Back in two it

New 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 Bike Hutt 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.

Photo: The Bike Hutt

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.

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.

Photo: Peter Schepens

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.

Photo: David Connor

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.

Photo: David Connor

Andrew Kerr made this video of the B race, sliding around in the thick of it.

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.

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.

Photo: Cycl1n

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.

Photo: Cycl1n

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.

Intended course of action. Photo: Cycl1n

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 de snor is niet achter de rug.

Acrosstic

As 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 how long is a piece of string? 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 Wellington Yoga 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.

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.

Neerpelt, my second race against the pro's

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 kerstperiode 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:

Formerly quite an ordinary-looking street

In the lead-up to this season I have been for some lovely rides in relatively unfamiliar places:

Making the most of my time and the opportunities presented by a generally kind onset of winter.

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

And a supply of Vittoria clincher tyres for general riding and in races where I'm not using my pair of Dugast tubulars

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.

My plan for the season has roughly taken shape, based mainly around the Bike Hutt series and a few of the NZ national series 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.

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.

Creamy mud
Yikes
Conglomerated mud
Languishing brakes
Oh my
Crestfallen
Riding on a rim
Oh well
Superfluous
Skids

From Be to KY and NZ

For 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.

I have written about this trip in two parts on the Spoke magazine blog (one and two) so will now jump forward to slightly closer to the present and my final week in Belgium.

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.

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.

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.

Photo: Peter Schepens

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, the Karapoti Classic, 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.

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.

A Day in the Life of a Minor Celebrity

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Photo: Julie Vanbelle

Post-Christmas Daze: Part One

Every 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.

I've written about the first half of it in my blog on the Spoke magazine website 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.

Leuven Dec 16th:

Schooled by Canadian Aaron Schooler! Photo: Jozef Cooreman

You can't beat a fist punch. Photo: Rita Thienpondt

Sint-Niklaas, Dec 19th:

Photo: Geert Van den Bossche

Lewis Rattray sneaking away. Photo: Rita Thienpondt

Single file early on. Photo: Jozef Cooreman

Namur World Cup Dec 23rd:

Photo: Jozef Cooreman

There were greasy corners a-plenty. Photo: Dirk Bruylant

My Canadian bro's Aaron and Mark. Photo: Ludo Nagels

I got some good airtime on TV when I blocked the world's view of Pauwels leading!

Biggest World Cup field so far, over 60 starters. Photo: John de Jong

Heusden-Zolder World Cup Dec 26th:

Rubbish begins to cover course. Photo: Tom Prenen

One lap down, feeling good. Photo: Jozef Cooreman

Two laps down, bad crash, not feeling good. Photo: Jozef Cooreman

Photo: Tom Prenen

 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.

Koksijde and the Road to Roubaix

With 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 Spoke magazine blog. 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.

I was running a lot. Photo: Luc van der Meiren

I have had a massive influx of donations recently on my Gofundme site, 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.

For some example viewing of what to expect Roubaix to be like, below is a Youtube video of the 2010 World Cup.




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.

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!

Los Pedalos fan club sandwich. Photo: Danny Zelck

Fast Times At Belgium High

It'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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Photo: Het Belang van Limburg

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.

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.

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 Chain Stay, 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.

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.

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.

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!

Photo: Ludo Nagels

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:

 

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.

Photo: Andy Foncke

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?

During the week after these races, I had my interview with the journalist, and found it printed in not only the local Kalmthout newspaper Het Belang van Limburg, but also in the larger Gazet van Antwerpen. It also then spread onto the web through Sporza.be and Wielertoerist.be 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.

The stuff cyclocross dreams are made of - the elusive Dugast whale foreskin 320 threads per inch casing. 

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 site for donations, 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.

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.

Photo: Danny Zelck

Double 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.

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.

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.

Tibo got off to a flier

Wim shooting the breeze

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.

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.

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.

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 just follow everyone else. I played along with the banter, but I laughed last because I'd understood him the first time and the second time too.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

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.

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.

Here we go folks!

True Cyclocross, Belgian Style

This 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.

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.

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.

Ice-cream tongue

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.

Viral product placement

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.

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.

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.

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.

A few weeks ago Darryn put me onto a great website here in Belgium called Wielerbond Vlaanderen 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 kermis 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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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.

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.

It's a heartbeat, beat street.

Candles of flowers?

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.

Smoking and eating hamburgers not prohibited on the course

Any semblance of a tree root must be highlighted!

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:

Just what was I going to be up against if that's how they race at half my age?

Rooster, bro!

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.

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 - elite zonder contract (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.

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.

Several laps in, grinning the grin

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.

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.

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.

Even further in, somewhat less of a grin

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.