Ghent Wevelgem and The Queen

Round one of the Classics week was not disappointing at all! A Belgian pulled through with a sweet victory in Flanders yet again. Stijn Devolder once again strung the race out, “let” a couple of other poor souls go on the attack with him, then dropped a grenade on them going up the Muir. The guy used a tactic similar to this last year also. Instead of a grenade on the Muir, he used a smoke bomb on the Eikenmolen as his breakaway was getting caught. My pick Heinrich Haussler outfoxed the peloton again and snuck in for second. I scored a few points at least. Speaking of points, I saw this link for “fantasy cycling” and almost clicked on it. After a moment of thinking I saw myself as a couch potato cyclist wanna be. Maybe I am bitter, or just full of myself, but I wouldn’t participate in that nonsense because I would much rather be out racing with those guys, not pretending to manage them. And since I have limited time to ride, I won’t be spending it on that!

Ghent-Wevelgem is a mid week Classic in Belgium. It is not quite as long as the other two, or as intense, but it is still an important race. The only thing I know about this course is the Kemmelberg. This climb is as tough as any in the Tour of Flanders. There are three ways to go up (or down) and I personally think they go up the easy way, and down the dangerous way. Last year they went down the cobbled section, and I think this year they will be descending the narrow sketchy road. Having ridden all sides, I personally would run them up the narrow steep side to string it out, thus making the descent down the cobbled side a little less dangerous. Take your pick I suppose. I pick Mark Cavendish to win either way. This 23 year old chap is unstoppable.

Paris-Roubaix is the Queen of the Classics. Held in the Northern part of France, this is the most unforgiving race there is. It’s called the Queen probably because it’s such a ridiculous race, it must have been spawned in the time of Monarchies. My Dad and I have always loved this race, and have always secretly wished we could suffer like those guys. Well, I got a little taste of what these guys go through in the Summer of ’05. Here is a little journal entry from one race I did.

The French

This past Saturday was my first race in France, a UCI 1.12 called Circuit du Pevele. This was its 59th year in running! Apparently, the French are notorious for starting races late, and today was no exception. As any Belgian will say, “Once you cross into France, all logic goes out the window!” And that indeed was true! Imagine 180 cyclists, all hopped up on adrenaline just waiting for the start gun. Games faces on, announcer yelling some unknown words into the microphone. Now, ask these cyclist to let a car through! Or better yet, two! Now the guys [lined up] at the back seized their opportunity and tucked in behind the upcoming cars moving forward, thus repositioning myself and other angry racers from the top 50 to the rear 50. Ands that’s were I stayed. Throw in a Ten Kilometer “nuetral” roll out, a 600 meter long cobbled section 1.5 Kilometers from the start, and the race is over before it even starts! Well, it was for me anyway. I however endured torture for another 2.5 hours not wanting to be a quitter. I learned what it was like to have battered hands from endless passes over two 15th century cobblestone roads. The only hill in the race was the best part of the course. I wondered how the pros do 260 kilometers of this, and if I would ever be able to. Well, if I don’t, this entry is all that I will have and every time I jam a finger, the following day I will remember what it was like in France, when all of my fingers felt that way.

-Another DNF for me, but to my credit there were only maybe 50 guys in the race when I pulled out. It was a brutal day! -8/01/05

My memory is a little hazy, but I believe that I did another race in France (bringing my total to 3). I don’t have it on my list for some reason, but below is a picture from this race. It was the only one I did with the national team, which was a shame because that Jersey was so much nicer than than crappy ones we wore. This was clearly before the race. I seem clean and not angry about getting my rear end kicked yet. It was sunny, dusty and I distinctly remember the two dogs we found after the race that were stuck together. At the race from my journal entry, it had rained that morning. I remember flying into the first cobble stone stretch at about 50K an hour (31mph for you non-racers), puddles, mud, slick roads and riders flying every which way. Somehow I made it through. It was one of those, close your eyes, grit your teeth kind of moments. But this is how every race is over there, and Paris-Roubaix is even faster, longer and crazier. I am getting really excited for Sunday. This is going to be the year that an American wins this race for the first time. George Hincapie is going to take this race by the horns, wrestle it to the ground and give it the peoples elbow. All American cycling fans are willing him to win, we want him to win more than he does! When he wins, he will retire, and tell the French to take their inhumane race, and stick it deep up the forest of Arenburg.