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.

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

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