Recon for Liege
Yesterday was a long day, the previous day I found out that I was on the list to do the recon for the u-23 Liege-Bastogne-Liege. The start is three hours away from the Cycling Center in the South of Belgium. It might sound strange, but the south is seriously hilly.
On the way down I stared out the car window at the changing signs, from Flemish in Flanders to French in Liege. The signs are'nt all that change along with the scenery, but the architecture. The towns become much more bigger and older towards the south, and the churches are more gothic, darker and almost pagan. We parked the team van in a Spar parking lot (there are Spars in Belgium). The town we started in was hidden in a small valley with a small river running through it. I could tell that it was a tourist attraction in the winter though. We got dressed at got going up the steep hill out of the starting town, with 180km ahead of us. All six of us were dressed in our team uniform, which is dominantly stars and stripes. "Americans!", the local farmers shouted as we rode through the ancient farming villages dotted with dark stone buildings and castles. We took the first 50 km really easy and got to the first hill, a steep 3 km climb. Unfortunately I didn't know that it was that long, so I sprinted and suffered the rest of the way up.
The rest of the ride was hard, chasing eachother, sprinting for town signs non stop. The infamous hill of Liege approached in the distance, decorated withe old farmhouses on the sides as it snakes up the monstrous gradient. We hit it hard, struggling to move in our 25s and small blades. The pain was incredible, but with such a competitive vibe in the u-23 group, getting off your bike or dropping was unofficially not aloud. The hill seemed to have gone on for ever, if I do the race I really don't know how the hell I'll be able to do this hill. By the end of the hill if was stuffed, completely blown and not in the mood to do another 60 kms. We stopped off in a small skiing town to get some drinks and I noticed how completely different the south is. Despite speaking French, they even look abit different and their attitudes are different too, almost more unfriendly in a way. We got going again, with a gradual 40 km drag ahead blotted with one or two pathetic infinitesmal downhills. There's a rule I managed to pick up on the way back that my teammates all obey: when someone pulls over to take a pee, you don't slow down and wait like we do at home, you and the rest of the group ride like its team time trial. So I had to ride my ass off with two other friends to catch up to the guys again, then at the end of the ride two other guys attacked again leaving us catching yet again. At the end I was completely stuffed and happy to see the small town in the valley again.
We stopped and ate at a small cozy hotel in the town, where I had the best pasta of my life.
It was one hard race recon, or recon race.
On the way down I stared out the car window at the changing signs, from Flemish in Flanders to French in Liege. The signs are'nt all that change along with the scenery, but the architecture. The towns become much more bigger and older towards the south, and the churches are more gothic, darker and almost pagan. We parked the team van in a Spar parking lot (there are Spars in Belgium). The town we started in was hidden in a small valley with a small river running through it. I could tell that it was a tourist attraction in the winter though. We got dressed at got going up the steep hill out of the starting town, with 180km ahead of us. All six of us were dressed in our team uniform, which is dominantly stars and stripes. "Americans!", the local farmers shouted as we rode through the ancient farming villages dotted with dark stone buildings and castles. We took the first 50 km really easy and got to the first hill, a steep 3 km climb. Unfortunately I didn't know that it was that long, so I sprinted and suffered the rest of the way up.
The rest of the ride was hard, chasing eachother, sprinting for town signs non stop. The infamous hill of Liege approached in the distance, decorated withe old farmhouses on the sides as it snakes up the monstrous gradient. We hit it hard, struggling to move in our 25s and small blades. The pain was incredible, but with such a competitive vibe in the u-23 group, getting off your bike or dropping was unofficially not aloud. The hill seemed to have gone on for ever, if I do the race I really don't know how the hell I'll be able to do this hill. By the end of the hill if was stuffed, completely blown and not in the mood to do another 60 kms. We stopped off in a small skiing town to get some drinks and I noticed how completely different the south is. Despite speaking French, they even look abit different and their attitudes are different too, almost more unfriendly in a way. We got going again, with a gradual 40 km drag ahead blotted with one or two pathetic infinitesmal downhills. There's a rule I managed to pick up on the way back that my teammates all obey: when someone pulls over to take a pee, you don't slow down and wait like we do at home, you and the rest of the group ride like its team time trial. So I had to ride my ass off with two other friends to catch up to the guys again, then at the end of the ride two other guys attacked again leaving us catching yet again. At the end I was completely stuffed and happy to see the small town in the valley again.
We stopped and ate at a small cozy hotel in the town, where I had the best pasta of my life.
It was one hard race recon, or recon race.
posted by Wesley at 9:41 AM
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