Monday, April 10, 2006
Week 4: 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)
