My Second Kermis (I mean TT)

I woke up last night at 3 am scratching furiously. The mosquitoes even bit my face! Thankfully it was cool so eventually I was able to fall back asleep.

I began stirring around 7. I got around a bit and ate some waffles. I had bought some more of the packaged waffles to take with me on rides. That lasted all of one day. I usually try and stay away from sugar if I’m not on the bike. What that really means is I eat as much sugar as the next Joe, but I devote considerable amounts of time to thinking about how I shouldn’t eat sugar.

A package of waffles later and I’m back in bed passed out. I sleep until 11 and then go get groceries. The produce here is good and cheap. I’ve been here about 10 days and have spent maybe 50 euro on food.

A little later we head over to the farm. The race isn’t until 5 so we sit around and watch the tube. I read an interview with Merckx and an article about time cuts in the TdF.

We head out around 3. The race is about 30k away. I sit in the draft and soft pedal all the way there. A lot of the guys here don’t wear helmets unless they’re racing. It’s a pretty Euro thing to do. No helmet, just a cycling cap. Why? Well, thanks to the cycling infrastructure there are less interactions with cars, the cars are friendlier here (the people too maybe?), and, well, it’s just PRO. That being said, I’m adamantly against it for me and my three brain cells. Why? Well, since coming here, a little more than a week ago, I’ve seen three crashes. All three happened not in races but while commuting, either to races of dinner. Yes, there’s a devoted bike path. However, going 20 mph hour on it requires constant attention. There’s a lot of road furniture here as well as cracks that can easily trip your front wheel. There are also hordes of inexperienced cyclists on the paths (this doesn’t exclude myself). All it takes is, well you get the picture.

The race is flat, like most, and the crowds are out. It’s always refreshing to see the towns come alive around the bike race.

We still have about an hour to start so I go get registered. Ahh. My second kermis. I check out today’s stage of the Eneco Tour on the tv in the bar. I also notice this mural.



As I’m leaving a guy says “Hey!” It’s Staf. He tells me I have a fine since I didn’t show up for the race in Holland (the one I was told I couldn’t race in). I tell him this to no avail. He goes back to smoking and I walk out. So much for getting in good with the big guy.

I head out and roll around a bit. I hear the announcer talking and assume the race is about to start. I take a quick pee and next thing I know everyone’s lined up. I roll up to the front and squeeze in. The nice thing about the races here is no one cares if you squeeze in the front. I mean there’s 120k to decide who should be up there.

The announcer nonchalantly waves us forward and the race is on. Everyone clips in smoothly and we accelerate but not too quickly. Next thing I know there are attacks going off on both sides and the pace kicks up.

I get this paranoid feeling as guys fly past me. I’m not sure what it is. I guard my drops and stick my shoulders out but don’t really move up. A 90 degree turn comes and I smell brake pads. By this point I’m getting near the back. I don’t know what it was, even now. I just got really tense all of the sudden and didn’t try to stay near the front.

The turns are what kill me. I’m okay on the flats but I always lose on the turns. I go through just as fast as the rest but they accelerate so quickly out of them. There are only four turns on the course and I’m off the back before the lap is over. I ride across the line alone.

It’s all BS though. I mean I can sprint four times. Not hanging on for one lap isn’t good enough.

I get some cheers as I go through and hear a laugh. You and me both buddy. I see a group up ahead and try to catch them. I get close on the third lap but never quite catch them. Then they pull me.

What a waste. The more I think about it the more it gets me. I went into the race without any real confidence. I didn’t believe I could hang and I didn’t. I mean I believe in myself enough to be riding my bike all around Neverland but the minute it’s something real, like putting it on the line to stay in a race, I give up.

I roll over by the team car and collapse. My heart is beating through my chest. I think to myself, “There are those who want it, there are those who really really want it, and then there are PROs.” Right now I obviously don’t want it. I’ve had this conversation a lot with myself since I started cycling. Asking myself over and over what I really want. I know exactly what I want, to train and race my bike. When it comes to putting my feet to the pedals I balk, for fear of failure or success. Enough!

After I cool off a bit I take a little spin. Then, I come back and ride around the course. I get to the wooded section of the course and have a chat with this guy.



He asks how long I’ve been in Belgium. When I tell people I’ve been here a week they always give me this look like “Well, of course you can’t hang on! This is tough!” We watch as the break goes by. Jack, the local hero, is in it so we talk about him. Jack has a meeting with Columbia on Tuesday to be tested. The guy already knows this. These people are really up on their cycling news! I mention I’m staying in Ghent and he asks if I’m staying at Staf’s place. I guess his fiefdom is well known in these parts.

I head back to the team car and read for a bit. Freddie has things under control.



Then, I roll over to the start. I’ve heard about bookies at the races but have yet to see one. I notice their boards near the start. There’s not just one, but three! During the final laps they’re constantly updating the odds.







One cool thing about riding a Specialized here in Boonenland is you’re afforded massive cred. As I ride by I often here the low whisper of “Specialized…” No joke. They’re crazy about them. I’m considering selling mine. I’d wait until right before I leave though so I maintain my cred. Then, I’d get a Willier or a Focus or maybe a Merckx to bring home so I’d have massive Euro cred back stateside.

The race goes on. A guy attacks out of the break and solos to the finish. Jack ends up pulling the break for the next three laps and gets killed in the sprint. After the race he says he knew they would but he’d rather lose by 2 seconds than 2 minutes.

Later Freddie pulls out a slip of paper and shows it to Jack. He had bet on him.

As the guys waited for their prize money I went to find a place to pee. I looked in this alley but noticed there was a house back there. A man asks what I need and I make the universal sign for a pee. He ushers me into his back yard and points me toward a tree. What a country.

We roll back to the farm along the canal. At one point I give it a little effort and Collin yells at me to go for it. I put my head down and crank. Guess I’ll see those guys back at the farm.

Within a minute they fly past me and start attacking. I jump and catch up to them, then attack again. Steve and I attack each other for a while but I can’t shake him. We make it to the road home and all sit up.

Pulling into the farm Andrew crashes on the gravel. Thankfully he’s not hurt.

At home I cook up some goodies. I’ve ridden 500k in the last four days and my appetite is starting to kick up. I relax a bit then fall fast asleep. Another coin in the piggy bank.

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Eneco Tour - Stage 3

Thursday night after I got home from seeing Stage 2 of the Eneco Tour I mapped out the route to go see the start of Stage 3. I set my alarm and within a minute was sound asleep. The mosquitoes may have eaten me but I was too tired to notice.

I woke up at 745 and began getting my stuff ready. I had four eggs and a cup of decaf. I left at 830 with my “map”, money, credit card, and phone. No food.

It took me a little while to get out of Gent proper. My methodology for asking for directions worked well…at least for the first 30 minutes. I neglected to notice that on google maps if you don’t zoom in you’ll only see some of the cities. Thus, I had only a partial list of cities. This part is crucial though. If you’re going to map the route via city to city you have to make a list of all of them otherwise you won’t know where to go next.

Two hours later I still wasn’t there. I had been riding around the countryside for the last hour without having a good sense of where I was heading (understatement). The thing about asking for directions in the countryside is they rarely speak English and the novelty of receiving directions in Flemish wears off after about the 10th time. Also, when asking how to get a city that’s over 4k away they always say “Ooooh” as if you’re asking how to get to Russia or something.

Eventually I came upon another slow moving moped. I snuck up on him a bit and before he knew it I’d smoked him like a pack of Virginia Slims at a Florida retirement home. I hear his engine rev up. Uh oh. I get out of the saddle and crank. I even get off the fietspad (bike lane) and onto the main road for smoother riding. He’s still coming. Ahhhhh…he passes me. I look over and smile but apparently he doesn’t find weakness funny.

A minute later I see a bar and stop in. I hear voices in the bar and hope someone can give me some decent directions. The bartender pointed me toward Temse.

A note of caution, no matter how confident your navigator (direction giver) is you’re not going the right way until you see a sign for it. Well I saw a sign and cranked on. I only had an hour and a half before the start and I figured I was at least an hour away still.

For the next hour I wound my way along assorted roads and byways in cities from my list. Finally I got one city away-striking distance. I see a Euro guy as indicated by his Eurofro and lack of helmet. He says he’s going to the start so I follow him.

Voila!



Ah bike racing, my church. It’s the same mix as yesterday with all the team vans and bikes. I haven’t even missed sign in.

I notice these things on Wiggo’s bike.



The Garmin guy tells me he’s sponsored by them and that he rode them in the Tour.

“Oh yeah, they’re like the ones Bobby Julich rides.”
“I don’t know the guy.”

Crickets.

After taking at least 50 pictures of assorted bikes I head to the start.



Some guy takes my picture and gives me a thumbs up. Yeah, I guess I look kinda PRO with my tired Sidis, mismatched Open Pros, and Michelin Krylions-just a few giveaways.

I see a few PRO hoes in the making.



I catch Jussi heading to sign-in.

“Hey Jussi!” I say.
“Hey!” he says back.

Another great story.

Okay so I see and take pics of about every PRO but I won’t bore you with the details. It’s even a bit boring me talking about it. I mean I’m essentially, well one could say I’m basically a PRO. The racing itself is just the minutiae of PRO cycling-the small stuff. I do all the other PRO stuff. You know, I go to the starts, look in the team buses, check out the bikes, flex when I ride by young Belgie chicks. PRO stuff.

So the start comes and goes and it’s amazing and I’m stoked and all is well. The show’s over now and circus must go on. As they’re tearing down the barriers I roll around a bit. This old man stops me.



“Blah blah het blah blah blah”
“Yeah, uh huh”

This one’s very perceptive and senses my lack of understanding.

“English?!”
“Yes.”
“I rode with Coppi!”
“Cool!”
“Yeah I rode with Coppi! And Merckx one time! I’m 80 (something) but I rode with them!”

I swear this guy’s me in 60 years. Only my stories will be more like this.

“You know Freddie? I saw him one time on Grizzly! Yeah, me! I saw him!”

He says something about a race and the exchange of 2,500 bucks with Merckx thrown in. Which reminds me, I forgot to mention one thing about the racing here. So the races pay 150 Euro to the winner. In addition to that most teams pay their riders another 200 or so for a win. The 200 is specifically for bargaining. Thus, if you’re in a break you got a little something extra to pay the guy off. Of course, if you’re strong enough to just ride away you do. Most times you gotta buy it though.

Anywho, at this point the troops are rioting. Actually the riots began about 2 hours ago but I didn’t want to waste time stopping before the race. Besides, I’m paying by the job not the hour. I head over to a market and buy some Belgian waffles.



Here they have them in little packages so you can take them with you. Beats the old waffle iron! Before I know it I’ve eaten three of them. I jump on the bike and head out of dodge. I stop off at a café for a quick coffee and down the rest of the waffles. Then, I get back on the road.

I ride and ride and ride. I recognize a guy I saw at the start and he points me in a different direction so I head that way. Eventually I stop off and am tempted to get some more waffles. I settle for a peach.

There’s a race in Holland later but I don’t think I’ll make it back in time so I go easy. I really wanted to go with the team but the route takes longer than expected. I consider getting a map of Belgium or something for the next ride. That'd take a lot of the fun out of it though.

Eventually I see a familiar face…



America, the world’s most popular brand. There’s even a tank out front!



A few k later I come upon this car.



It’s outside a bar so I check it out for a bit. Eventually a guy comes out with an Eneco pass on a lanyard. He’s the PR guy for Columbia. We chat about the Columbia lead out for a bit. I hop back on my steed and carry on.

I stop to take a pic of something I’ve noticed a few times here. The cows. They are ubiquitous in the countryside but you’ll notice something about the Belgian cows…



They’re lean! They look like a horse mixture. These are like Greco-Roman cows.

Enough lollygagging. I crank on towards Ghent. At this point I’m about 24k from Ghent. I go a few more k but the troops begin rioting again. I almost collapse into a supermarket and buy the first thing that looks appealing.



I down three of the assorted waffle/pastry goodies before getting a grip on myself. It’s just going to take a minute, eating the whole thing won’t give me energy any sooner.

I get back to the farm 30 minutes later. I check my phone. “Come to the farm ready to race!” says a text from Andrew. Bummer! I could have raced with them in Holland! I didn’t think I’d be able to because: 1) there wasn’t room and 2) I wasn’t registered. I found out later that Staf, team owner, asked where the het I was. Apparently he gets duckets from promoters when he brings riders to races. He wasn’t too happy about the “stupid American” (me) not being there to race. Andrew and Jack informed him that: 1) there wasn’t room and 2) I was told I couldn’t race in the first place. Wish I’d made it back in time though. Even with tired legs it would have been fun to race.

Staf also kicked on the 2nd remaining Russian. This is the only kid on the team I legitimately beat the other day when I raced. By “beat” I mean I lasted for more of the first lap than him. Anyways, ten minutes before they were set to leave for Holland Staf asks why he isn’t ready. “But I am sick…” Staf wasn’t too happy and told him to get out immediately!

I roll over to the bike store to have Ian, team coach and manager, check out the cones on my back wheel. The bike store, Fietsendirk, soothes my tired legs. Btw, the Belgians are really into their embrocations and creams. Embrocation is a type of lotion that heats or cools your legs and is used while riding.



I head home and make myself a treat.



What a day.

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Eneco Tour - Stage 2 (Then Brugge, Oostende, Brugge, Eeklo, and Gent)

Last night it was too hot in our room to sleep. I told Andrew I was going downstairs to crash on the couch. “See you in a few hours dude. That thing is miserable.” Words of wisdom.

By the time I get to sleep it’s past midnight. I wake up at 3 and I’m being eaten by mosquitoes. I wake up again at 4, then 5. I take a count, 15 bites on my legs alone.

At 7 I get up and start getting ready to leave. Yesterday the Eneco Tour came within 10 minutes of our place and I missed it. Today I planned to ride to Ardoie to catch the start.

I get out of the house around 8 and head along the canal bike path. I’ve yet to see a river here but they have tons of canals lined with bike paths.



I ride all the way to Deinze along the canal. Then I take a few turns to head toward Tielt. The nice thing about riding here is everything is really well marked, even the bike paths. I knew the cities along the way so I didn’t have to consult my homemade map.

I get to Tielt and end up on the side of a freeway. Mind you it’s not an 8 lane Cali freeway, it’s just a two lane highway with a bike lane. I think I could have taken the bike path all the way but I didn’t know the rest of the way and was getting antsy.

I’m passed by some Nissans with Eneco Tour stickers all over them and I start seeing signs for Ardoie. Ahh!



I’m floored at this point. My first Euro race!

I have to relieve myself so I pull over against some bushes. Public urination isn’t a crime here, it’s a custom. I’m not kidding. Downtown Gent has urinals on the sidewalk.



I follow the signs until I see this…



Oh boy oh boy! I want to call Jim and wake him up but I don’t have his number. I see this kid with his Flanders flag and the sign out in the garage.



Not sure what this guy was all about. Thus, I was a bit shocked to see him ride out right in front of the PROs! Guess it’s some sort of local tradition.



At this point all the team buses are starting to arrive. One after another they pull up this street. I run into some juniors from the USA Cycling development team. David Kessler, the new national champ is with them wearing the stars and stripes! Cool kids. They all go ga-ga over Mr. Farrar.



Wiggo seems cheery.



They roll over to sign in so I roll wit. Yeah.



(For those of you non-cycling humans, the story gets better… in a bit.)

I catch the Liquigas guys chilling.



Hey look, it’s Svein Tuft!



I head over to the start.



I like seeing how blasé these guys are about it all. They look like they’re at a funeral.

Oh look, it’s Tom Boonen’s head!



Jussi Veikkanen!



Where’d the party go?



I wasn’t kidding about that guy!



Okay okay. I got a big trigger happy but you can see the rest here if you’re interested.

Finally, they all rolled out.



I yelled at Chicchi as he rolled past. He smiled. Good story.

I jumped on my steed and got the het out of dodge. As I rode along the freeway I noticed a few team vans stuck in traffic. I finally saw what all the commotion was about, THE RACE WAS COMING THROUGH!!! Two for one man! I found a good watching spot and waited for the caravan to pass.



Ahhh!!!



“Um, I think being the GC man was a better gig…”

And they were gone…



I headed home with the satiety that bike racing always brings me.



I rolled for a while, contemplating PROdom. Well those guys are riding far, why don’t I? Then, I saw a sign for Brugge. With a tailwind straight outta Kansas I mashed onward. At one point I passed one of those radar boards and it clocked me at 44 kmph. I thought to myself “27.3403325 mph! Not bad!”

I arrived at Brugge not long after. I guess they heard I was coming…



I had a chat with the guy in the orange. I remembered him from the start. He had snuck in and rode out right after the PROs. It was pretty funny.

His name was Marnix. I told him about my voyage. He asked if I was a PRO. Well, not in the formal sense of the word.

After gaining his confidence he whispered to me “I love American music!”

“My man! What bands?”
“Joe Satriani!”

Out of all the people he could have liked. I hadn’t heard that name in years. Immediately I could hear his music in my head, a favorite of days past. I told him about Steve Vai and Joe growing up on the same street.

We chatted a bit more but he had to run so he gave me his email. Before he left I asked him how close Holland was.

“5 kilometer, but you could go to Oostende, that’s 25k.”

You sold me. I rode off into the sun.

Eventually I turned off to go to Oostende. By this point it was about 1 or 2 and I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. I stopped and got some water.



The trip out to Oostende was no ride in the park. I had a headwind the whole way and the last 10k was an industrial area with a serious stench. I arrived at Oostende to find wind and tourists. I peaced out and headed back.



The tailwind carried me back to Brugge and then I tried to find my bearings. I was getting pretty hungry by this point so before making any navigational decisions I decided to refuel.

10 minutes later…



The frites here (fries) are pretty good. People rave and rave about them but I suppose I haven’t had good ones yet so I’ll suspend judgment. I have had them traditional style with gravy and mayo and they’re quite tasty. This place had neither so I settled for bad ketchup and garlic sauce. They’re also pretty into their sauces. The only other place I’ve been had 27 different sauces. Get out!

I headed back to the canal to try and find my way home. I know I said everything was really well marked here, and it is. The thing is you have to know the trail of towns to where you’re going. If you have a list of towns you can get anywhere. I hadn’t planned on any of this so I was left at the mercy of passersby.

I asked a few people and finally got pointed in the right direction. Afterward I was able to come up with a methodology for getting directions. First, ask a few people. If they see you getting second opinions it doesn't matter, this is science. Second, if they all give different directions-they will-take the one that was given with the most confidence. This isn't a cure-all though. I'm sure of many things I'm completely wrong about. However, given they all differ this is the best bet. Lastly, go 5 minutes in that direction and then ask again.

One tip on asking is to NOT say "Is this (while pointing) the way to town X??" People, in efforts to be affable Biffs, will often say "Yes" just because it's what you want to hear. Ergo, ask like this "Which way to town X?" (Note: In instances where the lingua franca is unknown a simple "Town X??" with a questioning look will suffice. For example: "Gent???")

So I found my way and then per my methodology asked again at a bike shop along the way. (Addendum: Bike shop directions count for double.) Yep, straight onward said the man.

In addition to being bone-flat, the roads here are also straight as an arrow. I rode along enjoying the tailwind but feeling a bit weaker for the wear. About 20k from Gent I had a religious experience. I was riding along, granted with a tailwind, when I spotted a moped. (The mopeds here get to use the bike lanes as well.) I saw it off in the distance and I was getting closer. Within minutes I was up on it. It was then my crowning achievement came: I blew past the moped. Yep, I left it in the dust. Sure, it was an old lady on a moped but who's counting.

I rode the rest of the way home counting off the kilometers. Then I asked myself what I was so eager to get home to. Mosquitoes? I chilled out a bit and enjoyed the rest of the way.

The ride clocked in at about 160 km so 100 miles. Tomorrow's stage begins 60k from here and I just might take them up on it...

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Where's the bookie?? (My first real kermis)

Kermis in Flemmish literally means "fair" but it's also what they call the bike races here. Basically the town gets together some money and sponsors (local car dealerships and bars) and puts on a race. The course is usually 5-10k long and you do 100-120k. Today the course actually went by "the farm."

I got up at the Belgian bike racing hour of 10 AM and had some cereal. Then I read and went back to bed. After I woke up I ate some eggs and then headed to the store for groceries.

Around 130 I headed over to the farm. The races start at either 3 or 6. This one was at 3.

From there we rode over to the bar near the start for registration. (All registrations are held in smokey bars where old men-and women-size you up like horses. I've yet to see a betting board but I hear there are bookies around.) We got lost for a bit then finally found the course. I got "my papers!!!" last night so I was psyched about being able to race. I went in and Staf, the team owner, ushered me to the front of the line.

I handed over my permission letter from the USA Cycling Federation to ride in Belgium. The race official looked it over and then asked for 12 euro. Three to race, five for a deposit on the number which you get back after you give back the number, and five for the Belgian racing license.

I was overflowing with excitement. My first real Belgian race. I couldn't stop smiling as the official filled out my license. I finally felt like one of the gang.



Before continuing I need to say a word or two about "the gang." So today was my fourth day here and I've become fairly familiar with the team. Around the second day I started to notice a few quirks. Like say, you only get coke if you finish a race. And, one of the guys rarely finishes the first lap but another wins races regularly. Or say, the fact that they're sponsored by Giant but no one actually rides one. Slowly I began to see the team's resemblance to the Bad News Bears.

So anywho, we rode back to the farm and got ready to race. Pinning my number lacked the pomp that the registration had because there were only 30 minutes before the start. I still had time for a pic though...



I rolled over to the race with a Belgian named Bart. He rides for the team but was just coming back from being hit by a car a few months ago.

We arrive at the start/finish. I'm getting pretty antsy and have to take a leak. In true Belgian fashion I roll into the park and have a break natural.

As I'm lined up at the start a guy yells at me.
"Hey Cal! What's your name???"
I look over to what appears to be an American in cycling gear.
"Jarrett Streebin."
"I'm gonna go find the bookie!!"

That cheers me up a bit and before I know it the race has begun.

The races here begin pretty nonchalantly. There's no race official out there on a soap box lecturing about how you can't do this and that. It's just a guy on the microphone and then a whistle. (They could be lecturing me but I don't understand Flemish.)

I saw Jack, the local hero, shoot off the front along with some Silence development riders. Within the first k there were at least eight turns. They go through the turns super slow here, which is good theoretically since you're less likely to wreck, but then you have to sprint after each turn.

After the second turn I hear what I think is a crash. I come around the turn to see Steve, the Brit from Liverpool, stopped in the middle of the road. I found out later his derailleur came into the wheel and snapped off. Poor lad.

I try and hold as much speed through the turns as possible but the pack slows a lot. There are fans out yelling things but all I can think about is holding on.

About halfway through the lap I start to fall off. The accelerations are taking their toll. I see a guy up the road who's also fallen off and try to catch up.

Eventually I catch him and we work together for the next four laps or so. We trade off pulling and sitting in. I like pulling because we can take the turns fast. I know not to quit until they make us stop (when the gap gets too big). As Fred "Hey Freddie!" Rodriguez once told me while riding up Pinehurst, "Cycling's a race of attrition." I just keep cranking and hope for a wreck to take out the field.

After a few laps we catch up with Bart who has fallen off the back. We all work together for a lap or so.

As we near the start/finish Bart and the other guy start cranking. I've already fallen off and had to bridge back once. This time I can't keep up with them.

The official at the line waves a red flag and I see both of them sit up. Whew!

I ride really slow for a bit before collapsing on a park bench. Belgium, you the real deal baby.

After a few minutes I try to get back on my bike but lose my balance and almost fall. I try again and then ride back to the start. Here there's no shame in getting pulled. The fans realize how hard it is and they just smile at you for giving your all. Plus, most of them are in the bar preparing for the finish.

I roll over to Bart and have a talk with someone who seems like his mother. She tells me it's normal for my first race and congratulates me.

A bit later Bart and I head back to the farm. He tells me his cousin rides for Cervelo and we chat about PRO stuff. We stop off as the race comes back through. There's a heavyset guy in bike gear monitoring an intersection. I open a pack of really bad powerbar chews.

"Hey, you're already fat enough!" says the guy.

I chuckle and continue eating as I rub my stomach. We head back to the farm shortly after.

I get some good consolation from the people back at the farm. Freddie gives me a pat on the back.

The race is still going on and Jack is in a breakaway with another rider from the team. I have a seat and watch them come around. A few minutes later Party Pete rolls up.



There are only a few laps to go and at this point Jack's group has about three minutes on the pack. This means that almost everyone will get pulled. They only let you fall back so far off the lead before they pull you.

More and more riders from the team roll up. Collin shows up and we head to the start to return our numbers. I'm also told we have to be around at the end in case they do a doping control.

I walk through the smokey bar again to where the race officials are. I give them my number and they give my five euro deposit along with an envelope.



And so it was that on my first race in Belgium I got paid. Here the top 30 pays and that included me. (Editor's note: the race began with only 27 starters so one couldn't not get paid. Even Steve, whose race ended 400 meters after the start got paid.) My first winnings from cycling ever, how sweet it was. I thought of sealing it up and sending it to big J dub for all the selfless hours driving me to races. (He was racing too but he still had to listen to me. "And then this one time I came around the turn and there was Freddy!!! Really! Oh and I have another 50 m of brake housing if you want me to hook you up?")

Today I caught the bug again. I guess you could say I've had it all along but it waxes and wanes. I go through periods where I lose faith, check job listings, think about committing carbocide. It's times like these that make it all worth it. Whether it's sprinting at the end of the Port Ride or riding up Tunitas Creek in the fog, these experiences carry me. Life's good.

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My First Kermis (race)

Saturday

Andrew, my roommate here, and I woke up at 10 and headed to the market. After we got some groceries we came back and I put my bike together.

Around noon we rolled over to "the farm" to meet up with the rest of the team. Andrew is on a local team and most of the guys live at the farm. The farm is owned by the same guy who owns the team. He also owns the apartment building where I’m staying. At the farm Andrew introduced me around and I met the team.



Notice the guy peeing in the background, it's actually an outdoor urinal.



The team is made up of a Brit, an Aussie, three Russians, and two Americans. Two of the Russians speak little to no English so that makes things interesting. They also drove here from Russia!

Once everyone was ready we rolled out. The race was about 40 minutes away so we rode there. The nice thing about racing here is almost all the races are within riding distance.



Gent, like most of Belgium, has fully dedicated bike lanes that are separate and distinct from the car lane. This is a blessing and a curse. While it's great to be protected and have your own "road," when you're riding two wide and three deep it can get a bit sketchy. Especially because the lane turns and twists with the road and there are lots of curbs.

We arrive at the race and wait for registration to open. The registration is held in one of the many town bars.



You can tell the officials are ready for business because they have their computers and beer setup.

Jean and Freddie are already there with the team car. (Jean is the bearded one.) They're both retired and help out with the team for kicks.



While riding around the course I notice the "Tom Boonen Fanclub" at a bar. I don't think they have a chapter in the U.S.



There's an electric atmosphere about the race. People are set up on the sides of all the roads just the watch the racing. I found this group of Belgian women waiting for the race to begin.



And some others...



Almost all the riders have their own peanut gallery. This usually consists of any or all of the following: girlfriend, mother, grandmother, father, grandfather, uncle, aunt. The girlfriends usually pen the numbers on while the uncles air up the tires and check the bike.



A few minutes later and they're off!



To give you an idea of how fast they go, within the first three laps (25k) nearly two thirds of the starters have dropped off.

In addition to completely closing the roads off, they have a lead car, a follow car, and an ambulance that drive along with the riders.



At each of the intersections there is also someone there to make sure no one enters the course while the riders are coming.



Within about four laps most of our guys have dropped off. We still have a few left though. Jack Bauer, the Kiwi on the team, is still rocking in the front group. He’s a local hero and treated like a beloved son by the team owner.

The thing to do for the non-racers is to ride around the course backwards so I took heed. The countryside is beautiful and peppered with fantastic architecture.



I keep thinking about what Andrew told me “this is home to Europe’s rednecks…” Despite the amazing architecture it’s pretty redneck. Favorite pastime: drink beer, smoke, and watch skinny guys in spandex hurt themselves. Oh and do it every day for nine months out of the year. My kind of people!

Eventually the race is whittled down to about 20 riders. The races usually pay through 30 with 15th-30th still getting 10 euros. Thus, lots of the guys who get pulled still get some moulah, a little something for the effort.

Jack is in a breakaway with one other guy when he flats. The wheel change takes a good minute and he’s bummed. Jack works hard to catch up but loses by about 20 seconds. If only he’d had another lap. He still gets kisses from the podium girl.



We all get packed up and head home. On the way Jack tries to bunny hop a crack but his hand slips and he crashes. He gets scratched pretty good but nothing’s broke. He gets back on and we continue home.

Back at the farm Jean has brought home Jack’s trophy.



Collin, one of the Americans, got 30 euro!



We go home, get showered and then head out on the town. One of the necessities for getting around here is a “townie.” A townie is a relaxed beater bike made distinct by its rust and squeaks. Our apartment building has probably 5 on the patio alone.

We head out for pasta then end up along the river. At night it’s like a movie set with all the old buildings lit up. It seems as though it’s the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen.

A lot of what I’ve seen here I can’t put into words. It’s just such a beautiful place on its own and then you add this intense love for cycling. Going out to the races and seeing the whole community come out to watch the race just blows me away. Riding in the U.S. one becomes accustomed to being sneared at, scoffed at, and spat upon. Here you’re greeted with smiles from old and young. This is heaven for cyclists…

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