Another Kermesse
Yesterday I did another Kermesse, except this one was in the south. It started unusually late, at six o'clock, however my roommate says that when summer arrives the sun sets later so it is easier for spectators to come after work and watch. We ended up racing till 8.30, and only getting to bed at 12, leaving me absolutely stuffed.
The race itself was held in a small town in the south; come to think of it now, all kermesses are held in tiny villages. The wind was blowing as usual but it was warm enough to leave the arm and leg warmers behind. It wasn't long before news got round that the Belgian national champion was there too, and somehow the rumuor evolved, stating that he was ready to kill. While I was dressing in a judo paking lot, I also heard a very distinct accent, Irish. There was a van opposite ours full of Irish riders.
The inscription was in.........you guessed it, a smoky peasent pit leaking cheap alchol to the locals. There was a long line out the door full of Belgians and French waiting to inscribe. I stood staring at the riders mullet in front of me while waiting for the line to move. At the moment, the fashionable hairstyle is a Boonen Mullet, a mohawk on top and a long tail on the back, unfortunately some poor souls have taken it too far and have mutated the style too form something ghastly, the redneck mullet.
Anyway, it cost me eight euro and I was told to check dope control at the end of the race to see whether my name was there. We warmed up for abit when the starting line began to swarm with riders. I followed my team members and we squeezed in from the front, with unhappy shouts from the back. I've gotten used to the unhappy bickering from the negative characters in the races. I still hadn't seen the Belgian national champion yet, I thought that he was probably lurking in the back.........waiting. The gun went off with dozens of villagers cheering us on.
Within 100m a person broke off, a dozen more followed, eventually the whole peloton stringing out. This was the first time I was in the front of the group. The atmosphere was much tense, but it was easier to stay without being shot off the back like a feather in the wind. The pace was fast, eventually we hit the first drag, groups breaking constantly. The breaking groups consisted of about twenty, but all of them were sucked back into the peloton. Then halfway through the race the winning break went, not knowing this at the time, I thought it was just another futile attempt which would eventually be engulfed by the peloton again. They drifted away, slowly. The next break went, unsuccesful. Then all of a sudden the peloton was breaking, total confusion, tiny groups shot off the front in an effort to escape from the chaos. I went with a break, which only lasted about half a lap before being taken back again.
The riders who were part of the race a few minutes ago began to pile next to the road as the race progressed, and to my surprise, I was still in it. The pace was dying a little as the workers began to get tired and the break in front gradually put distance between us. The peleton got to the finish line with one lap to go, when one of the race officials told us to pull off. I was really annoyed (with one lap to go!), I could have finished my first kermesse. But nonetheless I was happy that I made it that far.
I'm getting there, slowly. With each race I've gained infinite amounts of experience, and small amounts of power.
Today my legs are really, sore. I looked at my program and wasn't surprised to see that I had two training sessions, so I better get started then. I'm also going to go and see the Giro prologue tomorrow, I'll let you know how that goes.
The race itself was held in a small town in the south; come to think of it now, all kermesses are held in tiny villages. The wind was blowing as usual but it was warm enough to leave the arm and leg warmers behind. It wasn't long before news got round that the Belgian national champion was there too, and somehow the rumuor evolved, stating that he was ready to kill. While I was dressing in a judo paking lot, I also heard a very distinct accent, Irish. There was a van opposite ours full of Irish riders.
The inscription was in.........you guessed it, a smoky peasent pit leaking cheap alchol to the locals. There was a long line out the door full of Belgians and French waiting to inscribe. I stood staring at the riders mullet in front of me while waiting for the line to move. At the moment, the fashionable hairstyle is a Boonen Mullet, a mohawk on top and a long tail on the back, unfortunately some poor souls have taken it too far and have mutated the style too form something ghastly, the redneck mullet.
Anyway, it cost me eight euro and I was told to check dope control at the end of the race to see whether my name was there. We warmed up for abit when the starting line began to swarm with riders. I followed my team members and we squeezed in from the front, with unhappy shouts from the back. I've gotten used to the unhappy bickering from the negative characters in the races. I still hadn't seen the Belgian national champion yet, I thought that he was probably lurking in the back.........waiting. The gun went off with dozens of villagers cheering us on.
Within 100m a person broke off, a dozen more followed, eventually the whole peloton stringing out. This was the first time I was in the front of the group. The atmosphere was much tense, but it was easier to stay without being shot off the back like a feather in the wind. The pace was fast, eventually we hit the first drag, groups breaking constantly. The breaking groups consisted of about twenty, but all of them were sucked back into the peloton. Then halfway through the race the winning break went, not knowing this at the time, I thought it was just another futile attempt which would eventually be engulfed by the peloton again. They drifted away, slowly. The next break went, unsuccesful. Then all of a sudden the peloton was breaking, total confusion, tiny groups shot off the front in an effort to escape from the chaos. I went with a break, which only lasted about half a lap before being taken back again.
The riders who were part of the race a few minutes ago began to pile next to the road as the race progressed, and to my surprise, I was still in it. The pace was dying a little as the workers began to get tired and the break in front gradually put distance between us. The peleton got to the finish line with one lap to go, when one of the race officials told us to pull off. I was really annoyed (with one lap to go!), I could have finished my first kermesse. But nonetheless I was happy that I made it that far.
I'm getting there, slowly. With each race I've gained infinite amounts of experience, and small amounts of power.
Today my legs are really, sore. I looked at my program and wasn't surprised to see that I had two training sessions, so I better get started then. I'm also going to go and see the Giro prologue tomorrow, I'll let you know how that goes.
posted by Wesley at 4:52 AM
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