Kyle Yost

Hello all!

I have recently returned from my month in the saddle in Europe, and what an amazing trip it was!

Four weeks, 1700 miles, no injuries, no punctures, no crashes, no mechanicals, no sickness, fabulous weather, fabulous company, absolutely amazing riding! It was truly a trip of a lifetime and one I intend to replicate, perhaps in smaller chunks, many times in my life.

In a rare display of foresight I planned ahead for this trip and purchased a camera that would allow me to best document my on-bike adventures. With a little MacGyver-like ingenuity I devised a mount that stably held my ultra-compact Casio EX-S600 on my handlebars. I managed to take a lot of action video of the riding and thanks to the TriCATS have posted it here. There is a lot of good footage up there, but it is very large so you will need broadband to download it. Also, the video is in Windows Media Video (.WMV) format, so I believe you need Windows Media Player in order to play it, although I could be wrong about that.

I've posted on the TriCATS site a large amount of the footage that I took so that it is available to those who were there with me for portions of the trip. However it is likely that the majority of you don't have the time or interest to relive my monthlong vacation ride by ride and climb by climb, so I tried to filter out and list just the best photos and videos in the Highlights section of each week's update.

Both still photos and videos have been compressed for easier downloading, so contact me if you would like the full resolution versions of any files.

I hope you enjoy this trip report. I certainly enjoyed the trip! If you're ever considering heading to Majorca or the Catalan region of Spain please contact me as I can provide you with much helpful information.

Week 1 - Girona, Spain with Breakaway Bikes and BikeCat
Week 2 - Costa Brava, Spain with Eurocycler
Week 3 - Majorca, Spain
Week 4 - England and Tour of Flanders

Kyle Yost
March 3 - April 3, 2006

Click here for Pictures and Video of Week 1 in Girona with Breakaway Bikes and BikeCat

After a long, miserable, sleepless set of flights I finally touched down in Girona, Spain tired, grumpy, and with a very bad attitude. How quickly things would change. The hotel owner who picked me up at the airport didn't speak English and my Spanish is weak and my Catalan non-existent so the drive to the hotel was silent. I arrive at the hotel and the owner points to someone through the glass door, "Patrick - English". Cool, I think, at least someone I can talk to and complain about the comedy of errors that occured during my travels.

Me: "How are you, I'm Kyle"
Him: "Patrick. You from the US? Cool, I can finally speak English."
Me: "Where do you live?"
Him: "Now? Here. Girona. But I'm from Dallas originally....then Austin"
Me (groggy and a little slow on the uptake): "Really? What do you do here?"
Him: "Oh, I'm a cyclist"
Me: "Cool, for what team?"
Him: "I just signed with Phonak. But the last few years I was with Postal and then Discovery"
Me: "What's your name?"
Him: "Patrick McCarty"

And that was the first person I met in Girona. (And I still don't know why he was in my hotel nor why he felt obligated to help carry my substantial luggage to my room.)

Today we went on our first real ride, 70 miles of Skyline-ish climbing through the foothills of the Pyrenees and along the Costa Brava coast of the Mediterranean. The day started slightly differently than my typical rides. We rolled out of the hotel along the narrow cobblestone alleys of Girona, and our Spanish ride leader Jaume stopped us only a few hundred yards into the ride. He pointed out Lance's pad and Tyler's across the street. We hung around a bit and someone asked what the hold up was. "We're waiting for Freddy." Sure enough, seconds later, American sprinting star Freddy Rodriguez rolled out of his house below Lance's fully decked out in his Davidamon Lotto kit.

And that was how my first ride in Girona began.

Needless to say, it is ridiculously amazing here. I'm spending this week based out of the Girona city centre on a trip arranged through Breakaway Bikes from Philadelphia. Two years ago on a trip in this region through Eurocycler I met Joe Wentzell, the owner of Breakaway Bikes, and he was so awed by the riding here that he said he was going to start organizing trips through his bike store and actually followed through with it. So, here I am. Next week I am staying in the same region but moving headquarters about 25 miles over to the coast and again doing a week with Eurocycler. Then it's off to Majorca for a week to give that cycling paradise a try. And, finally, after a week of dulling the aches of my tired legs in English pubs, it's off to Belgium for the Tour of Flanders.

So, I'm one day into this adventure and the legs are tired already. But, at least I arranged for a massage this evening by the hotel owner's daughter who came highly recommended by Jaume our ride leader. As she kneaded my shot quads I learned in broken English why. She is Lance's and George's masseuse when they are in town, and had to head over to Floyd Landis' place for an appointment when she finished with me.

My bad attitude is gone. Welcome to Girona.

-----------------------------

Hello all. I'm long overdue for an update from my European adventure, so here goes....

I spent my first week in Girona, Spain with about 12 other riders from America at a camp organized by Breakaway Bikes in Philadelphia and BikeCat of Girona. Girona is cycling mecca and huge numbers of professional riders flock to the area to take advantage of the beautiful roads, weather, and terrain. Indeed we crossed paths with numerous professionals and even had dinner and rode one day with Freddy Rodriguez and also hopped aboard the Team TIAA-CREF train for a long while out one day. We encountered four members of Discovery Channel on the roads and crossed paths with Bobby Julich and Carlos Sastre of CSC out training. The week was absolutely fantastic. I cannot adequately describe what an amazing week it was. Joe (Breakaway Bikes) and Jaume (BikeCat) organized an incredible week and everything worked out ideally - so long as your bike wasn't lost by the airlines as a few unfortunate souls were. We stayed in the Hotel Historic in the heart of the city centre of Girona, and this hotel is the de facto cycling headquarters for Girona. The owners are cycling fans and they regularly put up visiting professionals and they have a large display case of signed jerseys from the likes of Lance Armstrong, Tyler Hamilton, Floyd Landis, George Hincapie, and on and on. The hotel sits atop the city next to the ancient cathedral and we had the pleasure of finishing every ride with a sprint through the city centre on cobblestones culminating with one block up a cobbled 18%. As with all climbs throughout the week, it proved hard to beat Jaume up that one. After the rides we would walk through Girona and get some tapas for snacks, swing by Lance's place and rummage through his mail, and sit back with a cerveza and reflect on what an exhilarating ride it had been.

The rides were stunning and we were very lucky with the weather. Dry everyday and perfect cool temperatures for cycling. We sampled all terrain, long gradual climbs in the Volcanoes region, sweeping ups and downs along the coast of the Mediteranean, steep quad-buster climbs from beachside towns up the cliffs and then diving down treacherous narrow switchback descents, and of course, on the last day a long, legitimate mountain stage which paid off in a phenomenal 30 minute descent. Every day we returned to the hotel in disbelief at how great the ride was, and then the next day would find a way to top the last.

The hotel was great, the riding was great, and we ate like kings. I think Jaume, Bernat, and Debbie of BikeCat wanted to show off their city as they took us to phenomenal restaurants for dinner (and some riding lunch stops, too!) after the long day of riding. We may have been tired, but we ate well and the sangria and wine kept flowing late into the night.

The final aspect of this first week of my trip that made this easily one of the best weeks of my life was the people I met. I had met Joe (Breakaway) and Jaume (BikeCat) two years ago in this region when I did a Eurocycler trip and Joe was randomly my roommate and Jaume was a ride leader. Joe decided to organize his own trips to this region and latched on with Jaume. So, two years later I went on a wing and a prayer knowing no one other than Joe and Jaume. I had a blast and I know that I've damaged my liver and sleep deprivation is sure to take a few years off my life. But it was worth it! All told, an absolutely phenomenal week. I highly, highly, highly recommend using Breakaway Bikes and BikeCat if you are ever considering a bike trip to the Girona region. You will not regret it, and I know I will be back with them many times. My only complaint is that Jaume won all the climbs and Joe won all the sprints. Joe, Jaume, if you want to develop any customer loyalty you must let a customer win at least once!!

Week’s Tally: 7 rides, 497 miles
Trip Tally To date: 7 rides, 497 miles

Riding With Freddy Rodriguez
Discovery Channel Train Coming Our Way
Coast Road Looking Down on Tossa de Mar
Summit of El Fur Looking Down To Mediterranean
Steep Cliffside Climbs
Steep Descents Back Down to Mediterranean
Scenic Riding
What Pros Eat
Nice Scenery
More Nice Scenery
Lunch Stop
Santa Fe Dead Ahead
Up, Up, and Away
The Crew

Descending Tossa Pass (2:33, 16.1MB)
Descent Along Costa Brava Mediterranean Coast (0:54, 5.8MB)
Climb El Fur - One Mile, 15% average grade (7:21, 46.0MB)
Steep, winding descent to Med. coastal town (1:31, 9.6MB)
Riding through some cobbled town, avoiding obstacles (0:21, 2.4MB)
Nice descent ending with a sprint into town (1:46, 11.1MB)
The climbers get tactical before sprint to summit (0:38, 4.1MB)
Working my way through the field on a climb (2:28, 15.6MB)
Narrated snippets from 75 minute Santa Fe climb (10:13, 63.7MB)
Beginning of Santa Fe descent with snow on side of road (4:34, 28.7MB)
Santa Fe descent snippet through blowing leaves (0:58, 6.1MB)
Santa Fe was a scenic, fast descent (3:16, 20.4MB)
Amazing descent - Sant Hilari - long clip taken from straight 25 minute descent. Large file but worth a watch (12:05, 75.2MB)
I'm caught unprepared for the sprint to the town sign (0:39, 4.1MB)
Race on cobblestones through Girona back to the hotel (0:58, 6.1MB)

Next: Week 2 - Eurocycler training camp – Costa Brava, Spain

Click here for Pictures and Video of Week 2 in Costa Brava with Eurocycler.
Jaume’s brother was kind enough on Sunday morning to load my bike and my very massive bags into his car and drive me the 25 miles to the Swiss resort on the Mediterranean coast that would host me for the following week. The summertime Swiss beach resort is turned into a massive cycling training camp during the spring. Other than the few Americans that the Eurocycler arm brings in, everyone is Swiss or German, and most everyone is a very serious competitive athlete or a member of the Swiss national or junior developmental teams. Natascha Badmann, Fabian Cancellara, Olaf Sabatschus, Bridgette McMahaon have all spent winter and spring weeks training at this camp in recent years. I spent a week at this camp two years ago, but I don’t think I fully realized the extent to which this camp is run like a USOC type serious training camp the last time I was here as there were probably 25-30 Americans in the Eurocycler crowd, so we had our own little camp within a camp. Not this time around. There were only 5 Americans, and none of them rode in my group, so every day I would ride in silence without a word of English spoken. And for the most part there wasn’t much Swiss or German being spoken either. These rides were all business. The riding, of course, was phenomenal, just like the previous week out of Girona, but nothing else was nearly as much fun. Of course, my liver enjoyed the break and I caught up on my desperately lacking sleep, but I definitely missed the people of last week and being in the heart of Girona.

Most definitely the highlight of the Eurocycler week was the riding. There’s a reason pros flock to this region to train. The Swiss have organized the camp amazingly and they run it like a finely tuned Swiss watch. There are about 8 or so riding groups each with a ride leader and a predetermined speed. The rides are all business – no passing the ride leader and the ride leader is remarkable at sticking right on the advertised pace. If a ride is advertised at 18mph you will probably never see 18mph on your bike computer as there is so much climbing and descending, but when you roll back into camp, sure enough, what will you find as the average speed on your computer but 18.0mph? Amazing. I fit in well with the 2nd fastest group which essentially merged with the fastest group by the end of the week. Our ride leader was Stephan Wenk who is the 20-24 duathlon world champion. We rode many of the same roads that I had been on the previous week, but these rides were much more steady with very little stopping. The final ride of the week was the “Queen” stage, a 112 mile ride which included a 25 mile climb up the Le Turo d’leHomme. I had actually climbed the same mountain the previous week with the Breakaway Bikes group, but in reverse direction, so I more or less knew what I was in for. The first 15 miles were mostly gradual, varying from false flats to 3-4% grade. After riding with, and more or less climbing with, the fast guys for the entire week I had deluded myself into believing that I had become transformed into a climber and could hang with the big dogs on the big climb on the final big ride of the week. I would pay the price for this delusionary dreaming. We settled into a steady but fast tempo for the first 15 miles of the climb, and I held tight although I was at my limit a few points when it got steeper. After 15 miles there was about a 1 mile descent and then the real climb begins as you ascend around 850 meters over 8 miles. I hung strong for about a mile or two and then the road took a left turn and kicked up above 10% and the attacks began. Stephan lifted the rule of not passing the ride leader and said everyone was on their own to the top and challenged anyone to beat him. I blew up big time and whimpered meekly as I watched everyone disappear off into the distance. Unfortunately I’ve got all this on video so I can relive it next winter on the trainer. The remainder of the climb was pure misery. 6 miles of 8% climbing is not fun when your legs are totally shot. I resorted often to my bailout 39-27 gear, but all that caused was for me to go even slower; it didn’t seem to make getting up the hill any easier. Eventually I was above the snow line and heading into the clouds and fog which was exhilarating even in my oxygen starved state. Eventually I limped over the top with the majority of the fast group waiting at the top already bundled up for the amazing 15 mile descent down the other side. I recovered a bit for the remaining 50 miles of the day, though wasn’t too thrilled that many folks seemed to think the final ride of the week should be a race so the pace was quite fast the rest of the day. Apparently they weren’t headed to Majorca the next morning for another week of heavy mileage in the mountains.

Week’s Tally: 6 rides, 430 miles
Trip Tally: 13 rides, 927 miles

Next: Week 3 - Majorca, Spain

Click here for Picture and Video of Week 3 in Majorca.

The entire impetus for my month of cycling in Europe was a cycling reunion with my friend and training partner, Amy Smith, who moved last summer to England. She arranged a week in Majorca, and I and eight others from the DC area jumped at the chance to reunite with Amy in the cyclist’s paradise of Majorca and to relive the misery of Amy dropping the hammer at the end of a long ride and putting you into a world of hurt. It was Amy with whom I rode 182 miles from Washington, DC to Deep Creek Lake, MD last summer, and who thought that was so much fun that she wanted to ride back home the next day.

In hindsight it seems so obvious. Why on earth I had it in my mind as I arrived in Majorca that I was in for a relaxing week of casual riding and excessive sangria drinking I do not know. I would be riding with Amy. This would be no recovery week. I should have known what was coming my way.


Majorca has to be seen to be believed. I had heard stories that it is cycling heaven and even heard from a non-cyclist friend who had just returned that “cyclists have taken over the island”. My first sense that this place might indeed be an island oasis for cyclists occurred in the small Majorcan airport. Bike boxes were everywhere. People were assembling bikes and disassembling bikes in the terminal. There was more traffic at the oversized baggage claim gathering bike boxes than there was at the regular baggage claim. We crammed six bike boxes and the rest of our luggage into our van and headed across the island to our villa, getting excited by the handfuls of cyclists we spotted on occasion along the way. If we only knew what was to come….

Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good, and on this trip we certainly had our fair share of luck. Our first strike of good fortune occurred the first evening and indeed set us up for rides for the entire week. We were wandering the town of Puerto Pollensa looking for some place open for an early dinner (7pm is before the early bird special in Spain), when we spotted an Irish pub down a side street that looked open. What do you know, but directly across the street from the pub was a bike shop so naturally we wandered in to take a gander at the wares. There we met Gary Smith, the retired owner of Evans Cycles, the UK’s version of Performance Bikes, and Bruce Griffiths, the owner of the shop, Pro Cycle Hire. These contacts would prove very helpful throughout the week. But, most importantly we learned to just show up every morning at 9:15am in front of Tolo’s Restaurant where the locals gather to ride. I’m sure it is impossible to have a bad ride in Majorca, but had we been left to follow maps and navigate for ourselves we most certainly would have ended up on relatively major roads and not fully experienced the backroad alleys and farm paths that we were led down by the locals.

It is impossible to adequately describe how incredible the riding in Majorca is, so I’ll let my pictures and video do the talking.


If I had to imagine what heaven for a cyclist would be, I would likely describe Majorca. Cyclists have indeed taken over the island. Cars are second class citizens and they know it. When you approach an intersection you slow as much to look out for a crossing peloton as to look out for a crossing car. Unlike in Girona, where you knew it if you crossed paths with a pro team, in Majorca you’d never realize it as they would blend in with the tens of thousands of other cyclists on the roads. Though we did bump into Sean Kelly one day at a lunch stop. The weather was ideal; the first 3 days we had cloud cover and experienced maybe one hour of drizzles. The remainder of the week was splendid sunshine and shorts and short sleeve jersey weather. The island offers up any kind of riding you desire, flat, country roads, gradual climbs, or legitimate mountains with steep, switchback climbs overlooking cliffs to the Mediterranean below.

Every ride was memorable and noteworthy, but two I will remember for a long time. The first is the climb up the Puiz Major, the highest point on the island. The climb starts at the beach in Port de Soller and climbs 1000 meters in 9 miles. We had been told that one hour is considered the benchmark of a good time and that Jan Ullrich and the T*Mobile team do repeats up the climb in roughly 40 minutes. So, with one hour on the brain and knowing I had done longer climbs the previous two weeks I found a pace I thought I could maintain for an hour. After about 45 minutes I was starting to suffer but also starting to think that I was some kind of stud. For 45 minutes I had been passing a constant stream of riders, many of whom had ripped calves and looked like legitimate cyclists, and I had not been passed even once. Just like when going up the Le Turo d’leHomme the previous week I was in need of a good dose of humility and would shortly receive it. I didn’t just get passed, a blur of muscle and blue jersey shot by me like he was on a motorcycle. And, once again I have it all on video so I can relive my dressing down when I again get too big for my britches. Presumably this guy knew the summit of the climb was only two switchbacks away and was sprinting for the top, but regardless my piece of humble pie had been served. Put in place I continued up the hill catching a few more riders and summitted in 52 minutes. Proud of myself and ready to bask in my domination of the hour threshold, Amy rolled over the top only moments later in 55 minutes, a time that was the talk of the locals crowd that evening at Tolo’s.

While the climb from sea level to the highest point on the island was amazing and memorable, by far and away the highlight of the trip was La Colabra. This climb goes from sea level to 800 meters in only 6 miles, but what really makes it memorable is the road itself. We had been told that this is the only hors categorie (beyond categorization) climb on the island, but I’m skeptical that it is indeed an HC climb as Le Turo d’leHomme outside Girona is a Cat 1 climb and definitely harder. The road is 6 miles of ridiculously snaking switchbacks that essentially make their way straight up a cliff. The descent was fun but a bit hairy with the super tight turns requiring a slow speed and steady bike handling. It is definitely worth checking out the pictures and videos of the Colabra descent. After riding the descent and having heard all the hype of La Colabra we were pretty intimidated by the climb, but in reality it wasn’t as hard as anticipated. It took me 39 minutes and Amy 42, and both of us were in agreement that we took it a little too conservatively initially as the climb turned out not to be as difficult as we had feared, and agreed the climb up Puiz Major was more difficult.

Click here for Pictures and Video of the Tour of Flanders.

While everyone else returned to Washington, DC I headed with Amy to her home in Nottingham, England. The following weekend we would head to Ninove, Belgium to participate in the recreational cyclists running of the Tour of Flanders. I was happy to have a few days off the bike and be a tourist in London and Nottingham.

On Friday, I piled into a car with Amy and Mark and Matt, two of her riding friends from Nottingham, and we headed for Belgium. The Tour of Flanders is one of the “One Day Classics” for the European pro racing circuit. The race is on Sunday, and on Saturday they open up the route to “cycling tourists”. Those who design these Classics like Flanders and Paris-Roubaix are simply sadistic. The entire goal appears to be to create a course that is so brutal as to inflict as much carnage as possible in order to maximize entertainment for the spectators. Tour of Flanders, or de Ronde van Vlaanderen as it is known in Belgium, is widely considered to be the hardest one day race in cycling due a combination of the distance, the regularly nasty Belgian conditions, the cobblestones, and the steep “bergs” that kick in after 110 miles of riding. I was well aware of the reputation and had been given fair warning by pros I had encountered during my first two weeks around Girona of what to expect, but even so the difficulty and harshness of this event caught me by surprise.

15,000 “cycling tourists” were registered to participate in the Saturday event. Of those, the vast majority were logical, rational people and registered for the 150km portion which covers only the final 90 miles of the course but still encounters all of the cobblestones and famous bergs. Amy, Matt, Mark, and I are apparently not logical, rational people; we had signed up for the full 165 mile event. I don’t know how many people were scared off by the weather forecast of thunder and lightning, torrential downpours, 30-40mph winds, and hail, but bright and early Saturday morning we found ourselves amongst huge crowds off cyclists at the start in Brugges.

13 seconds. 0:00:13 on the bike computer is when the first raindrops hit me. After three weeks of riding in Spain with maybe one hour of light drizzle total, my payback time had come exactly 13 seconds into a 170 mile day. Within 5 minutes the monsoon was upon us. Thunder and lightning were spotted in the distance, the rain was hitting us in sheets, and we were getting thrown around with massive gusts of winds off the North Sea. I do feel a bit cheated, though, we never did encounter the hail that had been forecast. I had anticipated the first 90 or so miles to be uneventful and planned to expend as little energy as possible. The real action starts between miles 90 and 100 when the cobblestones begin and then the climbs kick in to add insult to injury. So, I had expected to sit in large pelotons for the majority of the first 90 miles and just watch the miles tick off with as little effort as possible. Not so. While there were large numbers of riders everywhere, the torrential downpour and the brutal cross and headwinds would quickly break up any kind of tight, organized pack riding that might form. I often found myself working hard to close down gaps that would form ahead me. I was working hard both physically and mentally. It takes serious concentration to ride in a pack in the terrible conditions we were in, but not riding in a pack and being fully exposed to the winds was a far worse proposition. In hindsight I’m happy to have had those conditions as we received the full Flanders experience, but at the time it was no fun at all. It was hard work, the miles were not ticking off quickly and effortlessly, and we were covered in what I later learned is known as “Belgian toothpaste”, a road mix of dirt, grease, manure, fertilizer, rain, …..

Eating and drinking were virtually impossible as you needed two hands on your brake hoods at all times. Crashes were plentiful and literally every few hundred yards was a poor soul changing a flat tire in the cold, wet, windy conditions. We rolled into the first checkpoint at mile 30, and I was tired, not enjoying the experience and quite concerned with how I was going to manage another 140 miles, especially as the hard stuff doesn’t begin until after mile 100.

Luckily things got better. We had some more bad weather, but for the most part the worst of it was encountered in the first 30 miles. Somewhere around mile 50 we turned inland and had a most amazing tailwind. Suddenly the roads were drying, we had a massive tailwind, we were riding in a good group, and the miles were ticking off effortlessly like I had planned on. I had been warned by a German pro we rode with in Girona to be ready for cold, wet, wind, sun, or heat. I didn’t realize he meant AND not OR. Never have I experienced such a range of conditions in one day, all we were lacking was hail and snow. By mile 90 the roads were drying and the sun was blaring, the only constant throughout the day was the tree-bending and flag-snapping high winds.

Somewhere around mile 90 we hit the first stretch of cobblestones. Over the entire course there is about 40km, or 25 miles, of cobblestone roads, some stretches as long as 3 miles others just a few hundred meters. I was ready for the cobbles, or so I thought. I’m a big rider and the strategy for riding cobbles is to put it in a big gear and hammer through the rattling by keeping a good hard pressure on the pedals. This is not the terrain for the finesse rider, and I am no finesse rider so I figured I would be fine. I had been adequately warned by the German pro in Girona, as he told me stories of broken seatposts and broken stems and other catastrophic bike failures caused by the cobblestones and warned me to make sure my bike was in good condition and well tuned before the ride. I heard all this, but still I definitely didn’t really comprehend what was in store for me. To say I underestimated the difficulty of the cobblestones would be a dramatic understatement. Within the first 100 meters of the first stretch of bad cobbles I understood. The gutter along the side was filled with bike bottles jettisoned from bouncing bikes, and these aren’t bottles flying out of the rear saddle cages of triathlon bikes, these are bottles flying out of the frame cages, something I had never seen before even riding across Africa. Someone was trying to reattach his saddle bag. Someone else was tending to a puncture. And this was in the first 100 meters of 25 total miles of cobblestone riding. This first stretch lasted roughly a mile and produced some spectacular carnage. One rider tried his luck riding the gutter at the side of the road and ended up falling off into the water-filled ditch. Multiple riders were walking their bikes, debilitated by punctures or broken spokes or worse. The road was filled in bike detritus, anything not very well secured was likely to end up in the mud at the side of the road. When I finally reached the end of this first stretch of cobbles and managed to unwind my hands from their death grip on the handlebars I caught up to Mark, looked at him, and we both just started laughing. “That was a little more challenging than I expected” he said and started laughing again. We waited for Amy and she emerged unscathed, but not looking too ecstatic at the prospect of 24 more similar miles. She muttered some comment under her breath about effects on her reproductive abilities, I told her to quit her bellyaching, and we continued on our way. For the most part the remaining cobblestone stretches were not nearly so severe, but we encountered probably 3 or 4 more similar stretches throughout the remainder of the day, and we all came to the conclusion that it’s more fun to watch the pros ride the cobblestones on TV than to do it yourself.

We were now about 100 miles into the ride and we knew the hills were soon approaching. The climbs in Tour of Flanders are not particularly high or long, but they are steep and often cobbled. Tiny, narrow cobbled paths through farms appear to seek out the only hill around and head straight up it. In Tour of Flanders there are 17 named climbs, and for the most part are all less than a mile in length and usually only a couple hundred meters of a climb are really steep. Many of the climbs exceed 20% gradient, and the Koppenberg and Muir-KapelMuir which reach 24% and 21% on cobblestones respectively are well known in the cycling world as classic climbs. So, around this 100 mile point, Mark and I were riding side by side and we looked at each other quizzically, both with the same question on our mind. We had recently ridden a long cobbled stretch of probably 2-3 miles up a long, but gradual hill. Now we were riding a paved road up another long, not all that gradual hill. We had definitely moved out of the flats, could that gradual cobbled climb have been the first climb and now this long haul hill is the second? It didn’t seem to fit what we were expecting, but we certainly had started climbing. So, I rolled up next to the man ahead of me who had the profile and names of all the climbs taped to his stem and asked him whether we were on one of the climbs. He just looked at me and laughed. I put my tail between my legs and coasted back to Mark.

Having drastically underestimated the difficulty of the first 90 flat miles and the difficulty of the cobblestones, and now having been laughed at for suggesting the hill we were climbing was one of the climbs that makes Tour of Flanders famous, I was sufficiently scared of what was coming our way. Mark and I had discussed our prospects earlier and had decided we hoped to be able to summit 10 out of the 17 climbs. Shortly we would find out what was reasonable. Soon enough, I could see riders up ahead taking a sharp right turn onto what appeared to be a sidewalk or small trail. As I got closer I could hear the click-click-click as riders shifted into their small rings and climbing gears. Sufficiently scared I did the same. We were at Climb #1, the Molenberg. Right turn onto a cobbled path and ahead loomed a wall with a maximum grade of 19%. The climb was short and before long I was over the steepest section and out of danger of coming off my bike. It turned out the hardest part of getting over the climb was that there were so many riders around that they bottled up and I was forced to climb at a super slow pace and staying upright just due to lack of momentum proved the hardest part. Also, minutes before we reached this climb a shower had passed by so this was the only climb of the day we had to do on wet cobbles. Nonetheless, Amy, Mark, and I all cleared the hill with no real difficulty and my confidence for the remaining 16 dramatically increased.

Checkpoint 3 came after the first two climbs and shortly before the famous Koppenberg. We waited at checkpoint 3 for Matt to catch us and waited and waited. And then we waited some more. No sign of him and no call from him on our phone. There had been so much carnage on the cobbles we were worried he had crashed or destroyed his bike. Finally after over an hour of waiting and figuring we still had 60-70 miles to go and daylight was going to become an issue if we continued waiting we headed on our way. It turns out this delay was a very wise strategic move. The hardest part of getting up the first climb, the Molenberg, had been the crowds of riders and if just one had been forced to dismount all those behind him would have been forced to as well. This problem was now solved for us; the road now contained only the occasional rider, and Mark, Amy, and I were now riding super strongly, blowing by the stragglers around us. Of course, we were now on our own for getting through the winds and we ran the risk of getting lost, but luckily never went too far off course.

The anticipation for the Koppenberg was agonizing. We could see the tents and equipment at the summit from miles away and hear the music playing. Then we seemed to turn away endlessly. Eventually we saw riders ahead making a right turn onto cobbles and then we made the turn and saw the wall before us. The climb started out gradual enough, and spectators were there to provide support, or laugh at the poor recreational cyclists flail on this cycling monument, or both. Towards the beginning of the climb I hear a spectator say to Amy “Keep pushing, sweetheart” and I laughed and thought how amazing it was that of the thousands of cyclists doing this event I had seen exactly one other female all day. Soon enough the climb kicked up and got tough. Luckily the cobbles were dry, but not towards the side of the road. Folks were walking their bikes up the hill so I had to navigate around them. Up the road Mark made a tactical error and tried to ride the smoother, but wet, gutter on the side, and his rear wheel spun out and he fell off, right in my path. I yelled at him to get out of my way and he made a very agile leap to the side in his cycling shoes on cobbles. I suspect he may have been a ballerina in prior years. Behind me I hear a shriek, and it turns out someone has fallen into Amy taking her out and ruining her chances at conquering the Koppenberg. I am in my 39/27 barely turning my gears over and unable to get out of my saddle for risk of my rear wheel spinning out. Spectators and athletes walking their bikes are actually cheering for me and it seems like I am the only one on the hill still riding. Soon enough the steepest part is behind me and I no longer feel at risk of falling over. A few more cheers at the top and I’ve topped the Koppenberg. You can watch my struggle up the Koppenberg here. A bit later Mark rolls over the top somehow managing to get started again on a less steep part and shortly after that Amy walks over the top. I suggest to Amy and Mark that we head back down to try again, but thankfully they decline, as mine was a hollow offer - no chance I was heading back down that cliff. Had the cobbles been wet or a rider near me dismounted there would have been no chance I would have made it, so it was luck as much as anything that I managed to summit the Koppenberg. Indeed, this is where we would watch the pro race from the following day, and a Rabobank rider loses control similar to how Mark did and essentially caused the entire peloton to have to run or walk their bikes up the climb. And, yes, I have video footage of me making it over the climb and the pros failing at it, so I think I’ll keep that one in my personal highlight film!

After the Koppenberg we knew it didn’t get any worse so we started to feel better about getting through the day. The only real risk remaining was the Muur-KapelMuur, which was a 21% cobbled climb, but the cobbles were dry and much smoother than the Koppenberg cobbles so it proved to not be as difficult as feared. Although we had 13 climbs and 50 miles to go after the Koppenberg, Mark, Amy, and I could sense the finish and were feeling great and we just crushed the remainder of the course. We would count down the climbs as we went over them and then started counting down the miles. After 165 miles and about 45 minutes before dark we took a right turn and saw the Ronde van Vlaanderen finishing banner and stands dead ahead. Mark took off in a roadie sprint and I rolled through the finish with Amy. Nine hours and 59 minutes of riding and we had conquered de Ronde van Vlaaderen. No punctures, no crashes, no mechanicals, and I managed all 17 climbs while Amy and Mark only succumbed to the Koppenberg. Matt was waiting for us at the finish somehow having blown right past Checkpoint 3. A beer, a brat, and some pictures later and we were back on our bikes for the 6 mile ride to the hotel, the hardest section of riding the entire day.

The following day we awoke to identical monsoon weather and laughed at the pros who had to ride in those conditions. We watched the race at the Koppenberg which turned out to be the decisive point in the race as only about 12 riders got through cleanly before a rider fell causing the whole peloton to have to walk up the hill. I got some amazing super close-up footage of the frustrated riders walking their bikes up the hill, and indeed, you can see me on the OLN broadcast leaning through the barbed wire fence and holding my camera out into the faces of the riders. Come on, if those guys can’t climb a hill that I managed the previous day they deserve a little humiliation, right? After the excitement moved on to subsequent bergs we walked down the hill to a tent at the bottom and drank Belgian beer and watched the race on TV with the locals, celebrating with them as Belgian Tom Boonen won for the 2nd year in a row.

After a bizarre night of celebrating with the Belgians, the fun had finally ended. It was time to return home. From start to finish it was an incredible trip. Four weeks of incredible riding in incredible locations. 1700 miles, no crashes, no flat tires, no riding incidents of any kind. You can be certain I will be back again in years to come!

Photo Highlights From Tour of Flanders
Getting started shortly after dawn 2
Belgian toothpaste really whitens your teeth 2 3 4 5
The Moots took a beating but was reliable all month long
Looking down the Koppenberg
Happy Finishers! And again!

Video Highlights From the Tour of Flanders
Kyle, Amy, and Mark tackle the Koppenberg (4:47, 29.9MB)
...And the Pros try it the next day (6:32, 40.8MB)
Kyle, Amy, Mark dominate the Muur-KapelMuur (5:38, 35.2MB)
Paved Flanders farm roads (0:46, 4.9MB) and again (1:02, 6.6MB) and one more (0:42, 4.4MB)
These are smooth cobbles (2:19, 14.6MB)
A paved berg (2:57, 18.4MB) and a hard one (2:05, 13.0MB)
The tip of the Bosberg (1:44, 10.8MB)
The finishing straight! (0:53, 5.65MB)