Robert Lofgran

Robert made me laugh more than anybody I've ever known. Robert Arrived in Belgium two weeks before anybody else, even Bernard who was in America at the time. So, he stayed in a hotel in Oostkamp exploring the snow covered area. When he got here his first roommate was Eric, and then he had to change when Eric got sick. So he swapped with Nate, who was also sick at the time. Thats how Rob became my roommate. He is now 24 and comes from Wyoming (second most boring place next to the crop filled Nebraska).

He always had interesting stories, mostly about the two years he spent in Brazil as a missionary. I would often hear him talking in Portuguese to some of his friends in Brazil. Robert also had a an obsession with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, on which he would pile half a tub of peanut butter and then top it off with a jar of jam on one slice. He also taught me the art of making pancakes, monstrous two inch ones that would fill the whole pan and come out perfectly tanned without a burn in site.

Roberts wife arrived about a week before he left, who was just as friendly as he was.
Another cool thing about Rob is that he went to the same highschool as Napoleon Dynamite; if you've seen the movie you'll know what I'm talking about. Apart from having a stem as long as a concorde, Rob was one of the most down to earth people in the house. You can check out his blog, which is in both English and Portuguese at www.robertlofgran.blogspot.com.

Last race

Unfortunately I leave on Sunday, so I will have my last Kermis tomorrow. I will let you know how it goes. I plan to race like a bat out of hell.

A typical day

Somebody asked me the otherday what I do here in a day. While, theres always something to look forward to or there is always something exciting happening in a day at the Cycling Center. However, I will describe one of my race days.

I usually wake up at eight o'clock to the sounds of pots and pans clanging together in the kitchen next to my room. I have three other roommates, all of them with full bladders upon awakening, so the toilet is the finish line in the process of waking up. I then walk to my pantry in zombie mode and pour in some of the Delhaze muesli in my oversized bowl. The house goes through fads, especially in food, from pancakes to brocolli, each one trying to get the best price. When I got here, the house was sought of going through a vanilla soya milk phase, which died down alot, but stayed with me. I love soy milk no, its all I drink, chocolate for my recoveries, vanilla for my cereal and plain for everything else. Someone is always playing music on the Ipod speakers. The most played artist in the house is Johnny Cash; I think I know every word out of every song of his by now. The kitchen is always full in the morning, a combination of chaos and different smells. Thats why I have cereal in the morning; so that I don't have to race for a stove plate to cook my food. If it is a race day, I try ro stuff my face with food, mostly fruit and always oats. After breakfast I race for the laundry machine to make sure that my clothes get washed first. Everything in the house becomes a race eventually, from the kitchen stove, to the toilets, to the laundry machines and even to lan cables in the common room. There are two laundry machines and two drying machines, so theres a definite competitive streak among the twenty guys in the house that want there clothes clean. Everything needed for the race is prepared the day before, from pre race food, to my bikes cables. Bernard is extremely strict on our organization. So I pack my bag the day before, making sure I have absolutely everything, and then checking it for a fourth time. I wash my bike, which is another competition, to see who's bike is the cleanest. So far Aaron is the best at that (I'll try and take a picture of his bike, it's incredible). I check that everything works, pump my tires, lube the chain and finally polish it with a clean rag, which becomes a race to, with all the rags filthy black from previous chain scrubbings. Usually before a race we have a team meeting with Bernard, about everything. Usually they go on for about an hour, with most of the conversation being placed on how important it is to be in the top thirty of the peloton during the whole race.

I then head off to make my bed aand then have another fruit, then head straight for my laptop. The common room is surprisingly quiet, all the time. Each persons face glowing in front of the flashing LCD in front of them. This goes on forever, our laptops are our only way to get a hold of home. Waking up and seeing the same people every single day can be hard, so most of the guys here sit for hours emailing and chatting via skype to their family and friends back home. The weather here is shit , of which only a small amount is ever sunny. So we try to go once a week to the ancient town of Brugge. Sitting in front of my laptop I email, email, email, and read all the latest news in the pro tour.

Half an hour before we leave for the race, we pack the van. If it is a UCI, the team cars and vans are usually packed for us the previous day. If it is a kermis, then we pack the red van ourselves before we leave. On the way to a kermis, which is usually close to us, we argue over which is the right direction according to the map. We usually know we've arrived when we see a hundred Belgians surrounding a packed pub spewing smoke out every window. After the race, we get on our warm clothes, even during warm weather, avoiding sickness as much as possible. Usually nobody speaks on the way home, unless it was a really good race.

We unpack the van, hang our bikes on the hooks with our names glued to it. We then wash our clothes and head to make supper. This part is hard because you're hungry enough to eat a donkey and tired enough to give up and go to sleep, so you sit in front of the stove with red eyes waiting for the food to finish cooking amongst the chaos of the kitchen. Then wash dishes, and race for a place in the common room for the hour of Simpsons that comes on every singleday of the week. Ten o'clock approaches and everybody retreats to their rooms. Nobody talks after a race, especially if it is a night Kermis, where we get home at twelve o'clock and half fall asleep in the shower. Usually after a UCI, the excitement of the crowds and the sugar of the race food pumps through your blood, so you might join a group of guys who can't sleep in the kitchen at night, waiting for the infinite amount of energy to die down.

And thats a basic kermis day, usually on other days, we do our shopping at the Delhaze or the Super GB, and swarm the bicycle shop replacing worn parts. So the days might become monotinous, but you're always so focused on the next race and your training that you're never bored, plus with all the cleaning, cooking and shopping, you don't really have the time to complain.

Thats about all I can think of in a typical kermis day.

Nate

Nathan Fields is the coolest guy in the house, I think. When I arrived at the train station in Tielt, I was a bit stunned, mostly by the the way the people drove and the weather. Bernard picked me up after watching a pro tour race go back, which was another shocker, seeing Mcewen jumping pavements, and then thinking to myself, 'Hey I can bunny hop higher than Mcewen'.

When I arrived back at the house Nathan fields and Aaron took me in the Red van aka. 'the fun bus' to the Delhaze to shop for some food. They introduced themselves. Nate is from Atlanta, I could tell that he was from the south, his accent gave it away. I was in hell, totally inexperienced in shopping for food and faced with the problem of reading Flemish off the food products. But, Nate helped me out by showing me what was crap and what was healthy. Nate is always there to help. Not only does he ride a bike really well, but he makes a brilliant mechanic which he sometimes plays at UCIs when he isn't racing. He helped me re-cable my whole bike. Not only does he help me fix my bike, but he picks up after me. I tend to forget stuff round the house like a bottle in the mud room or my headphones in the lounge, Nate will always give the back to me and tell me in his thick accent, "Hey man, you gonna lose these."

Nate works in a bicycle shop back at home as a mechanic and sometimes works as a carpenter. If he isn't doing that he is training or racing. He is here at the Cycling Centre for the whole season. I've done a whole lot of racing with Nate and he seems to be comfortable with the peloton. I will never forget that one race where he got shoved into a traffic island at over 50km/h, he flew into it and bunny hopped most of it, and still managed to keep his balance. He comes from mountain biking which explains his skills. Most riders would not be able to recover from that.

So That's Nate, If you want me to add some more detail into the profiles, just coment or send me an email, letting me know what you want to know.

I just finished my week of no racing, I went to Gent with Brett for day, which was a brilliant experience, saw tons of ancient churches and castles. I will be racing this weekend again, which I can't wait for, racing here has become an addiction. The amount of racing I was doing kind of made me tired up until a week ago, causing my heart rate to rise and my power to drop, but hopefully it will change after this break.

Nick

My next profile will be on Nick Hight huf. When I arrived here, I had a total of three roommates, all of them changed their rooms or went home. The first of the my new bunch of roommates was Nick. I still remember going to fetch him after one our shop runs, he was sitting on his bike bag outside of the train station. He greeted each one of us with confidence and wasn't shy at all. In fact, he got a girls number on his first shop run here, real smooth.

Nick is a 23 year old from California and has his degree in Chemistry. He is going for his Doctorate, so not only is he smooth, but he is quite clever too. He is staying till mid July at the Cycling Center. If Nick isn't training or breathing into his strange lung machine, then he is laughing at the French dubbings on TV or watching one of his Japanese movies. I guess Nick likes eggs, judging by the amount he consumes a week.

He has done quite good so far in his first few Kermises. If you get here, and feel relaxed in the tense environment of the Belgian pelotons, and have a feel for the flow of the group, then all you need is time to become a good racer here. I think Nick has a feel for the groups here.

So thats a quick profile on Nick, the smoothster from California.

Derek Timmermann

I was sitting in the sun room making some emails yesterday when I heard some exhausted panting approach from the distance. I looked outside and there was Derek. He was out of breath and could hardly speak, but later told me he had to run from a bus station 5km away from the Cycling Center. He just got back from his trip to Paris and Amsterdam and was on his way to Brussels where he finally heads back to his home in Michigan, USA.

I really liked Derek, because he was so similar to me. He weighed exactly the same as me, same height and same age. Not only that, but he's read the same books I have. He was just accepted at the University of Colorado where he is going to study Astronomy. Derek has been cycling for four years now and is one of few that did not come from mountain biking. He did the juniour world cup in Canada and raced in the espoir world cup Liege this year.

It was nice to have someone so similar to me, we went to a few UCIs and kermis' together and both suffered through our weakspots, the cobbles. Derek also showed me how to make oatmeal properly, which I always saw him eating. We also came up with a few theories on how Aaron maintains his bikes shine.

I shook hands with Derek yesterday as he departed for the train station in one of the team vehicles, I don't think he was too happy to be leaving the Cycling Center and I don't think the Cycling Center was too happy to let Derek go.

The team

I've decided to write a bit on some or maybe even all of the riders in Cycling Center.
So, I'm going to start with the two guys that made me at home, they were also my first roommates.


Aaron Pool aka. Wattage Cottage:

Aaron comes from Nebraska, USA. The guys round the house like to joke about Nebraska, but Aaron doesn't seem to care. He's a neat freak, everything has it's place in the room, which looks out of place among the clutter of a four man bedroom. He rides a silver Le Mond which has never had a speck of dust touch it, Aaron is out almost everyday, making sure his bike stays clean. It's a mystery to me how he keeps every single component shining silver. I come back from a ride and every Veloce component is black, constantly grinding the dirt between its walls, despite cleaning it all the time.

They don't call him the Wattage Cottage for nothing, he is a machine, however he does well because he keeps focused and never drifts away from the front of the race, resulting in some of the brilliant positions at the finish.

Aaron has taught me alot, from why Socrates makes more sense than Aristotle to washing my bike and what soap to use. He is staying a full season here and will definetely do well.

The Ice Cream Truck

I was looking through my cameras photos the yesterday when I came across this. I couldn't believe it wasn't on my blog, so here it is at last.

We were sitting in the kitchen one day, a few weeks back, when in the distance the silent harmonic music that brought back memories of sweet ice cream began to play softly. The music grew louder, and any doubts of it being the ice cream truck faded, until the vehicle that was playing turned the corner. The guys in the kitchen laughed their heads off when it came cruising by our house, so one of us stopped it and I took a picture of it.

The kermesse in Oostnieuwkerke

I did yet another Kermis the yesterday in the smallest town yet, called Oostnieuwkerke. I got three new roommates this week, all from America. They came to watch the beginning of the race with me and one of my teammates, Matt Allen. Matt and I have been doing alot of kermises together and have started calling ourselves the 'dynamic duo'.

Inscription was in a pub which was situated on a lonely road by itself, surrounded by just farms. We parked the red van about a kilometre up the road and got dressed there. Then we went over to the small bar which was crowded with a billion locals, we approached the race officials in their badly coloured suits and were given our numbers, I was number 3.

We checked out the course. After the start line it was a long 2km stretch which took a sharp turn into a narrow concrete farm road, which had a strong head wind. That went on for about a kilomtre and then turned into another long stretch which was about three kilometres long and then yet another long stretch which was just as long, all seriously exposed to the wind. My prediction was that there was going to be a long guttered peloton which would eventually break up, and those in the peloton would slow down as the workers become more tired, creating a bigger gap between them and the break away.

We got to the start line, it wasn't a very big pack, about seventy to eighty racers. The official started us off and the front guys went out in an all out sprint, the whole peloton easily keeping up. However, the sharp turn lurked in the distance and people became anxious, constantly moving up to get a good position for the narrow farm road. It came and I was well positioned in the front of the group. Then the stretch came and just as I predicted, the group began to stretch and riders dropped, I held my my position. The pace constantly increased, faster and faster the whole time until my teeth were clenching on my handle bars and then right in front of me, the Belgian who I was riding behind suddelnly twitched and hit my wheel, I leaned in the direction opposite to the edge of the road, but had to compensate. I hit the grass on the side narrowly missing a spectators dog and road into a ditch. Surprisingly I regained control, thanks to mountain biking, and started sprinting in the direction of the group. At this point I was really pissed, I looked behind me at the dropped riders and decided not to wait. I saw the group in front of me, about 50 m at most, nthe gap never opening or closing. Eventually the pain got to me and then I decided to wait for a group. I caught onto a group of about eight and we worked together for about three laps, and that unfortunately was my race.

The same thing happened to Matt later in the race, caught in a ditch. I rode past the finsh line and the announcer blared my name over the megaphone and then 'Amerikaaner', when are they going to realize that I'm South African?

Hey Warren, can you send me your email to wesjac@gmail.com, thanks alot.

Recipe for Belgian Chips

I had some Belgian chips the other day, they were really tasty, until I found out how they made them, this is a step guide to making them:

-First, they take the frozen potato sticks, about a plates size, and dunk it in a deep frying cage full of black ten year old oil (the vintage of deep frying oil makes a difference), they then leave them to absorb the hot gunge for about ten minutes or so.

- Then, they take it out of the hot liquid and then (my favourite part), while the chips are still firm, they inject each one with animal fat, a painstakingly long effort that becomes worth it in the end.

-Then they dunk it in the same boiling oil for another ten minutes.

-After taking the chips out they microwave a block of butter and smear all of it over the chips.

-And finally, two litres of expired mayonnaise is dumped on top to give it extra flavour.

No, not really, but I just wanted to give you an idea of how deliciously oily it is.

Success

I did a Kermesse in a place called De Panne yesterday. It's a medium sized city right next to the sea. The weather, was of course typical of Belgium, overcast, cold and a monstrous wind. In fact, it was the windiest day during my stay here.

Nate Fields and Matt Allen were my teammates for the day. We arrived in De Panne and strolled through the streets of De Panne in absolute confusion for about a half hour. Finally we saw a team white van that said 'Professional Cycling Team' on the side riding straight ahead of us with what seemed like confidence in navigation. We were wrong, as we headed in the direction they were travelling, they came up behind us from a side street and began following, probably trusting us to finding the race venue. We stopped at a bar and asked for directions, they told us it was just round the corner. The name of the bar that hosted the race was 'Cafe Lusthoff', the smokiest of the bars I've been in so far. The team that followed us was actually a Lithuanian team, which explained their knowledge of the local streets.

We signed up, paid 8 euro and went straight to the van to start getting ready. Most race venues usually have school or a gym where we get given bathroom facilities. Nate and Matt went and dressed inside there, I stayed and dressed inside the van while I listened to an Irish team joking right outside. We started warming up, I said, "Hey the wind isn't too bad". We turned round to head back and the wind hit. It was so bloody strong that we struggled to push against at times when it blew in intervals of a few seconds. We warmed up on the same route for about twenty minutes and headed for the start line. At every race, there is always a bunch of fat men dressed in badly coloured blazers and trousers, the race officials. They told us that they changed the start line to a block away and that the start was going to be delayed for ten minutes. So, I stood and held my position on the front and soon realized that it wasn't necessary, the pack only had about 70 people in it. So I rode round a bit more, when one of the race officials whistled and signaled the start of the race. I stood in the front and one of the officials spoke in Flemish and he waved his arm and we were off. The first lap was neutral, was we took it easy round the lap.

The first part was about a two kilometre stretch with dozens of traffic islands. Then it took a right angled turn into a section of the city that contained blocks of apartments. This part had a long section with lots of turns and accelerations and parts where the wind was seriously strong. Then it came into a another long stretch, about 3 km long with about four traffic circles interrupting the rythm. After that the wind was at its strongest as we turned into yet another long stretch, this was where the break, if there was going to be one, would struggle the most.

We crossed the finish line, rode a few extra metres and the race started. Racers sprinted into the wind up ahead. The group immediately stretched into a long single line. This was a race where if you wanted to make a difference, you would have to be a huge powerful rider. From the beginning I knew that if I wanted to survive, I would have to hide away as far as possible from the wind as possible. A break formed in the distance, about twenty riders. We came into the snaky section, I was already suffering and the person in front of me started to put distance between me. If you allow a gap of more than a metre to open between you and the wheel in front of you in this type of wind, you're screwed. I held it, just just. We came into the second stretch, and I was on the verge of tears as the pain increased. Finally the group held up and formed into a clump again, and then another attack and the group stretched into a long line snaking past the traffic circles, and finally into the last stretch.

That stretch was the hardest stretch, the hardest experience in my whole cycling history. I barely hung on as the line whiplashed constantly, as the riders in the front tried hard to find the best place to resist the wind. Then, in th e corner of my eye a figure went flying throught the air, it was one of my teammates. He hit a traffic island and, believe it or not, he managed to control himself in the air and land regaining his tempo.

It carried on like this for 11 laps, the pace never dying. Every lap I held on for dear life. Finally we rode past the finish and one of the officials displayed the 'one lap to go' sign. I couldn't believe it. So I positioned my self well in the group, so that if a sprint was going to happen, I would be in the right place to finsh in a good position. When we got to the final sprint I put in a massive effort, surprisingly beating half the pack and finishing up in the front.

At the finish, Matt was surprised to see me at the finish and shook my hand, which made all the pain in the wind worth it. I earned 7 euro and finished somewhere in the thirties.

I made sure that I wouldn't make the same mistakes that I made in my previous races, and it paid off in the end.

Cycling Center

If you are interested in the team, check out our website www.cyclingcenter.com.

I'm back

I apologize for not updating my blog for the past few days, my father sent me a laptop, so I will be able to write more often with greater detail into my races and other experiences.
I've done about four or five races since my last post, so I will only be updating you on the last two.

My last race was in France, near the southand just outside of Paris. It was a UCI, with 25 6km laps. The wind was bad as usual, but luckily most of it was a tail wind on the small course. The town was completely different to any other town in Belgium hosting its yearly Kermesse. This one was lined with ancient yellowstone house, narrow winding streets cracked with age and a large medieval church on the top of a hill covered with tiny apartments stuck closely together. The inscription was in a small hall (thankfully, not a bar). Unlike all the other races I've done in France, where the inscription is held on a stage in front of 300 people, with the announcer shouting in French "Americans!"

The nice thing about racing in France is the crowds. Far more people pitch up to watch a race than in Belgium. Zillions of kids line the streetsshouting and cheering as you warm up wih the rest of the team. The other day I did a UCI in the north of France, after inscription a middle aged man approached me and asked me to sign an autograph for him, probably keeping in case I become a great rider one day. After that a granny armed with a camera approached me and told me to smile. During the race the crowds scream, which only makes you go 10x more faster, and if you drop off they still cheer you, as long as they see you suffering, they cheer, but if you aren't they boo you.

Anyway, the start of the race was on a incline, a 800m climb which would hold the finish of the race too. We checked that our radios were working properly and we were off, the french try their best to make the start as unnoticeable as possible, a couple of french words blaring out of the speakers and all of a sudden the pack is accelerating. As usual, the riders grouped from the front of the pack, and so did we, leaving us with a brilliant position right in fron of the pack.

The riders were off, the crowd cheering and the announcer screaming through the megaphones. We were in the front, with one of our teammates going with the first attack after just 100m. Pain already, lactic acid melting my legs as we reached the top of the climb and turned into the unforgiving wind. Some riders taking advantage of the flat jumped immediately, leaving me in the position of do or die. SoI sprinted despite the immense pain, focused on the wheel in front of me, until finally the group formed again on the flat windy section. But, being European racing, a pause is only momentary, a huge juggernaut of a rider sprinted for the downhill section. Recovered after the pause, I positioned myself for the fast downhil. It was seriously fast with aggression in the atmosphere, people shouting, bodies bashing and then right in front of me a small stocky rider swerved in front of me almost causing me to crash, I shouted at him but he carried on, focused on the front of the group. Then we approached the winding streets near the end of the lap. The group slammed on the bikes, with a wave forming in the front of the group as it hit steep speed bumps. Then, acceleration, a team formed on the front in an effort to tire the group before the hill. It worked, a couple of riders on the back blew off, too tired to tackle the remaining 50m of the hill.

It was the same for alot more laps, with eight riders escaping with just under 20 seconds. I found myself in the back again. One of my teammates came up next to me, "stick on my wheel". He darted into the wind momentarily and then started winding through the group and then, we were finally in the front of the group again. That same teammate attacked immediately, I followed, and so did the strongest team, they caught up and brought us back immediately. Their plan, which I later picked up on, was to get the teams in the peloton to work together to catch the break away, any attacks would annoy them and the tempo of the group.

I lost concentration, forgot about eating, dropped to the back of thegroup and then the hill approached.........Just like that, the group slowly drifted away from me and one of my teammates. I tried my best to recover at the top of the hill and sprint. Our team car came up and we sat behind it, but then just like that I popped. The broom wagon came next to me and an angry looking old man sneered at me, I nodded, letting him know that my race was finished.

Me and two other teammatesrode round the ancient streets explored the grounds of the medieval church. We got back to the race, and watched the end. Three of our teammates finished the race, Aaron Pool getting a 28th position.

We rode back in the team van, and I managed to take alot of France in. Surprisingly, just outside of Paris, a huge area of squatter camps lies. In fact, they lie all over northern France. And I thought it was a thing of third world countries only.

Things I learnt during this race (I knew all of them already, but somehow I forgot them during this race):
-Eat, eat, eat, eat all the time.
-Drink all the time
-You see the back of the group and your in the Event Horizon of the black hole.
-Never be confident that the race is going well until the end.

And that was the race in France. I'm raing another Kermesse tomorrow, I'll let you know how that one went immediately now that I have a laptop.

Some pictures of the Giro

Sean Yates

The Giro

I woke up yesterday with sore legs and smile on my face when I realized that I was going to be able to see the Giro Prologue. The prologue startded in the south of Belgium near the city of Liege. There will still be another four days in Belgian before the tour moves to Italy. There were only eight of us going so we took the team mini bus. The drive took us about two hours before the long canal where the race was based stretched out before us. We found a parking spot about one kilometre from the start where thousands of people swarmed around. It was sunny, which was quite surprising and there ws a nice tail wind for most of the course. The were quite a few stands selling a variety of clothes, every single team clothing too. I was about to buy a Euskatel shirt, when the wind blew the price tag in my face, displaying the numbers 55. I quickly put it back and continued with the rest of the group towards the riders village. We walked another kilometre through a narrow ancient street before the team busses came into view. The first thing I saw was the Discovery mobile home, I didn't even know they had those. Then I saw the rest, the orange Euskatel bus, the black space age CSC bus with dozens of electronic features, the two expensive T-mobile busses parked next to eachother, and the most popular Quickstep Bus parked in the corner of the courtyard.

As I enterd the courtyard, a rider exited the Rabobank bus and got onto his non time trial bike. He was tall and angular with pale skin, Rasmussen. Excited, I whipped out my camera but only managed to get a rear shot as rode off into the distance. We then went to the Discovery bus to see if we could get a glimpse of anybody there, a tall man with large glasses and dark gray hair sttod talking to the fans, I asked on of my friends, "who is that?"
"Thats Sean Yates." I quickly took out my camera and manged to get a picture of him. We strode round some more, past the loud Spanish Euskatel bus, when a Saunier Duval car arrived. For some reason the crowds swarmed towards the car like hungry zombies, when out popped Simoni. He seemed like he was in a rushe because he refused to sign any autographs for the speechless children.

I was hungry, and since it was a once in a life time moment, which happened to fall on a rest day, I decided to stuff my head in some double deep fried Belgian bowl stirring Frites, smothered in mayonnaise and tomato sauce. I didn't feel as sick afterwards as I thought I would. We then went to the start line where hundreds of people squeezed to get a glimpse of the riders taking off.
On the way there I saw McEwen warming up, I was really surprised to see how small he was. When we a got to the start line a spanish rider was getting ready to go, in his Discovery skin suit. I was stunned when his lungs started to take in air, his whole abdomen doubled in size, exposing all his ribs. We watched a couple of the riders go off when we realized that we needed a higher spot to watch. We walked round and found a nice elevated spot on a high wall that lined the race course.

I eventually learned that the best time to whip out the camera was when the crowd was at its loudest. The crowd made a huge roar and I could make out, "Ullrich". There he was, much more bigger than any rider there and a chest almost half a metre wide, big enough to house a pigeon tree house. He was amazing to see, so much power and speed. Seeing him in real life was so much more better than on TV. Finally the shouts wouldnt stop as the top riders went off, and eventually Salvodelli shot off the podium, the screams reaching an all time high.

With that, everybody started leaving, before us amazingly, the busses of the teams were already driving out. We walked back to the car and drove off, leaving one of the most memorable days of my life.

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 UCI

I had my first UCI race yesterday. For those of you who don't know what it is, it's just basically a race where teams are compulsory, you gain points by doing well, and with enough points you can take you team to the next level of competition. Anyway, we left the Cycling Center at 10am for Anzegem which was about a forty five minute drive. We drove through some small towns in two cars, each covered in sponsors stickers and bikes on the roof, so everyone looked and pointed from the road. When we got to the venue two and a half hours early, there were already a couple of teams there. We got out of the car and headed for our locker rooms. At UCIs the team has a swanier (the person who looks after the team), a mechanic and a team director. The team doesnt have to worry about taking out the bikes and checking that they work, it all gets done for you. I was surprised too find that we had our own locker room, so we just sat there and talked junk for an hour and a half before we started getting ready. Each one of us got a radio to communicate with our team director from the car and with eachother, which I later found incredibly useful. We went to the inscription and signed ourselves in; this being a relatively small UCI, there was hardly any press which I've heard can be quite amazing at other UCIs. We took a warm up by riding the course. The course was 167km long and had 11 laps, unfortunately for me it was incredibly windy and the stretches were long. So with all the odds against me I would have to race double as hard ans two times more clever to make sure that the wind never touched me. Before we went to the start line we got a massage from our team swanier and a good luck from the rest of the helpers, and it was off to the starting line.

There were about two hundred riders, the atmosphere totally different to a kermesse, more confidence in the air. The reason for this, in my opinion is because UCI have teams, in a team you are way more confident and comfortable, whereas a kermesse you are there alone, scared and skeptical. Our team director radioed us, "you guys have one minute to the start". And then the gun went off, people sprinting, teams forming and the thirty to forty backup vehicles reving their motors and quickly accelerating to keep up with the race. "Guys, top 25 or your race is over", I quickly sprinted to the front and positioned myself at one end of the group to avoid the upcoming wind. The move payed off, and the downhill was next, the tension growing in the group. Three teams of three three riders attacked, "Don't worry about them, they wont work together". I could see and speak to most of my team. The downhill came, we were really moving fast, with sharp turns at such high speeds with two hundred riders eager to get to the front. The out of the corner of my eye a rider went down. Now, the roads here have very sharp and deep edges, so when you go off the edge, you don't get back on, and there were holes lining the edge of the road that were a meter or so deep and a meter wide. That rider fell into the hole face first, his head hitting the side and his body floating upwards in spastic movements. At first I thought he was dead, but he got back on to his bike and started chasing, shows how determined the Belgians are.

After the downhill came the deadly long stretch, where the wind was at its worst. Positioning myself badly there would cost me my race. The group hit it and stretched, I lost alot of positions there just because of the power the front guys were putting in.
"I see a rider too far back, move up", that rider was me, so with lactic acid melting my mouth I powered up the group to gain the positions I had lost. I took a sip of water from on of my bottles, hit a pothole and my bottle went flying; all I heard was "F#$%en American" in about five different languages. At that stage we had lost a rider because of a puncture and on that got blown off the back. "The feading zone is coming up", I positioned myself on the right hand side of the group and grabbed the bottle from our swanier at about 40km/h, I was surprised I caught it.

The race went on, with about six laps to go, I made a stupid mistake. I felt myself falling to the back of the group, and with the deadly stretch coming up I knew I had made the mistake. I quickly reacted, trying to postion myself, but it was too late. The wind hit, I tried to take cover behind the person in front of me, but he too was a minute rider who was quick to lose the rider in front of him. Me and two other team mates fell of on that lap.

It was a long race, in the end I was so frustrated at myself because I knew that I was capable of finishing if I had just rode more clever. However I did enjoy it in the end and I gained a ton of experience.

Michelangelo

I finally saw the Michelangelo painting in the main Cathedral of Brugge today, it was quite spectacular. The cathedral is gargantuam, it's really difficult to take in everything. You almost feel lost. Brugge is an incredibly dense city with buildings packed tightly together, each boasting something expensive or worth seeing. The town is quite massive and from a birds eye view looks like a maze, it really is and with all the tourists its difficult to see everything. To be quite honest, it's so commercial that you focus more on the things for sale than the history, it's really a tourist trap. I feel better riding my bicycle through Brugge, you get more sightseeing in, and by travelling into the dark alleys you really see the old parts of the city.

Today I went with three other guys. Brugge is usually the place to unwind for everybody at Cycling Center, if you know where to go in the tourist pit. We saw the the best voted chocolate in Europe, of course I bought a piece. It was too good to be explained in words, I'm sorry. Though I did have a small tear come out when I bit into it. It was a fun day, got some presents for my family and friends while I was there, so it was well worth it.

Looking Good

The team for the UCI this weekend has six of the CC members. We all had to go on a traing ride today, and practice our echalon. One of the rules at CC, is that we always have to wear our team clothing when we ride together. We were riding in a tight formation through som ancient village when a group of about twenty ladies all dressed in the same clothing approached in the distance. When they saw us they waved and cheered, i don't know why yet. It was very exciting though, every person, child of farmer would wave and shout something. I enjoy going on group rides for that particular reason because I know people think we look pretty good, quite a confidence booster. But then you start to forget about it when you're pressing against the wind at over 40 km/h in a tight echalon for almost two hours. I was buggered afterwards, but I manged to get in a sprint for the Herstberge sign.

Email

If I'm not training, reading or watching races on Belgian television, I'm scouring for comments, replies and emails. If you've got extra time please send me some emails or even some hate mail would be pretty interesting to read. I promise you will have a reply within 12 hours, my email is wesjac@gmail.com.

Broken

Two days ago, I opened up the shower door to find something horrible, something those with soft hearts couldn't tolerate.......
The shower nozzle was broken,with that a futile and pathetic effort at DIY was performed in the hoping of saving the once operable shower, it hung by a single elastic band.

It's not really that bad, I just added a little spunk to it. We just have to hold the nozzle upright now while we shower. Though the culprit hasn't come out yet and I do intend on finding out who it was that performed the elastic DIY. Thats just one of the broken things in the house. The washing machine breaks every second day, so when operable again, a barbaric battle is fought to get clothes washed. I was opening a can of tuna the otherday when the can opener decided to give up; there was tuna everywhere, the stench unbearable. But, in the end I guess these types of problems are experienced in every household.

Check out the www.cyclingcenter.com for more on where I'm staying at the moment.

I also changed a seeting on my page, so you can add comments without having to have to be a member.

The test

I only realized now that yesterday that I haven't written anything on my test, it happened about a wekk and a half ago, so here it is.

Dr. Dag is the Discovery team doctor and fortunately he is our doctor too. He is a young and incredibly friendly person. I was up first on the list to do my lactate test, and when I entered the room where the tests were held, a Dr. Dag appraoched me and said "Goeie more Wesley, dis lekker in Suid Afrika?" I replied and grinned, he then went on to give the inscruction for the test in english. We ride on a machine that he had custom made for himself, at an average cadence of 100, every 3 minutes the load increases and so does your power. He pricks your ear and takes a blood sample on every load increase. I was stroling through the test in the beggining dreaming of breaking the machine, but I knew it wasn't going to happen. I got to 400 watts on the verge of tears from the pain, he then told me to stop.
"You need more power, to ride here competitively in Belgium"
Weighing 57kg, I had a good power to weight ratio at the end of the test, so I was happy. The other guys in the house produced an average of 450 watts, some going into the 500 watt range.
Dr. Dag will write me a program and hopefully it will increase my power a bit more.

Anyway, I'm doing my first UCI this weekend in Aanzegem, a 1.12b, I'll let you know how that goes. And please comment, it gives me something else to read other than Micheal Crichton and Dan Brown.

The Biker Gang

After my Kermesse on Sunday I rode round with my teammate Whit spinning out the lactic acid, strolling round on the cracked streets of Ardooie. The town, a granny infested and highly conservative place was a haven for the senior French Belgians, occasionally a young face would pop from the sea of seniors.

Then......in the distance, a disgusting whining sound ricocheted off the buildings on the side of the street. The squeaking sound grew louder and louder, I soon anticipated the worst and duckedd for cover. Finally 'They' became visible. The sound was a gang of about twenty kids seated in proffesional aerodynamic positions on ancient mini 50cc motorbikes. Quite relieved at the sight, I left my place of safety to get in a good laugh. They rusted bikes with tiny marie biscuit wheels, others rode more bigger more feared 'scooters'.

I found it quite hilarious, because they took themselves to be the local 'Badass gang', speeding throught the streets of Ardooie, I named them the:

Ardooie Angels


In a city filled with grannified old farts, one group of youthfuls rose to form the ultimate rebellion, straddling their metal 50cc steeds approaching speeds close to 50km/h evoking fear among those who dared to step foot in Ardooie, they were 'The Ardooie Angels'.

French Logic

I did another kermesse yesterday in the South yesterday. It was semi hilly so our team manager got the climbers to do it. There were four of us on the selection, but Derek unfortunately hurt his hamstring and couldn't race. The drive down was long, however we did go through Brussels and Gent so we got a bit of sight seeing in. Arne, one of the Belgians on the team got his father to drive us through. He was incredibly helpful, putting on pre race rub, strapping our numbers to our bike and making sure we were well fed. As usual the inscription was held in an alchol smoke spewing pit, only this time the race officials were French. The first thing we get told about racing in France or any French region of Belgium, is that all logic falls away. There are no race markers or barricades like in West Flanders, so checking out the course before the race is not possible. Another thing I noticed is that riders fill in from the front and not the back like in the West.

There were about 170 riders at the start line with two groups at right angles to eachother, arguing over which direction the race was going to start (pure chaos), eventually the race official crawled out of the smoke pit and spoke some french, and with that the convertible lead car came out of nowhere and started the race. Again it was pure chaos with the two groups colliding to form one while following the convertible. It was a neutral start, the convertible hitting a long flat and and accelerating away from the group. From that point the riders hammered it in the front hitting an average of 48 to 50 on the flats. The first break went, one rider from a local team, then another three and then another 2 all to find themselves sucked back into the ravenous peloton after half a lap. Amazingly there were no break aways that made it during the whole race, apparently because there was no wind. Then came the cobbles, being a small rider I had to throw myself at the cobbles to gain a bit of speed at the start of the section, it went on for about 400 m and then on to a small hill which threw som unlucky souls off in the first laps. The lap was 12km long with a massive downhill stretchthat formed a funnel into the narrwo winding streets. Again, it was chaos, with near crashes and handlebars touching, people shouting. A dog jumped out of nowhere and leaped inot the peloton causing some riders to sprint for there survival in the race. After that another car parked in the middle of the road causing a close call.

It took about three laps for the riders to get used to eachother. Unfortunately on my 7th lap the group went into a gutter formation, a person pushed in front of me and cost me my race when the gap he formed was impossible to close. However it was by far the most tense Kermesse I've done so far. Apparently it's the way the South does it. It just adds that extra bit of excitement, I like it.

Some pictures of Herstberge

We had a meeting yesterday with our team manager. I managed to take in alot of useful imformation for racing, for example:

• If a team attacks as the gun goes and they end up winning, they are either Russians or Litthuanians.
• If they look the same, they are Russians or Lithuanians.
• Top thirty is the place to be, anywhere behind there and you've lost the race.
• The Belgians that shout and hit are usually the ones who don't do well at inter clubs.
• If you get shouted at, it might be useful.

I've also been told that there are many times when you might get offered a few hundred euros to not sprint the winner but to work with him. It happens quite alot, people pitch up with alot of euros to win so that sponsors notice them, its good to take it because you become well known and sometimes good to refuse because they can take advantage of you in every kermesse. I've heard of some stories from my teammates who have been fortunate enough to be in a break away, some of the racers go to the back to decide on who's going to last so that they know who to pay and who to not. However, it doesn't happen at every race, not at UCI's.

Some more Pictures

Thanks again for the comments. Here are some more pictures with more focus on the riders, unfortunately the batteries went flat when I got someone else to take of me, so mom I promise I will get some of me soon. The guy washing the bicycle is Derek ,the guy fixing the bike is Nathan, washing dishes is the Belgian Kevin, the two in the kitchen are my roommates Rob and Aaron. Those are two of the five team vehicles we have here. These are only fraction of the team, I'll try and take some more of the team.

The Comments

Thanks for all the comments, I really appreciate it. I have found a chocolate store Estelle, in fact I've found about four million of them, they're every where. We've been told by the manager of our team that anything from beer to chocolate must try to be avoided for the sake of the teams image and for our performance. Everybody recognizes us as the "Boys from Hertsberge" and if we had to buy chocolate, our team manager would be notified by whoever it was that spotted us red handed.

En baie dankie Lizelle,
and keep on commenting, and I'll consider fixing my horrible spelling mistakes.

Discovery

I had 3km intervals to do today, I thought the best place to go was the canals. Its a massive canal about 40m across that stretches through part of Belgium. It's a good place to train because on both sides there are roads for cyclists where no cars travel, so its quite peaceful and flat, perfect for sprinting and intervals. I chose to ride in the direction of Gent, which is about 40km from where I begin in Sint Jose.

Anyway, I was racing tractors (the tractors here are like formula 1 cars) down the canal and concentrating on my intervals when in the distance a group of eight cyclists dressed in a dark uniform approached. At first I thought they were a local Belgian team, but then I noticed the Discovery logo on their jerseys, I was really excited and before I knew it they were past with no time to recognize any of the riders. Secretly I wanted to turn round and say "Hey Hincappie, Danielson, I'll sprint you to that sign there," but unfortunately I knew that wouldn't happen and I would probably beat them (I wish).

That put a smile on my face, and five minutes after that I arrived in Gent. I took an hour of my ride to explore some of the hidden streets. It's a really big city with lots of beautiful parts and its fair share of concrete catastrophes. I decided to take a secret path into a forest and found a massive castle, I stood staring at that for a few minutes. I then decided that it was time to get back home. I've found that in this region of Belgium the wind always blows in from the west, so my whole ride home was spent fighting the western monster.

I've now seen Discovery, some of the Phonak, Quickstep and Saunier Duval team and organizers. The Giro d' Italia apparently starts near here this year, so hopefully I'll be able to complete my collection of team sightings for this year, it sounds nerdy but it motivates me to the teams out riding.

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.

To all at home

To everybody at home, could you please leave your name as a comment so I know that I can know if people actually read my blog. Thanks.

The Canadian

I was sitting in the kitchen the last Friday morning after a long training session eating a massive sandwhich. Here in the kitchen you'll always find at least four people eating excessive amounts of food. However on Friday was somebody new, he was dressed in a FC Barcelona tracksuit. We all greeted him, his name was Stefan and he said he was staying for the weekend for a race somewhere in Belgium. He explained that the tracksuit was given to him by his team "FC Barcelona". One of the guys asked him if whether he played for the football team and he explained that the football team also sponsored a cycling team and that they had the 5th biggest budget in Spain.

He came from Canada and had been staying in Spain for quite a while now. He's quite a lucky bastard, not only does he get to ride for a spanish team, but he also gets to live in a house with a a bunch of female super models. Apparently he is a male model and got the job when he was waitering in Canada and an agent from Diesel jeans offered him a job.

He says the Spanish cycling is a different experience to the Belgian. Instead of being shat out for passing someone here in Belgium, they would move over for you and offer you a place in front in Spain. He also told us of how frustratingly slowly the spanish riders go on the flat and what monsters they turned to when the hills came.

Anyway, I thought I might as well start telling you about the interesting characters I meet, and this was definetely one of them. I woke up this morning and he was gone, off to the warm sun in Barcelona.

The Belgians aren't shy

Today I had to do an easy spinning session on the trainer. We have a sought of sun room on the edge of our building used for indoor training, it's got five rollers and two trainers and when the sun does shine, it gets hell hot inside there. Anyway, I was spinning away and listening to my i-pod when a man dressed like a snobbish tennis player came right up to the window next to me with a baby on his shoulder. The other guys at the house told me that the locals swung by often to check up on us, so I just smiled and waved, he just smiled and pointed at me for his baby. Then a second child with a bicycle helmet who must have been about four popped up next to the man and stared at me to, and finally a woman about the same age as the man stood and watched. I felt incredibly awkward, riding there with this supposedly cycling zealot family staring at me for about five minutes. Finally the man walked off after his wife, but the little child with the helmet remained, staring. The father came back and finally took the child away.

This isn't the first time, I was washing my bike in the pleasent Belgian weather this morning when four old men came up to me, "Hey there!" Trying to sound American not knowing that I was actually South African. They gave me a sticker of the Saunier Duval team jersey. Bernard later explained to me that they were sauniers from Saunier Duval, just coming to visit.

I suppose I'm use to having a gate with electrified fences hauled up outside blocking our view of the outside world, not like here in belgian where the mail man will pop in for a visit, or a group of runners who wave at us while we eat our breakfast. The Belgians aren't shy.

Hill training in belgium, Conspiracy or truth?

We got our training programs for this week. For today I had a 1 hour sober ride (you have to wake up, not eat and do some easing spinning on the rollers). Then in the afternoon I had a three hour ride with hill intervals. The hill is a joke, Klapperkop is a Himalayan gargantuam monster compare to it. Its about 100 m long, with a small bend in it, and its not even steep. Nonetheless, its quite a beautiful area, with a massive windmill at the top and an ancient church pitched next to it. There are no cars there so its eerily quiet, you can hear a cow moo on a farm twenty kilometres away. Anyway, I went training with some of the guys, it's fun training with them because they sprint for every sign visible, plus most of them are 1500 waat pushers so its a real challenge. As usual, it was as cold as hell and the wind was strong, but I'm used to it now. It's cool riding in a group all dressed in stars and stripes, the locals seem to like it when we ride past and we get shouts from the local schools.

On sunday I saw a group of about twenty grannies on their hybrid bikes, probaly doing their shop run, in a eschelon (its when you ride in a certain formation to block out the wind and take turns in the front), it was hilarious because they looked like Discovery, and they were so serious. On a sunday, everybody rides their bikes here, there are hardly any cars on the road.

I'm having my first massage tommorow from the Navigators therapist, he's british, over six foot tall and people say he can break your leg with little or no effort if he wants to, so I'm quite nervous now.

I was brewing up a theory the other night while eating some hard stale bread for dinner. There are alot of cupboards in this house, and it used to be a motel, it was also owned by a belgian who had to endure long winters in the flat depressing land of West Flanders. There has to be a collection of dead bodies in one of the cupboards here. I'm not saying there are, but I will keep you updated on my search.

some pictures:

heres the road where our Cycling Center is, if you look carefully you can see a gradient in the road, thats where I do my hill training. In one of the trees you might see a hanging dead body, if you look carefully enough.

Just some pictures of belgium

Hey Mom, check its your car!

Racing in the front

The front of the race is obviously the best place to be, but f*^%#n hard to to keep there. With a pack of 170 racers all determined to get to the front, you get pulled into a yoyo effect, continuosly fighting to get to the front only to find yourself ending up in the back again. The front is aggresive, irritable frenchmen and belgians shouting and cursing and even hitting you to work. The front is hostile but its the place where the winning break brews just behind the bickering workers. When the break goes, its too late to catch up from the back and you'll be way too tired when your turn in the front is finished.

Living with a team

There must be a reason why I'm not home sick at all. Living with 24 cyclists all aspiring to become pros is wonderful. You wouldnt think so because you would associate a typical cyclist with a difficult and demanding pe'rson whos needs come first. Yes, they are like that to a certain extent, but in way its better that, everybody to his own. With competive cycling comes a strong a mind, to keep your mind strong you have to keep positive all the time. Everybody here is positive, so there's a definite positive atmosphere here. Theres no bickering or fighting and no badmouthing others, because after all we're all here with racing in mind, not making friends.

We've got a Pro continental team here called 'The Navigators''. They're a very cool team, with lots of stories of what its like to ride next Zabel, how hard it is to ride with Boonen powering away in the front and what its like to sprint against Mcewen. Plus we get sauniers from teams like CSC and Phonak coming to give us speeches and advice on what its like to be a pro. So we don't just race here, we learn alot from others .The house we're staying at was a hotel before our team manager bought it and renovated it. So our rooms are really comfortable inside. We've got a massive TV room where we watch a movie every night on the projector. There are three kitchens in house, so theres no chaos at all and especially when theres times appointed for cooking.

Another reason I feel at home here is because of the feeling of independence. I no longer have my mother doing my shopping, cooking for me or having my maid do my washing and making my bed. I do everything for myself here. It definetely gives me a sense of satisfaction.

So with the positive attitudes of my team mates, the damanding races twice a week and being left to do my own thing, I guess I can honestly say that racing here in belgium is possible with the right attitude.

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.