My First Kermesse
My first kermesse was on my first week here on a Sunday in a small town called Tielt which is about 17km from our team house in Hertsberge. Theres a kermesse in belgium almost everyday, so our coach has got us racing about twice a week. The race was 115 km, 19 laps, which is considered short in belgium, with an average race distance of 160km.
The race entries in belgium are always held in a pub that spews dense smoke and loud flemish. Its very organized, you give them your license, they take down your details and youve got your number. It costs ýou about 8 euro and you get back 5 euro if you return your number.
The Kermesse was held in a tiny, gray and depressing village. The weather was typical of belgium, I saw the sun once for about three seconds and the wind was eating my skin away with its icy touch. Its quite amazing, while warming up I noticed every single family in the village retreating from their homes towards the pub in the center of the village to go and watch the race. The belgians love cycling, no matter who's racing. They point fingers at certain riders and make negative and positive remarks as they go.
If theres one thing I've noticed in these two weeks, its the belgian cyclists' mentality towards racing. When I race in South Africa, I go to the toilet about 29 times all because of my nerves, the reason being because of the intimidating auras the other racers emit, why? Because in SA its a fashion show, the racers pitch up with bronze tanned legs drenched in wintergreen despite it being the middle of summer, Rudy Projects perfectly positioned on their helmets throwing hostile stares at every rider that they don't know. However, here in Belgium, the racers pitch up in old shorts and shirts, no evil eyes and everybody here is a powerhouse, an asset when the when there's a head wind. They bunch every age group together , so you'll see a vets and juniours shouting at eachother all the time.
In South Africa, racers dress to kill, in Belgian they race to kill. The officials here are incredibly laid back, they wont set up the start line until five minutes to go. When the line is setup, the riders race to get a good postion, and pile up so that you struggle to breath. All 120 riders are possesed to win. I just cant describe how hard they go when the gun goes, the infinite amount of power they push out just to get to the front. This all out effort goes on to the first bend, which in this race was about five hundred metres from the start. When the turn comes they don't brake until thet need to, when they do shoulders bash together, people shout and wheels touch, but no accidents. The handling skills of the belgian cyclists are just amazing, we ride so close together that our handlebars actually touch. When a long road comes, the group stretches on forever. Inside the group I saw a cyclist punch another cyclist because he pushed in front of him. The accelerations are indescribable, you sit on the edge of your seat, your teeth embedded in your handlebar, just to keep up with the wheel in front of you. I lasted two laps before the group started drifting away from me and the wind hit me harder than the b-group riders brake when they see a stone in the rode. The wind here blows so hard here that its impossible to ride out of the group. I rode on abit longer when the broom wagon rode next to me and told me to get off the circuit, a gap of three minutes and more is not aloud. I did much better today though, I managed to stick with the group for 14 laps. On my first kermesse 23 riders finished out of the 120. Today there were about 170 riders, lots of angry french riders too.
Anyway, its really great here at the house, we've got a projector, so we watch movies at night. The americans are great to live with too. I feel like a pro here, I can train when I want, because the weather is always the same in the day. I can cook up nice meals with the bakery and the butcher right round the corner.
These kermesses might be as hard as hell, but they're incredibly fun. The aggresion, tension and speed just makes it so enjoyable. I can't wait to race again.
The race entries in belgium are always held in a pub that spews dense smoke and loud flemish. Its very organized, you give them your license, they take down your details and youve got your number. It costs ýou about 8 euro and you get back 5 euro if you return your number.
The Kermesse was held in a tiny, gray and depressing village. The weather was typical of belgium, I saw the sun once for about three seconds and the wind was eating my skin away with its icy touch. Its quite amazing, while warming up I noticed every single family in the village retreating from their homes towards the pub in the center of the village to go and watch the race. The belgians love cycling, no matter who's racing. They point fingers at certain riders and make negative and positive remarks as they go.
If theres one thing I've noticed in these two weeks, its the belgian cyclists' mentality towards racing. When I race in South Africa, I go to the toilet about 29 times all because of my nerves, the reason being because of the intimidating auras the other racers emit, why? Because in SA its a fashion show, the racers pitch up with bronze tanned legs drenched in wintergreen despite it being the middle of summer, Rudy Projects perfectly positioned on their helmets throwing hostile stares at every rider that they don't know. However, here in Belgium, the racers pitch up in old shorts and shirts, no evil eyes and everybody here is a powerhouse, an asset when the when there's a head wind. They bunch every age group together , so you'll see a vets and juniours shouting at eachother all the time.
In South Africa, racers dress to kill, in Belgian they race to kill. The officials here are incredibly laid back, they wont set up the start line until five minutes to go. When the line is setup, the riders race to get a good postion, and pile up so that you struggle to breath. All 120 riders are possesed to win. I just cant describe how hard they go when the gun goes, the infinite amount of power they push out just to get to the front. This all out effort goes on to the first bend, which in this race was about five hundred metres from the start. When the turn comes they don't brake until thet need to, when they do shoulders bash together, people shout and wheels touch, but no accidents. The handling skills of the belgian cyclists are just amazing, we ride so close together that our handlebars actually touch. When a long road comes, the group stretches on forever. Inside the group I saw a cyclist punch another cyclist because he pushed in front of him. The accelerations are indescribable, you sit on the edge of your seat, your teeth embedded in your handlebar, just to keep up with the wheel in front of you. I lasted two laps before the group started drifting away from me and the wind hit me harder than the b-group riders brake when they see a stone in the rode. The wind here blows so hard here that its impossible to ride out of the group. I rode on abit longer when the broom wagon rode next to me and told me to get off the circuit, a gap of three minutes and more is not aloud. I did much better today though, I managed to stick with the group for 14 laps. On my first kermesse 23 riders finished out of the 120. Today there were about 170 riders, lots of angry french riders too.
Anyway, its really great here at the house, we've got a projector, so we watch movies at night. The americans are great to live with too. I feel like a pro here, I can train when I want, because the weather is always the same in the day. I can cook up nice meals with the bakery and the butcher right round the corner.
These kermesses might be as hard as hell, but they're incredibly fun. The aggresion, tension and speed just makes it so enjoyable. I can't wait to race again.
posted by Wesley at 8:16 AM
1 Comments:
Wesley - your writing is hugely enjoyable to read. I love the detail, and your feelings about everything you're experiencing.
Yesterday I saw brother David toiling up the steepest hill in Muckleneuk. I think he's inspired too.
Warm regards
Peter Southey
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