Sun 12th July 2015 Oostnieuwkerke
This was my first UCI 1.12B Kermesse in nearly a year and last time I only lasted 20 mins (of the 100+ km race). I have only actually ever finished 1 of the 15 or so Kermesses that I’ve ridden at this level and this report should go some way to explaining why. This ‘explanation’, by the way, is not an excuse! We need to learn to lose in order to learn to win and riding ‘beyond yourself’ is a sure way to bring on your fitness.
Right that’s covered my back so let’s crack on….unless you suffer from a heart condition!
Almost 100 riders took to the start line for this 117km ordeal over 22 laps of a 5.3km circuit on fully closed roads through a tiny little town in West Flanders, marshalled by the police and the locals. During the warm-up I experienced all the normal things that make Belgium Belgium:
- Tight (scary) corners
- Fierce cross-winds
- Street furniture (Islands, roads suddenly narrowing, metal posts at the side of the road, speed bumps)
- Typical Belgium surface i.e. gaps down the middle wide enough to fit your tyre in!
Plus a bonus feature that I naively hadn’t counted on seeing (or didn’t want to see, if the truth be known):
- A cobbled section including 2 corners!
To continue with my ‘explanation’, a final two challeneges:
- A howling wind. Windier than I’ve seen before out there
- A drag (almost a hill) after the road drops down suddenly into a tight right hander (I only come here cos it’s flat!)
For the regulars amongst you, you’ll know that the last cobbled corner I took nearly was my last as it landed me in A and E for stitches in my elbow and subsequently a broken bone in my arm. It was very wet that day; at least this time we had been having a heatwave.
Then, on the morning of the race it poured with rain. I was more than relieved therefore that it had started to dry out by the time the race started! Phew!
I rode the cobbled section twice in my warm-up (twice was plenty) and, whilst this was no ‘Forest of Arenberg’, they do genuinely rattle your whole body way more than you’d expect. Care was still required on the corners in the dry but they’d be like ice in the wet. Oddly, the metal manhole covers seemed less daunting than usual! I would focus on 2 thoughts:
- Ride a bigger gear than on normal tarmac, keeping plenty of pressure on the pedals
- Hold the handlebars gently to allow me and the bike to ‘float’ over the cobbles.
Warmed-up and ready I still get that “I hope I can finish” feeling at this level in Belgium. The one Kermesse I did finish last year had a lot going for it, for want of a better ‘explanation’:
- 3 corners per lap i.e. there were long straights and therefore less frequent accelerations (may I just mention there will still 99 corners that day!)
- Lots of buildings to shelter us from the wind
- A large field meaning more shelter again
- A friend of mine was racing and I had family watching. All this helps enormously when you are ‘chewing your handlebars!’
Having ridden this circuit however, the cobblestones and the tight right hander up a hill had almost encouraged me to pull out.
Almost.
Not that I’m afraid of getting dropped. I was a little afraid of not staying upright though.
The whistle blew at 3pm precisely and we were away. After 10 metres we were straight onto the cobbled section, at least I had a chance to race over them without hitting them at full pelt on lap one. They felt ok! It is amazing what a shot of adrenaline can do. Naturally produced of course!
Straight, left, straight. There are gutters on each side, do I take them for a smoother ride? I daren’t change my line, anyway the guy in front is the middle so I’ll follow him. Right, straight, right hander onto tarmac.
Bliss.
We accelerate; the ‘real’ race begins. I slot in and I’m feeling pumped. 180 degree right and now the tailwind.
When I first started racing I assumed a headwind would be tough to race in as it’s tough to ride in full stop. Then I realised that in a headwind anyone on the front would be doing so much work compared to anyone behind that it’s rarely hard work in the peloton in a headwind. Well, relatively speaking.
Cross-winds have always been hard work because if the guy on the front positions himself cleverly (e.g. on the left of road if the wind is coming from the right) then everyone else is using huge amounts of energy trying to balance delicately between being in the wind (to the right) and falling off the road (to the left). What’s more they might not see a split happening in the peloton if the guy on the front is ‘drilling it’.
What about tailwinds? I used to assume that everyone benefitted from a tailwind so you all flew along together chatting about your new wheels or where you were going on holiday (well, training camp).
Then I went to Belgium.
180 degree right and we ‘hit’ the tailwind.
The Belgians worked out a long time ago that there is something called the ‘concertina effect’: The further back you are going into a corner, the more braking you have to do (I accidentally wrote ‘barking’. Yeah that too) so the more effort you need to use to get back up to speed. If the guy on the front has taken the corner without braking and is now benefitting from a tailwind AND going at 100%, the second guy needs to put even more effort than him to stay with him. A gap will have opened naturally on the corner and, add to that the tailwind, the second guy isn’t getting much benefit from the shelter.
Imagine what it’s like for the 30th guy! Then spare a thought for me!
Last week I spoke about riding near the front. I am sorry. I am so sorry.
So we are all in one line and the front is in another town. I am holding the wheel though. I’m in my biggest gear and we’ve been going 2 minutes. Left, right, left , right. All in succession. You begin to dread that in the same way you dread the next hill in the UK. You know that it’s still the tailwind and the more corners that precede it the worse your life is about to get.
39 mph and I am wondering what is happening to my body. The road has a kink in it. I didn’t notice it in practice but now everything is coming at me so quickly, my view obscured by the riders in front. I now know why those pillars are protected with hay bales! I also understand how a rider in the Tour de France can hit a bollard, spectator, dog or curb when from your living room it looks so simple; the world is coming at you waaay too fast and you’re waaay too tired to react in time!
How on earth are we going to get around that sharp right-hander at this speed? Oh. Like that. Not having time to worry about something has its positives.
We hit the incline with the fierce wind coming from the right. I want to be in the left hand gutter but it’s so bumpy, unlike the middle of the road, which was smooth. I say road. You’d struggle to fit 3 riders abreast on this lane. Occasionally a rider would overtake me on the right (that’s when I knew I wasn’t last) and I’d be able to ride on the smooth tarmac AND leeward of him. It was bliss, other than the fact that we were riding uphill faster than I ever ride downhill anywhere else!
Right–hander at the top and into the headwind. A frantic sprint out of that corner and then, at last, the peloton bunched up so for the first time we weren’t single file. I could move up. I went into gaps before someone else did (see I do preach what I teach!). To my right, riders were bunnyhopping the gutter and riding on the cycle path to move up or attack. All very well but every 20 metres that gutter had a metal post coming out the ground. How nobody came down is a testament to how talented these youngsters were. Yes youngsters. I could have been anyone’s father that day 🙂
The road narrowed, we floated over/smashed into* (delete according to ability) a couple of speed bumps and a left hander into the finishing straight for the first time. The crowd and the commentary over the PA system all felt pretty special at this point and I always feel “part of something” when I come here.
Is that Peter Kay on the PA?
I feel part of a culture of cycling unlike that in any other country. On the walls in my hotel there are cycling jerseys signed by great Belgian cyclists.
They didn’t ask me to sign a jersey, funny that!
On the streets there are billboards advertising the next big race. The Tour de France occupies half of all the space in the newspapers in reception. I have seen a least 20 bicycle hire companies in 3 days and have been shouted at by 2 cyclists for not giving them their legal right of way. Every road has an accompanying cycle path. Bloody cyclists.
One lap or 5.3km covered. If I trained that hard ONCE in a month back home I’d be happy.
Over the cobbles, this time at race pace, thank goodness for the headwind cutting our speed to only 25 mph. My focus was on those two earlier thoughts and then something dawned on me: I was actually keeping up on the cobbles and nobody was passing me! Finally, something I was good at out here.
Typical, I’m good at something that wrecks your bike, wrecks your backside, wrecks your back and arms and causes 10 times more crashes than tarmac.
Oh well, another experience and I’ve conquered a big fear with that one. For the next couple of laps I am in control. I remember to take big long diaphragmatic breaths where I can and I only use energy when I need to (practically all the time but hey ho). Saving energy had also meant not moving up so it had crossed my mind what level of rider I had for company back here. I was about to find out. Out of the 180 right turn and the hammer went down. I was getting the hang of it though when I realised the rider in front of me wasn’t. He couldn’t hold the wheel.
Shit.
I jumped around him and sprinted as hard as I could before the train disappeared in the distance. Sometimes in the UK if you wait for long enough someone will close the gap for you. In Belgium, if that gap’s not closed in 3 seconds flat you’ll never see the race again. I closed the gap and as I caught the back of the wheel in front I put my chin on my stem and freewheeled for a nanosecond, gasping for breath before the left-right-left-right shenanigans that were about to unfold. Then, still with the tailwind, things really kicked off. Gaps were opening everywhere meaning riders had to sprint to close gaps as we lost rider after rider to the sheer speed of it all. I was following wheels and still very much in contention but these selfish people who weren’t strong enough were causing a lot of us a lot of grief and energy closing gaps.
It can’t go on this fast any longer can it? Who’s at the front??!!
We drop down at breakneck speed into the sharp right-hander and onto the bumpy incline in the cross-wind. No it isn’t whacky Races, just a cycle race. I can hear my breathing very audibly and I pray that it eases soon. It doesn’t. I stay left and leeward on the incline, not caring about how bumpy the line was this time. I’m on my limit when I notice the rider in front has left a gap.
Aaaarggghhhhhh
I go around him, in the bloody wind and I was ever so close to grabbing on to him to pull myself past, that’s how angry at him I was for causing me so much hurt. I am glad I didn’t now. I have, incidentally, had it done to me on several occasions in the past!
Nearly at the top and the right hand corner and then, all things being equal to laps one, two and three, we’ll hit the headwind and I’ll be able to breath.
It didn’t happen.
We came out of the right-hander and I immediately lost contact. I went as hard as I could for as long as I could but the gap, into the headwind, was too hard to shut. I flicked my elbow furiously, asking riders to come round me. Was I going to be granted a second chance? I doubted it but waited for one second. I looked over my shoulder, only to see riders in ones and twos in the distance, nobody in any position to help me. At least I had the reassurance that a significant number of riders had been put into difficulty before me and the 31 minutes I’d lasted with the future stars of the pro peloton.
I wonder who bet on rider no. 2 ?
As I was wondering what would happen now, 2 riders joined me and, as we weren’t pulled out by the Organiser, we continued, taking turns on the front. I purposefully went to the front on the cobbled section each lap and was amazed to each time find myself waiting for my companions by the end of it.
We were swept up by 2 other lads and, in turn, caught 2 more, making us a group of 7. It was still so so fast and it felt like we were in the winning breakaway, not the chasing group. My legs were burning but now I knew I was with a group who were exactly the same level as me and that does wonders for your head.
The roads were closed, everyone looked like a pro, the crowds were cheering and we kept racing for another 30 mins. Although I was unclear about what was being said over the PA system I knew it wouldn’t be long before we were pulled out. This happens for a number of reasons, namely:
- The Police like to let some traffic through each lap to keep the traffic flowing. If riders are all over the course this is unsafe
- The public bet on the race so they don’t want us ‘novices’ getting in the way of their thoroughbreds at the finish!
It was getting ‘twitchy’ so I assumed this would be our final lap and we’d be sprinting for pride. It’s weird, I had just raced as hard as I’d ever raced for an hour, a typical duration for a race back home and here we were, the back-markers, having our own little battle when the ‘actual’ race was going to continue for another 1 hour and 45 minutes!
We hit the final left hander and now it was a dead straight run into the wind and the finish, 200m away. I was sitting in 5th and jumped as they jumped, immediately passing all but one rider. I could feel a someone drawing level with me to my left and I could also feel the pavement was a few inches away on my right. The eventual winner was on his left so the three of us really needed to hold our lines.
We did. I was pipped for 2nd and he was pipped for 1st but it was great fun having our own little race and our own little sprint finish in front of the crowds after the disappointment of getting dropped. I shook hands with the lad who won our mini-race, warmed-down, got changed and enjoyed a beer whilst watching my ‘original’ race!
Only 23 riders finished, reassuringly. I was also reassured when I had a look online later that night to find out that many of the non-finishers were normally regular finishers on the kermesse circuit. So it was a hard race even by their standards! I had learnt my own lesson today of course: Had I toughened up and ridden nearer the front I wouldn’t have had to close all those gaps.
I reflect a lot on my performance after my races so, in order to reassure myself further that night, I had a quick look at the ages of some of the riders who didn’t finish:
20, 19, 20, 18, 22, 19, 26, 32, 22, 19, 41, 19, 21, 25, 19, 19, 34, 21, 23, 23, 19, 33, 19, 19.
I felt better and rewarded myself with a further beer at the hotel bar!
This ‘pattern’ of racing continued at my other 2 events, on Tuesday and Wednesday; smashing it for half an hour with the top guys and then racing for another 30 mins when I settled into my own group.
So, not the “finish” I was hoping for this week but I have drawn lots of positives:
- I have ridden cobbles well
- I have got 3 hours of world class racing in my legs
- I stayed upright
- I am motivated to work even harder in order to come back and do better
- I am learning Flemish at a rapid rate
I need a holiday!
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