have time to investigate the whole thing that day but decided it would be a good one to come back to and check out in its entirety some time soon. That day ended up being Wednesday this week, with clear skies and everybody off work for the national holiday of l'assomption. I expected it to take maybe 4 - 5 hours, including getting to and from the loop from where I'm staying in Enghien, some 15km away. People go on about how flat the land is in Flanders, so I thought this seemed reasonable. What I missed from what people go on about is that this loop in primarily just in the Flemish Ardennes, which is riddled with hills and bumps of all shapes and sizes. So, 114 very up and down kilometres as I was to find out.<br />
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I joined the tour route at Geraardsbergen, most famous in cycling for its cobbled climb up the Muur van Geraardsbergen, or "Kapelmuur" because it leads to a chapel at the top. It's the scene of many famous attacks, such as Cancellara in 2010. Listen to the crowd!<br />
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There are a few cafés/bars on the way up, all of which were packed to the gunnels with people enjoying a crisp Belgian in the sun. I chose instead to carry on towards the next feature of the parcours, another pavé climb called the Bosberg.<br />
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This one isn't as steep, but the surface is a bit rougher because the stones have loosened over time and become more spaced apart. Getting towards Kinderkoppen status ("children's heads" as the cobbles are known colloquially) but worse was to come. It's quite a nice ride through the trees at a moderate pace, but I can imagine it being quite another thing after already 250-odd kms at a hectic pro race pace.<br />
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Not long after this I caught up with an older gentleman cruising along on quite a flash road bike, in nothing but Sidi's and bib shorts with the straps off his shoulders dangling around his waist. His skin was like leather, tanned so as to be I imagined tougher than that of his saddle. He spoke a little French so we chatted briefly, and it turned out he'd already been for a ride that morning out to Bruges. I asked him about the route I was following, and he said that it ended about 3 or 4km up the road. I was a bit confused by this, as I didn't think a loop could really end, as such. How long is a piece of string? How about if you lay it out on asphalt? Well it turns out that the route just turns in on itself briefly, before heading back in a generally Westerly direction that goes north of Geraardsbergen.<br />
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The day was heating up and I had with me one bottle of water and three muesli bars. Just to be on the safe side I had some money too, but I probably overestimated the power of my budget as €5 doesn't go all that far. I stopped off at a Frituur for a can of Coke, and realised once I'd stepped in the door that I still hardly know any Dutch. The two guys working there looked to be training buddies with Arnold Schwarzenegger, but both greeted me cheerily. I suddenly felt embarrassed and, not wanting to greet them immediately in French, nor presuming to just speak English straight away, I hesitated tongue-tied until the gears started turning in my brain and I remembered hello. Suitably delayed so as to be quite awkward and almost out of context. I quickly got my can out of the fridge and paid the man, slinking back out the door with a sheepish nod of thanks and a mumbled "dank u".<br />
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My communication problems couldn't possibly get any worse than this I decided, and so rather than shy away from these occasions I promised to make more of an effort and approach people more readily, with less concern for the accuracy of my utterances. Any greeting is better than silence. I really don't like the feeling of not being able to express myself (I don't imagine anyone does) but especially when I'm generally able to in French, and just down the road it's back to square one again for me in Dutch. <br />
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So after a nice cruise down a tree-lined boulevarde I was trying to decipher which direction to interpret the sign as indicating, when a couple came to align their map with the same sign. They were from Gent but as I found out after somehow explaining my lack of Dutch in my non-existant Dutch, they spoke some French. It seems most Flemish people do at least speak a little, but whether they're happy to use it is another question. At least that's what all the French speakers I have met have to say about the Flemish, but so far I've found them to be quite happy to speak French with me. I suppose it's that or nothing though. I keep my English a secret until it's absolutely necessary, then pull out the trump card - I'm a New Zealander. They love it.<br />
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As the green route leads me deeper and deeper into the Flemish countryside, I start to notice a few things. The roads seem generally to be in better condition in this part of the country (I read that Hainaut, where I'm staying and the province just south of East-Flanders, is the lowest socio-economically) as is the state of the properties bordering the road. The gardens are so pristinely kept, the brick façades of houses immaculate. Finally the consideration given to cyclists by way of cycle paths and lanes at all times is quite significant.<br />
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I'm fairly well disorientated by this point, and hoping that as long as I follow the hexagonal signs placed at every intersection I'll make it out alive, before dark. But sometimes there's an intersection without a sign, or an arrow pointing straight ahead towards a road that splits, veering off in multiple directions. This became quite a common theme for the ride, and at one point caused me to have to double back after a kilometre or more of some pretty juicy "koppen"<br />
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As time passes, so washes away the mortar or whatever is used to secure the stones, until all that is left is sand and debris between them. This has a tendancy to make it quite a "rock 'n' roll" ride sensation. With eyes rattling around in your skull desperately seeking the smoothest line to take, trying to avoid the ruts and holes caused by cars and erosion, and every ounce of flesh on your body quivering like you're riding a compactor, it's quite an experience. Quite an unpleasant experience, it turns out, especially after a few hundred metres. I really gained an appreciation for the guys who race Paris-Roubaix and the like, doing it over and over for six or more hours.<br />
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Eventually I broke out onto some of the smoothest tarmac I've ever encountered, and a view of the countryside just out of Oudenaarde.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtNiIF8dtbusda3lFLewsymgEgZ5HQfyMMKEaOoWrbo-2a8ksxg2UlTppsTgAFGWaXDjETgqFbd1MRKcs7lz7bzRudSQXgTWixha7Fatns8hDEmNpnkHY9j3iTg5VrzPH2Tx4Cf4P6ulA/s1600/Oudenaarde+panorama.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtNiIF8dtbusda3lFLewsymgEgZ5HQfyMMKEaOoWrbo-2a8ksxg2UlTppsTgAFGWaXDjETgqFbd1MRKcs7lz7bzRudSQXgTWixha7Fatns8hDEmNpnkHY9j3iTg5VrzPH2Tx4Cf4P6ulA/s400/Oudenaarde+panorama.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Semi-effective panorama</td></tr>
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This is a beautiful town, once again immaculate and unified in its elegant aesthetic. I made my way into the centre, partly by accident, but the signs had stopped and so I wanted to see if I could find some information about where to go. I needn't have worried, as low and behold I stumbled upon the Museum of the Tour of Flanders, of course.<br />
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I wasn't really expecting this, so of course I briefly ventured inside to have a peek and hoping to find a vending machine to get another drink. I would have loved to visit the museum but I wasn't really in the best state of attire or comfort for that kind of thing. I got a coke and a fanta, and refilled my water bottle in the toilets. Where I spotted this humorous wee number, so to speak.<br />
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Out the front they have a nice display set up:<br />
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I found a map of the green route I had been following, along with a red and a blue route, which both take in different parts of the area. The red being more hilly, the blue being more cobbly.<br />
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I'd been riding for about 4 or 5 hours by now, and was looking forward to heading back in the general direction of home, as that is where the green route should logically take me. But of course it wends its way up and down and around much more than I was expecting, and so took significantly longer than it appeared it would. <br />
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At one point on the way back I stopped at a small tavern to ask for directions and for some water for my bidon. There were two cool old guys sitting out the front smoking and drinking, and both were keen to help. We had a hilarious conversation with bits of French, English and Dutch all mixed together trying to understand each other, with the net result being that they knew the route of the race and that it passed right by and up the hill in front of me.<br />
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I went up the hill and sure enough, there was the green hexagonal sign I had been hoping for. Dank u gentlemen.<br />
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Due to the combination of my fatigue and therefore inattention, the occasional moss covered or otherwise misplaced sign
leading me back and forth it wasn't for another 3 hours that I finally
made it back home, exhausted but satisfied that I had got through it.
That is to say, I had got through half of it. I realised, sitting down having a cool drink at home, the red and blue
routes are still waiting for me to explore them - I had only covered half of the race, a small amount of the cobbles, and not the steepest of the climbs. As they say over here, chapeau to the riders.<br />
<br />Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-50900126036964194192012-08-12T23:49:00.000+02:002012-08-12T23:49:45.076+02:00Kermesse SuccessToday I had my baptism into the world of Belgian cycling, by racing my first kermesse. If you don't know what this means, it's basically a road race that is a bit like a larger-scale criterium. Typically run around a course with multiple laps, today's was 20 x 4.5km laps to make 90km.<br />
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This morning I woke up a bit late, having found a way to put the curtain up successfully in the room I'm staying in. This was initially a good thing because it meant I could sleep without a room full of light, and in the morning sleep in past about 6.30 when the light returned. However I didn't count on it being so hot last night, and the mosquitoes buzzing in my ears so it took a while to actually get to sleep. Anyway, as interesting as all that is it just meant I had to hurry a bit to get to my surrogate family's holiday house for lunch, a 45 minute bike ride away.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summertime in Quenast</td></tr>
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After a perfect but all too brief summer lunch, I jumped back onto the bike to head another half hour to Hennuyères, where my friend Michel lives, nestled in the trees with some of the area's best trails just up the road. He was ready to go when I arrived, so we headed along to Seneffe for the race.<br />
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The day before I had decided to invest in some road tyres, partly to save my really expensive cyclocross tyres, and also partly to be able to keep up. I'm not a very experienced road racer by any means, I can probably count all the races I've done on my hands. So it was with some trepidation that I paid my €10 and got my number for the day.<br />
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Michel had told me that this race was organised by a sort of pirate league, who aren't so rigorous with checking licenses and observing other rules such as previous convictions for doping. So you'll understand doubly so why I was unsure quite what to expect. I needn't have worried though, what with the Yeti in road-mode.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost fitted in with the competition's machines</td></tr>
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When we were on the start line, Michel exclaimed that it was a shame that the field was small, as it wouldn't be so good for him. I turned around and couldn't see anything but greased-up shaved legs and carbon fibre for a hundred or so metres behind me. What was he talking about? The only race I've been to with more people than that might be the Taupo cycle challenge. He'd also said it would probably be "à bloc" from the gun, so I was prepared to put my cyclocross start into action and give it heaps.<br />
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However this didn't really happen, and the first lap was somewhat tame. A few people shouted and grunted and nuzzled their bums into my handlebars, but in all it was not as raw and aggressive as I had been expecting. I wasn't especially disappointed about it, as the prospect of big meaty embrocated Belgians salivating at my nervousness and just waiting to torment me hadn't exactly filled me with confidence. But I did feel like a little bit of a cheapskate, getting a somewhat easy run. Saying that though, the racing was still tough and there were plenty of moments where I was forced into the gutter or gravel.<br />
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It was unseasonably hot, possibly 25-30º (even thought it's the middle of summer, it surprised everyone) and I only had one drink bottle, a small muesli bar and a gel. I tried to ration all of the above, but after one bite the bar was gone and I had got through about 3/4 of the water by halfway. I did manage to hold out taking the gel until after an hour of riding, and helped by the caffeine it picked me up no insignificant amount.<br />
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They had mixed B and A grades together, with A doing 3 more laps after B finished. As we neared the end of the B grade countdown, we got their bell lap and the pace picked up. Everyone from both races was totally interspersed at this point, so I figured it best to just stay going with the majority of people. As we rounded the final bend and the sprint wound up I took it easy back behind. I was wondering what would happen when they finished, would they all go to the one side, would they carry on riding, would it be chaos with some people stopping on the left, some on the right, some just coasting down the middle of the road and others carrying on racing despite having finished their race and sporting a yellow number pertaining to the B grade race? Well, it was largely the chaos option. Some people pulled over to one side, others to the other, while most coasted and then stuck an indicator arm out just as they were being passed. I somehow managed to wend my way through them all unscathed but causing, I think, a few yelps and other typically French exclamations of alarm.<br />
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As our laps counted down I was waiting for the pace to heat up, but it never really did. It did <i>seem</i> to however, but this was mainly due to me reaching the end of my tether, the fog of hypoglycaemia taking me into its arms and stifling me against its abundant and exhaustive bosom. It was a slightly sad way to end what had otherwise been a race I was quite proud of - I'd given it a few goes on the front, off the front into a break briefly, and now just as we started the last lap found myself again off the front, only this time in the less desirable direction.<br />
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I rolled my way around, and crossed the line no less proud to be dead last. The way I saw it, the competition was probably equal to some of the big races in NZ, in which I haven't always been able to finish. I also figured some people probably pulled out, so I bet them and therefore wasn't really last at all. Whatever the case, after 90km in just over 2 hours, thus an average of almost 45km per hour, I was suitably wrecked.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That's not supposed to look like a smile</td></tr>
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Nobody else there had a sculpted moustache, or italian design sunglasses that I could tell. Or a cross bike either for that matter. So there were definitely a few positives to take from this first competitive outing. The most positive thing was the awesome Michel giving me a lift back home afterwards, saving me what should have been an hour or two ride, but which would have probably turned into a lifetime of vagabondism in the Belgian forest struggling to recall who I was and how I got wherever it was that I found myself.<br />
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I've got a weekend in Gent planned for next week, visiting fellow Kiwi Darryn Medhurst in his Flandrian home town. He's been doing a bit of cyclocross in these parts for a while now, so is going to fill me in on the business, and we'll go for a few rides together in that part of the country. After that it'll be only a couple more weeks until the 'cross races begin, and I can't wait.Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-68878927775299364542012-08-10T23:05:00.001+02:002012-08-10T23:05:23.970+02:00Out and about<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uyYVwAHF26Obw3yJNO-E8DGMwXb1nWQTYzIVqOXqKapDCYJk_FzN8Fn6e9oouHzuRW5K6waHl0diZ0ozvj5TkaWfojJmagYWEhbRsJyu6n09zgl17og-6VjyALllGQkAZlacGYtwg_4/s1600/2012-08-09+13.01.17-723970.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5uyYVwAHF26Obw3yJNO-E8DGMwXb1nWQTYzIVqOXqKapDCYJk_FzN8Fn6e9oouHzuRW5K6waHl0diZ0ozvj5TkaWfojJmagYWEhbRsJyu6n09zgl17og-6VjyALllGQkAZlacGYtwg_4/s320/2012-08-09+13.01.17-723970.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5775153575066696946" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFIUP1D00yoICVFOpN4oIHpBTUauz8yfbL7QR-XQO5RlDTLXci_qPLae8Xb0zwAsYXiZKNsoLFaAEgnHqtaIp-h4kzdW83i_rOV_Kg4cBmIiiuPZYqRx10k7h0NrKWBPf5peg0er3GaM/s1600/2012-08-09+13.17.05-725611.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfFIUP1D00yoICVFOpN4oIHpBTUauz8yfbL7QR-XQO5RlDTLXci_qPLae8Xb0zwAsYXiZKNsoLFaAEgnHqtaIp-h4kzdW83i_rOV_Kg4cBmIiiuPZYqRx10k7h0NrKWBPf5peg0er3GaM/s320/2012-08-09+13.17.05-725611.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5775153581059766706" /></a></p>Some photos from today's ride<div class="gmail_quote"> </div><br> Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3804835709623239963.post-64575185070139310422012-08-10T14:03:00.000+02:002012-08-11T01:10:52.867+02:00Early Days<br />
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On the weekend I met up with Michel, a guy I had been put in touch by a friend. He works at a bike shop here in Belgium and for the last couple of decades has worked in mechanical support for various MTB teams, from Volvo-Cannondale to today's USA team. He's also a gentleman with a very good knowledge of the local trails and how to string them together into a fun long ride for a sunny day. </div>
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I had a 45 minute ride to get to Michel's place from Enghien, where I am staying temporarily since my arrival in Belgium last week. It was a Sunday morning, and the village was still sleeping..</div>
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Most of our ride consisted of narrow little rights of way between fields of corn, potatoes, peas, beetroot etc, and unlike anything in Welington. Shouldn't have been all that surprising though, as you don't tend to come across many fields of corn on Mt Victoria or Belmont.</div>
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I had been warned about the weather in Belgium before coming here, and I have to say I didn't think it could be much worse than that of Wellington. But if it changes quickly back home it's nothing compared to the sudden showers that can pounce on you over here, and I've only been here a week and in the middle of summer. Thankfully on this day it was brilliant sunshine. Fishing the canal Charleroi seemed to be a popular pastime</div>
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About 4 or 5 hours later we wheeled back down a hill to Michel's place. Little had I known we had ridden all around the local French-speaking area, and even up into Flanders. I wondered why at one point after greeting with a bonjour people we saw I suddenly stopped getting responses, and instead slightly gruff mumbled grunts. There's a certain antagonism between the different language speakers here, which was well illustrated to me.</div>
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At one point we went fairly close to the 1812 battleground of Waterloo, famous for the defeat of the French, (thanks Oli!) and inspiration for Tchaikovsky's 1812 overture. You can just make out a sort of pyramid shape in the background, that's it.</div>
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So although the cyclocross doesn't start here until next month, once it does it really does. From what I've seen of the calendar it's chocka every weekend until the end of February, so I've got a busy and exciting few months ahead of me. In the meantime I'm on the lookout for work and somewhere to live. I've got myself sorted with the jet lag that got me early on, and the long days of sunlight until 10pm aren't so strange now, so I can appreciate life a little more now.</div>Zanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03434809007192695099noreply@blogger.com2