The Island

"Jordan Two-Delta, you're moving out...to the Island. Transported to the world's last paradise."

But first...

The word "Brussels" in Brussels South Charleroi airport must refer to the fact that Brussels is the capital of Belgium, because Charleroi is nowhere near Brussels. They may as well have called it Liège South Charleroi airport. Whatever. It's the place where you catch budget flights to various parts of Europe, and it's definitely a budget airport. But it works.

I was travelling to Slovenia's capital Ljubljana via Wizz Air, which I'd never heard of. The return ticket only cost me €62 so I couldn't complain. If it crashed, then I probably couldn't complain either. They've obviously thought of everything when it comes to customer service. At least the inflight magazine was entertaining: I could read about the World Bog Snorkelling Championships in Wales, catch up on what Gdansk has to offer to the thirsty tourist, or sleep. In the short space of an hour and a half, I managed to do all three.

It was dark when I got to Ljubljana, where I was met by Primoz and his lovely daughter Spila, who had nearly died of an asthma attack when she came to Deutschlandsberg in Austria. Fortunately, she did not, and is currently pursuing a career as a journalist in Ljubljana. We drove to Primoz' apartment in the centre of the city, where I met his wife, youngest daughter (budding bike nut) and a rabbit, whose name was often mentioned in conjunction with dinner. Fortunately, the rabbit was OK for another night, as we had chestnut soup, pasta and meat with chestnuts and rocket. And wine.

But there was no tarrying chez Primoz. We had to find a bar and meet some people, first stopping via the hotel Antico, in which I ended up staying for two hours and 40 minutes. We went to the Konoba first and I met Slovenian long distance legend Marko Baloh (winner of the Race Across America), Mitja Smid Bricelj, the jovial press officer from the Tour of Slovenia, and a couple of others who would be joining us on the island of Hvar.

A couple of beers later, and we were on our way to another bar, first getting a tour of Ljubljana by night. It was quite beautiful and bloody cold, as the temp had dropped to three degrees. It was warmer in the Cutty Sark, which was styled in the manner of an English/Irish pub. One client of the female persuasion was having a good time dancing fairly provocatively in front of (and around) other clients of the male persuasion, but whenever one of them made an approach, she would push him away with the skill of a very practised hand. We stuck to drinking beer, as it was less risky.

We finished up at midnight and I made my way back to the hotel, setting my alarm for 2:40. It would have been a nice hotel to sleep in, but I was not afforded that luxury. I did not enjoy getting up, even though the beer had worn off a little. By 3:00am, eight of us piled into the Radenska Rog team van, driven by Mr Gorazd Penko, and we set off for Croatia.

Looking sharp at 3:00am
© Jeff Jones

Unfortunately, instead of the highway, we decided to take a short cut for the first hour and a half and again, I did not enjoy it. It was an up and down, twisting and turning road, and my stomach could not take the abuse. I almost made it to the motorway, but not quite... After that, I only had a headache, and it was appropriate that our first point of call was the Croatian city of Split, where we boarded a car ferry that was to take us to Hvar. Two cappuccinos and a croissant went part of the way to improve my general well being, as did a bit of sea air. By the time we got to Stari Grad in Hvar, I was ready to rock (after another cappuccino).

Lining up for the ferry in Split. Ours is the green van.
© Jeff Jones

Borut on deck
© Jeff Jones

Stari Grad, Hvar
© Jeff Jones

A pleasant ride

It was rather a pleasant day and still before noon, so we kitted up and got the bikes out to ride from Stari Grad to Hvar and then back to our apartments. I got to ride a brand new Wilier Triestina Mortirolo, which was a damn sight better than my Flandria. We started with a 6 km climb and a 14 km descent, and it was such a pleasant change to gain a bit of altitude again. I chatted to Andrej Hauptman, arguably one of the most consistent Slovenian pros with several top five finishes at the World's and Olympics, and he explained to me that he was coming back to racing next year after having heart arrhythmia problems that required three operations to fix. The doctors only found out what was wrong after two operations.

The Mortirolo was pretty good considering I wasn't used to it, and I enjoyed the long descent into Hvar. I had my fourth cappuccino of the day there and realised why this is such a popular tourist destination in summer. It had nothing to do with the coffee - it's just a beautiful place and a long way removed from what I've been used to. Sort of what I imagined Greece to be like, except I was assured it wasn't. Sort of Mediterranean, except it was in the Adriatic. Details, details...

On your bike
© Jeff Jones

Yeah
© Jeff Jones

Gorazd and Miroslav lead the way
© Jeff Jones

Andrej Hauptman at the top
© Jeff Jones

The Wilier Mortirolo that I got to ride
© Jeff Jones

Now I see why Hvar is popular
© Jeff Jones

Downtown Hvar
© Jeff Jones

Having a beer/water/cappuccino with Hvar in the background
© Jeff Jones

I rode back along a different road with Andrej the Wilier bike shop owner, and Borut, who was on a brand new Specialized Tarmac with new Record and carbon Edge wheels. Very trick. They both enjoyed the descents, while I was still a little nervous on the new roads. We got to another town called Jelsa and waited for the rest of the group, and after a while I decided to turn back and see where they were. Bad move, because after 10 km I couldn't see them, and when I got back to Jelsa, Andrej and Borut had gone as well. Oops.

I thought we were staying in Jelsa so I cruised into town but couldn't see any signs of anyone. Eventually I just sat next to the main road until Robert Hajdinjak came looking for me in the car. He explained that his group had taken a different road and I was nowhere near where we were staying. My mobile phone didn't work so I was fortunate that they found me and took me to the apartments at Ivan Dolac.

The important thing was I didn't miss lunch, which had been prepared by Nikita and his family. Seafood is the staple here, and we had octopus done with lemon and garlic and potatoes, as well as various quantities of wine and bread. Pretty fine. A short swim in the chilly sea was followed by sunset and dinner in that order. We had small fried fish, sea frog (big fish, tasty) and tuna, with bread, salad, wine and pancakes. It was a great way to finish off a very long day and I was in bed by the shockingly early hour of 10 pm.

Look at all that serenity
© Jeff Jones

A wet day

Friday dawned overcast and cool, with a stiff wind blowing. The plan was for eight of us to ride to the other end of the island (Sucuraj) and back - about 120 km total. After a big brekky, we climbed out of Ivan Dolac and up to the Tunnel. This is the only way to get through to the other side, and it's scary for the inexperienced. It was built by the military and is 1.4 km long, dead straight and flat, but with no lighting at all. There is a traffic light at each end, and the trick is to wait for a car to drive behind you so that you can see where you're going. Even though you can always see the light at the end of the tunnel, going through without a car or a decent front light is suicidally disorienting. The first time I went through it, I thought I was going to be attacked by Gollum or Shelob.

Leaving Ivan Dolac on a cloudy morning
© Jeff Jones

Waiting for our turn at the tunnel
© Jeff Jones

There was a fast descent with some narrow roads on the other side, then we hit the intersection at Jelsa where I had waited the previous day. The road to Sucuraj was tough: up and down all day on fairly ordinary roads, with a headwind blowing. After we climbed 5-6 km up to the plateau, we crawled our way along into the wind. Fortunately there was the prospect of a tailwind home and some more beautiful scenery. It's a stark place and all the cars are 30 or more years old. The houses are all made of stone and look as though they've survived a few gales. We could also see the Croatian coastline to our left, some parts of which rise 1700m out of the sea. I've never seen anything like it.

The wind was relentless and everyone was starting to feel it by the time we neared Sucuraj. We parked ourselves at a convenient cafe and had cappuccinos, colas, beer...whatever. My ride almost ended in total disaster as I'd propped the Mortirolo up against a sturdy mooring pylon next to the water. I didn't count on the wind, though, and was startled by a sudden splash and the absence of one Wilier Mortirolo from my field of view. Cue Goon Show "fallen in the water". Luckily, I was fast enough to drag it out, but could not rescue my sunglasses. There was surprised mirth from the Others.

The cafe owner was a Croat who had lived in New Zealand for 34 years, and when he realised I was from Sydney he asked me if Kings Cross was still the same. I told him that it had gone slightly upmarket over the years, and he nodded a little disappointingly. I grabbed a donut and a Kitkat from the grocery store and set off in pursuit of the rest. Mr Penko had left already as he did not want to be late for lunch. That left us with the two Andrejs, Borut, Miroslav, Robert and Dule.

Sucuraj
© Jeff Jones

Having a beer/water/cappuccino in Sucuraj
© Jeff Jones

We climbed out of Sucuraj and it started to rain, Belgian style. It was pointed out to me that it hadn't rained for a while, so the roads were likely to be very slippery. I proved this to myself when I was pushing along at 40 km/h with Andrej the mechanic and the bike suddenly flipped from one side to the other on the gentlest of bends. Fishtail? I didn't think I'd caught any fish in Sucuraj. After that, I let some air out but didn't trust the tyres, which were a brand I'd never heard of.

The descent into Jelsa was awful. Dule had good tyres and gapped us all near the top, while I went down with both the Andrejs. I could follow Mr Hauptman for the first half (he was taking it very, very carefully) until he decided to catch Dule and I did the rest by myself. On these tyres, the corners were treacherous in the wet and I was shaking - not just with the cold - by the time I got to the bottom. I caught up with the Andrejs and Dule, then we caught Mr Penko on the last climb up to the tunnel. He and Andrej H didn't bother waiting for a car and rode straight through - no lights - bloody hell. I waited for Dule and Andrej the mechanic, who had a light, and we had an easier time of it. The last descent had four really steep and rough switchbacks, and it was still pissing down. We were happy to get home intact.

That evening I had an idea to check the alignment of the stem and the front wheel. They weren't quite aligned, which explains why turning left had seemed a hell of a lot easier than turning right!

The tunnel again... It was wet, and people were in a hurry to get home. Wait for me!
© Jeff Jones

After that ride, lunch was welcomed, although I probably shouldn't have had two shots of schnapps straight after! The scampi soup, cheese, bread and salami was very warming anyway. Andrej the mechanic just asked me for chocolate, so I gave him my untouched Kitkat and he promptly collapsed in bed for two hours. I went for a wet and slippery walk around the rocks for some reason, then 12 of us piled into Andrej's van and went to Jelsa for a drink. I had a cappuccino and nursed a sore head, while the Others had beer. Dinner was as good as lunch but my head was still spinning and I called it a night very early.

Primoz (c) and others at Jelsa that evening
© Jeff Jones

Argghh, fresh Scampi!
© Jeff Jones

A recovery day

11 hours sleep! And my head still wasn't that great in the morning. I blamed the schnapps but I suspect a few other things had contributed. After another big brekky, I felt semi-human enough to wash the bike and set off to Hvar again with the rest. We took the reverse route to the first day and once again I enjoyed the spectacular scenery that Hvar has to offer. We rode up the old road through the olive groves. Robert explained to me that Hvar has some amazing olive and lavender oil. Bits of it even reminded me of Provence, and supposedly, French perfumeries get lavender oil from here.

Hvar is a big exporter of lavender
© Jeff Jones

Having more drinks in Hvar
© Jeff Jones

The nth cappuccino of the week was consumed in Hvar (it does you good to have a fling occasionally), and we rode up the long climb that we'd descended on day 1. On the way up, Lucija explained to me about how all the old houses and villages will probably get modernised soon, given the increasing tourist influx in summer. From a historical point of view, it'd be a damn shame, but then again, I don't have to live in them.

I stopped to take a few piccies at the top so I could really fang it on the descent. Although I was still a bit uncomfortable with the braking (left and right were swapped compared to what I'm used to), I caught most of them before the bottom. I reckon with some decent tyres, that Wilier would be a very good handler, as it turns on a ten cent piece.

Andrej the mechanic having a chuck(le) at the top of the climb
© Jeff Jones

A little bit of Provence?
© Jeff Jones

Once final time through the tunnel and I still managed to escape Gollum. Perhaps he didn't consider the Mortirolo to be preciousss enough. His loss, I reckon. We made it back to Ivan Dolac in time for...lunch! More fried sea frog (much nicer than it sounds), prawns, anchovies and sleep. I've never had fried sleep before but it had a refreshing taste. It was refreshing enough for me to pile into the van again to go to the next village for a few beers. Then back for some schnapps and massive amounts of octopus risotto and barbecued fish. The company was good, and it was a great way to finish off.

These three fish are going to provide some nourishment for up to 20 hungry bike riders
© Jeff Jones

Gathered around the pre-dinner table for some drinks and joviality
© Jeff Jones

Borut and Miroslav contemplate the fish
© Jeff Jones

These hands can skeletonise a piranha in minutes...
© Jeff Jones

Everyone was in good spirits (or vice versa) at the dinner table
© Jeff Jones

Roman and moi after skeletonising a fish or two
© Jeff Jones

Home again, home again

Three days doesn't sound like much of a holiday, but it was enough for me and it was all I could afford in terms of time. But I'll be back. I left with Bostjan and Branko early Sunday morning in time to catch the 7:30am ferry back to Split, then a long and very wet drive to Ljubljana along the impressively deserted motorway that links the inland with the coast. It was built a few years ago thanks to a massive loan, and is a very well serviced dual carriageway road.

Along the way, Bostjan explained to me the bits of the country that were fought over by the Serbs and the Croats not much more than 15 years ago. Most of the country didn't look to be worth it, and it would have been a horrible place to fight a war. They should have just stuck to the coast and the fertile inland. Maybe that's why Croatia looks like a horseshoe.

It stopped raining by the time we got to Slovenia, and I even had a cappuccino sitting outside in the sunshine at Ljubljana airport. That must have been my n+1th cappuccino of the week, meaning that by that great mathematical principle of induction, I could prove that drinking cappuccinos was true for all values of cappuccino.

Luckily it was raining when I got back to Liège South Charleroi airport. Reality hits again.

Rupelmonde

A couple of weeks before I departed Belgium for the all-brown metropolis of Bath (very noice), I made a long expected trip to Rupelmonde, the one-time abode of Mercator. If you don't know who Mercator is or where Rupelmonde is, you should look it up on a map. I can reveal that Rupelmonde is on the Schelde, near Antwerp, but in the opposite direction to the one I normally ride in.

I set off one foggy morning, fittingly armed with my own map of the Schelde. The plan was to ride along the river for as long as possible, and I found you can almost go the whole way along a wide path. It was quite an interesting ride, and even though the fog didn't lift until the way home, I enjoyed the difference in scenery compared to the usual run down to Oudenaarde.

It took me about 70 km to get to Rupelmonde, as my map and navigating skills were probably inferior to Mercator's. But I was pleased to find a statue of him when I got there, and quite a few things dotted around the town recognising his achievements. I couldn't tarry for too long, so I went back along the very windy path to Temse, then cut across country straight back to Gent. It was only about 50 km coming home.

All in all, a nice ride with lots to see along the way.

It was a foggy day for a ride
© Jeff Jones
A boat with an orange hue
© Jeff Jones
Clearly, this is Rupelmonde
© Jeff Jones
The man himself: Mercator!
© Jeff Jones
Down by the water at Rupelmonde
© Jeff Jones
A boat with a red hue
© Jeff Jones
Heading home
© Jeff Jones
Coming up to Temse
© Jeff Jones

The long and short of it

Is that I have resigned from Cyclingnews after seven long (or short) years, and will be working for Future Publishing in Bath (UK) as of November. Working for Cyclingnews has been what one could term "character building", but the challenge has been rewarding in its own right. Now, it's definitely time to slow down a bit and do more fun stuff in life.

The last four of five weeks have been very full on though. No time to write, as I've had five people staying with me and several other visitors in order to train the new CN Jedi into learning the Way. It's like a bloody halfway house. Oh well, I'll be in Croatia very soon, and that should be a bit different.

Afscheidsdrankje

We've been out every single night of the last two weeks, and that means drinks as well. Almost every time, we've been to different cafes and restaurants. That's OK to get to know the place, but I'm really hanging for a home cooked meal. After my last day on Saturday, we rocked up to the Marimain with Reiny, Gregor, Gabke and Karl - a good mixture of mostly Commonwealth people. Gregor and I had warmed up with a Chimay at home, then we proceeded onto Vedetts, pils, Leffes and occasionally water. Six hours and five spillages later, we made it out of there, somewhat rowdier.

Gregor, who was perhaps slightly under the weather at this point, asked a couple of girls outside whether they could guide him around Gent. "Are you Flemish?" It was ok, because one of them was a customer of Reiny's. They were quite chatty and very generously took down our phone numbers. Strangely, we haven't heard from them since.

Four hours later, I got up for the Sunday ride along the Schelde. I was hoping for a gentler start, but it was not to be, as Iljo Keisse, Kurt Hovelynck, Johan Verhaegen (life ban for doping, but still very fit) and Karl Becker, who had piked out the previous night at 1:30am, were all present and accounted for. By the time we left the Schelde to do the hills, the bunch had split into four groups and I was second last wheel in the fourth group, with only Patrick behind. Argh!

Luckily, Kurt was also in this group so we got to the front at the foot of the first mountain and gradually picked up everyone else. By the time we got to the Trap Op, there were only a dozen left. We didn't do the whole climb, because there are roadworks after the top and it's bloody dangerous with a bunch going the wrong way against traffic.

On the way back to Oudenaarde, we had a bit of a tailwind and the speed was constantly 50 with Iljo, Kurt and Verhaegen driving it. Even when we hit the headwind coming home along the Schelde, we rarely dropped below 40. For some reason that I simply cannot fathom, I ran out of legs with about 10 km to go and just followed. Andrew Torney tried to lead me out for the sprint, but then Iljo flew past like we were standing still and won by a mile, notwithstanding the horse and buggy that suddenly appeared on the road with 50m to go.

We turned around and stopped at 't Sluis, about 15 km from home, and I could celebrate my final Sunday ride with the hard core Schelde terroristen - Guido, Roland, Philippe, Philip, Lucien, Luc, Joris and Jo. After that ride on top of the previous night (and previous four weeks), alcohol wasn't really what I felt like, so I limited it to three Rodenbachs and a couple of jenevers. Hey, at least it wasn't as bad as last year.

Jo turned up a bit later, looking somewhat miserable after crashing the previous day and opening up a gash in his knee. As a remedy, he did 90 km as 'losrijden' and restricted himself to five Leffes and at least a jenever. He was more cheerful after that, and together with Philippe, we made it back to Gent without straying from the path.

I spent the afternoon wandering around different bits of Gent with Reiny and Gregor, and we had an extremely relaxing Sunday. That hasn't happened for a long time, and I appreciated it. We finished off in the Vooruit with a few glasses of Baileys, including one with coffee that kept me awake. The glasses kept on getting deeper, and when I went back there on Tuesday, I ended up with a full tumbler. Are they trying to make me into a sot? I will resist.

Cafe of note: 't Velootje in the Patershol. We went there last week and it was the most bizarre place I've ever been to. It was like it was out of a fairy tale. It looked totally closed from the outside, but after three or four peeks behind the door, we eventually went in. Inside this tiny place, the bearded barman was sitting on a very well worn chair in his shorts, drinking a beer of some description. There were bikes and lamps everywhere, mostly hanging from the ceiling. The barman collected them.

I think there were only two other people in there, and you could probably only fit 15 in there at most. We were charged the outrageous price of €4 for an Urthel beer (not even in a glass), but it was worth it for the weirdness.

A report on my excursion to Rupelmonde - the one-time abode of Mercator - will follow.

The Schelde bunch, with Karel at the back
© Jeff Jones

At 't Sluis
© Jeff Jones

Guido and Roland discuss the merits of Westmalle vs. Ice Tea
© Jeff Jones

Luc Schiemsky and Philip Vereecke discuss the merits of Westmalle vs. pils
© Jeff Jones

Lucien, Philippe, Guido, Roland, me, and Jo raise a glass or two of jenever
© Jeff Jones

Journo World's - the full catastrophe

In the beginning...

Friday, September 8: There was a pre-6:00am start for an hour on bike followed by frantic packing of my trusty Flandria complete with Zipp-zip-zip wheels. The taxi was late, but then so was the train, so there was a net cancelling out. I had an 11:40am flight from Brussels to München and a 15:30 connection to Graz. It was to be my first trip to Austria that I could actually remember and also didn't involve the smoky hell that is Vienna airport.

München is a pleasant airport, and I had a pleasant salmon and an even pleasanter neck/back massage while waiting. My synchronicity was off so I missed getting the pleasant girl to do it, but the guy was pleasant enough and did a good job. It's a damn good idea to have a massage parlour table at an airport, as you pretty much ruin everything in your body when you pick up your suitcase/backpack/overstuffed bike bag from the floor of your house.

The mastermind: Primoz Kalisnik
© Robert Hajdinjak

I was met at Graz by the excellent Primoz Kalisnik, who last year promised me a lift to Deutschlandsberg. I had problems finding accommodation this year and he sorted that out too. He lives in Ljubljana, Slovenia, and is the boss of Polet magazine, which has a huge circulation in Slovenia: over 100,000 in a country of 2 million people. He had a friend with him, Dule, who formed part of the Slovenian's impressive all-male cheer squad. They drove me to our place of lodging - Leibenfelderstubn - in Deutschlandsberg in the heart of Styria. And so I fell in with the Slovenians...

The Slovenians

I have never had the opportunity to really get to know many people from this particular bit of Europe, and I was delighted to make my acquaintance with the Slovenians. They had a group of 20 all up and had booked out the Leibenfelderstubn guest house, which is perched halfway up one of the hills outside D-Berg. Unfortunately, the rooms were double booked and Primoz had to make many phone calls to find another place for his cheer squad. They were impatient and very thirsty, but beds were found.

The view from the Leibenfelderstubn
© Jeff Jones

Very neat
© Jeff Jones

I ended up in the Leibenfelderstubn with Miroslav Cveticanin as my roommate. He's my age, married to a lovely wife with a lovely three year old son. A former elite rider, he was persuaded to get back into it by Primoz and had 4000 km in his legs this year - about a quarter of my training - and a modest 'beer baby'. He's an encyclopedia too. Once we were settled in, he, Primoz and the rest of the cheer squad proceeded to drink the Leibenfelderstubn dry of Puntigamer bier, the local specialty. It's very easy to drink, and not too heavy - only 5 percent alcohol or so. Primoz had seven 0.5L beers as he was riding the TT the next day and had to look after his own beer baby, while Miroslav restricted himself to three or four. I only had one small one, and felt a lot of peer pressure!

Saturday, September 9: The next morning, we woke up and the first thing Miroslav said in his Slavic accent was "Bad night. Too much beer." He rode the TT on his normal bike (a Sunn with Corima deep rim carbon wheels, but no other aero equipment) and finished fourth by a few seconds. Classy.

I missed the TT as I wanted to ride a lap of the road course. I wanted to at least see the race but I was up too late. The road course was a 35 km loop and I figured I'd get 50km in after I got lost a few times. It was a really nice course, starting on the flat for 5 km before gradually climbing up to Bad Gams for another 5 km, finishing with half a kilometre at maybe 5%. Then there was a beautiful sweeping downhill through the trees to Stainz, where I lost myself for a few kilometres before realising that I had taken the right direction to begin with. The next 6-7 km or so were flat and potentially fast if you'd managed to get a break happening on the first hill.

On the course, after the descent into Stainz
© Jeff Jones

The course turned right at Mettersdorf for the final climb, which I was looking forward to, as on the profile it had said it was about 2 km at 5%. I'd planned all my tactics around this climb. But it was only 600m long at maybe 7-8%, and just a tad too short to make a real difference. There was a short flat part at the top, then a descent, and I figured it would probably all come back there unless you were very, very strong.

Another right turn with 10 km to go took us back towards Frauental and D-Berg via an undulating road that was gradually uphill. But there was a tailwind blowing and I could see the possibility for more places to attack. It was a fast section, despite climbing slightly, but there were two bits of road works that were puncture territory. I rethought my tactics as I got lost coming back into town.

I returned just a bit too late to make it out to the TT, so I took it easy and had lunch at the guest house instead. I ordered a Steierischer schnitzel, which hung off both sides of the plate and came with potatoes and a lot of salad. At least one pig gave its life for that schnitzel. The locals also do a special kind of cream/butter that stays solid at high temperatures, e.g. when placed on a hot steak. That cannot be good for you. I saw many enormous Austrians during my stay in Styria.

I wandered into town and enjoyed the little river flowing under the bridges, but there wasn't much else to see in Deutschlandsberg so I wandered back. I noted the Slovenians had returned and had already started drinking. They had some success, with Lucija Bosnik and Nada Kozjek finishing 3rd and 5th in the women's TT; Miroslav, Bostjan Svete and Robert Hajdinjak 4th, 5th and 8th in the U35 men's TT; Robert Baumann, Primoz and Stane Petavs 8th, 11th and 17th in the U50s TT; and Stojan Zitko 11th in the O50s TT.

The beer was flowing and we enjoyed a pleasant afternoon in the sun. I was learning a bit about Slovenian culture too. They have not had it easy, but have developed a hard sense of humour. Primoz was constantly teasing Miroslav about his fourth place, 'cos he didn't bother with a proper bike. If he did, he might have won.

Tracing Operacion Puerto to its source
© Jeff Jones

My best Van Gogh impression
© Jeff Jones

A mighty cataract
© Jeff Jones

Primoz and Miroslav and the Others getting stuck into the Puntigamers after the TT
© Jeff Jones

I was interested to know that two Belgians won the U35 men's TT. I'd heard of Frederik (2nd), but didn't know Dieter Roman, who was actually staying where we were and only lives 15 km from me in Aalter.

Unfortunately, all was not good with Primoz, who was a bit stressed because his daughter had had an asthma attack in the morning and had to go to hospital. She'd lost two thirds of her breathing capacity, and the doctors were working hard to keep her alive. Primoz told me that the last time this happened was in 2002 at the journo world's in Zolder. It's just not his luck.

Funkyzeit mit Bruno

That evening, we had a solid dose of Styrian culture up at the Schloss, near the Stoeklpeter hotel where most of the journos were staying. I did not envy them, as it was at the top of a ridiculously steep hill that climbed 400m in not very long. It was an outdoors event, very traditional and very bloody cold under the clear blue sky. There were Austrian whip crackers and flag wavers, which were slightly disturbing. There was also a dudelsack band of some sort playing non-stop muzik with traditional dancing. The muzik was possibly even more disturbing than the flag waving. I guess this is why Lebensraum started. More of that later.

Luckily, we were not staying up here at the Stoeklpeter
© Jeff Jones

Austrian haus muzik is a riot
© Jeff Jones

Most of the Slovenian camp stayed outside and drank Puntigamer to keep warm, but some of us found an inside table and digested lots of meat and strudel that was laid on for the evening repast. I caught up with the Dutch crew, including Peter de Groot again who was going for his third straight title. He was having knee problems, but had booked a physio for 9am Sunday morning to help him get right. I had confidence in him, as he has the killer instinct that you need as a bike racer. I also chatted to Philipp from Tour magazine (Germany) and Robert Hajdinjak, one of the cheer squad Slovenians from last year, now here to race. Not a bad evening, but so cold. So cold.

I got the call to go, and I realised most of the Slovenian contingent had already left, presumably back to the guesthouse. Team mechanic Andrej [who has been drug tested twice - as a mechanic], drove three of us back and after a nightcap of schnapps from a bottle they had stashed in the van, I thought we were calling it a night. No way, it was only 10pm! We passed by the guesthouse and saw that none of the team were there, so we went looking for them. They were all holed up in another place in Ulrichsberg, drinking Puntigamer, playing cards, eating and generally having a good time.

This is why they called it Ulrichsberg
© Jeff Jones

We stayed there a while and enjoyed the atmos, and I was hard pressed not to get stuck into the Puntigamer and healthy plate of doughnuts that arrived at the table. It was all good and a great way to take one's mind of the big race tomorrow. Miroslav was taking it seriously and only had two more grosse beers. We finally made it back to base.

Sunday, at last

Sunday, September 10: I had toyed with the idea of getting up ridiculously early to eat two breakfasts, but in the end I couldn't be bothered. I managed to get down two bowls of muesli and a cup of coffee, and that was a good sign. The hunger was there! And then a few more muesli bars a bit later on, another good sign. I was nervous, but not sick to my stomach.

Then it was a matter of routine. I had to pick up my number and schwag from the race office, and ended up with a second backpack full of Styrian goodies. A jersey, t-shirt, bottle of rosé (which I somehow left in Primoz's car), some oil, a lot of tourist stuff, a glass map of Austria that doesn't stand up no matter which way you put it, and my race numbers. Excess baggage, here we come!


Getting ready on Sunday
© Robert Hajdinjak

The Slovenian camp set up in the car park next to the finish line, and were organised as usual. They all looked good in their Slovenian national jerseys, and the cheer squad was ready. Primoz opted not to race because of his daughter, who was still in hospital. She stabilised, which was a great relief. Hopefully things will go in his favour next year.

It was quite a warm day with little wind, so I rubbed my special "strong warm up oil against rain and cold" on my legs because you can never be too careful. It burned a lot. I kept the actual riding warm up to a minimum, as 10 km of very easy pedaling was more than enough. No way they were going to attack out of the blocks, and I've never found a hard warm up to be beneficial anyway. For refuelling purposes, I stuffed four Powergels into my pocketses and had a small bidon with fresh lemon flavoured Powerdrink in it, plus a larger bidon with water. That was more than enough for a 65 km race.Finally we got the call up to start, and I counted only 19 of us, which can make things tricky because you have to cover everything.

We had a moment's silence for Valerio Riparbelli, who was unfortunately killed by a car whilst out training earlier this year. I feel very sorry for poor Valerio and his family, especially as I also had a run in with a car at around the same time. Be careful out there.

And we're off!
© Kasimir den Hertog

We set off at a very steady pace, rolling along at not much above 32 km/h for the first five kilometres. Everyone was a little nervous, but we could talk to each other while things were still quiet. I made my intentions clear by telling anyone who cared to listen that we needed to push the pace on the first climb. We held it at 32 as the road started to climb gradually towards Bad Gams, then with about 500m to the top I went to the front and put my foot on the gas. It felt good hitting that last bit at 40 km/h, and it had the desired effect of putting six or seven in difficulty.

Frederik Backelandt came around me at the top and I swapped off with him on the first part of the descent to make sure we kept the speed up. I did a few turns and dropped back to see how things were going. Quite good, it seemed, with the dozen or so survivors quite happy to sit on. No-one else was really prepared to do much up front, much to the frustration of Fred, who really wanted to stop the rest from chasing back on. I didn't really care if they did, because that was only the first effort, not a proper attack. Eventually he was advised to take it easier and did so, but not before he, Dieter and Kasimir tried to escape on the flat towards Mettersdorf. I saw everyone chase immediately, and realised it wouldn't be good to attack just yet.

The second climb came quickly enough. We turned right off the main road onto a narrow, winding road that reminded me of the approach to the Kwaremont. I attacked right out of the corner to string it out and kept the pace up until Frederik took over just before the climb. I didn't bother changing out of the big ring as he set a fast tempo, which I hoped would hurt a few people. Just as we got to the top, I went a bit harder and opened up a gap on my own. That was mainly to keep riders from getting back, but I also hoped that I could get five or six with me. Nothing doing, as the bunch caught me at the bottom.

I went to the back and watched a few counter attacks go. Kasimir (who I didn't know was an elite rider), Tobias Krug (who I remember from last year, but wasn't that strong), and a few of the others went away, and things got interesting for a second as we turned right onto the tailwind section. But there were enough chasers, and it all came together. With about 10 km to go to the end of the lap, I found a nice downhill/uphill to launch a proper attack and did so. Dieter chased me, and I would have happily worked with him but the bunch came back to us. Dieter sat up, and I just rode off again and finally got a gap.

I looked back after a bit and couldn't see the bunch, so I had around 20-30 seconds, and that was sufficient to persuade me to continue. I knew it'd probably not work, but it could open up the race, so I sat at 42 clicks just on my threshold. It was a risk, because I would be using more energy than everyone else, but nothing ventured, nothing gained. After a few more kilometres, I went through a few sections of roadworks and hoped I wouldn't puncture. I started to dream of a long range solo win, but I could see the bunch a bit closer now.

Eventually, just before we turned right to start the second lap, the bunch came back, led by Dieter and Frederik, who had been doing all the chasing. After a bit, Dieter told me "it was too early to let you go, but on the next lap..." Strange way of forming an alliance, I thought, but I kept it in mind. I figured once we got to the finish, everyone would go for their own chances, but if you can get people to cooperate in a break, then at least you have a chance.

We were only 35 km in, but I was definitely in need of a gel, because I could already feel that effort as we started the false flat on the last lap. Normally in a kermis I'd wait up to 50 km, but in those races you have the advantage of having lunch as well as brekky beforehand. No-one had counter-attacked after me, and the pace was pretty steady on the false flat, as Bostjan led the bunch, doing a great job (I thought) for his teammate Miroslav.

I half-thought of another attack near the top of the climb, but I knew I couldn't make it hard enough to get a gap on the descent, so I stuck at the back. Still, no-one else attacked. We did the descent and then the flat part between Stainz and Mettersdorf, with Bostjan doing most of the work. We weren't going that hard though, and a cyclo-tourist joined on when we passed him, so I chatted to him for a bit and explained with a smile that this was a world championship for journalists.

Everyone was waiting for the second climb with 15 km to go, and I figured I would too. There's nothing like predictability. All the Belgians and Dutch were down the back with me, while Bostjan continued to do most of the work and the Germans sat right behind him. He sometimes pulled off, but then a bunch would slow right down until someone thought about attacking. Then Bostjan would get back on the front.

The 'Kwaremont turn' came again, although positioning in a 12 man group ain't that difficult. We crossed over the train tracks, and afterwards I learned that the police had actually stopped a train for us, as well as the Under 50s behind us. That didn't even happen in Paris-Roubaix!!

I was on Dieter's wheel when he attacked at the bottom of the hill. Halfway up, I still had it in the 53x17 and I went as hard as possible to the top. Primoz was standing there with some of the Slovenian cheer squad, and he gave me a big shout. Over the top, it was flat for a few hundred metres, and I saw I had Frederik, Kasimir and Miroslav with me, so I kept going. They worked, which was good, but I could feel that the speed wasn't quite enough. I did another hard turn on the descent but gradually, the rest of the group came back, minus one I think.

Hmm, so much for Cunning Plan B.

No-one countered though, and we turned into the tailwind section on the way back to the finish with 13 km to go. I knew my next attack would be chased down, so I found another roller but didn't give it everything. Sure enough, Bostjan led the bunch back to me, although I thought he should have made someone else do the work. Then again, he'd just chased down a break with his compatriot in it, so he was clearly going for his own chances, as I confirmed later.

At last, someone counter-attacked: Tobias Krug, from Tour Magazine. We'd lapped him last year, so he'd obviously picked up a bit of fitness. He flew away, but the group wasn't slowing down either. We hit the last little uphill and I followed Frederik up to the front before putting in my totally premeditated do-or-die attack in over the top, maybe 8-9 km to go. That spelled the end for Tobias, and he finished four minutes down.

We had a small downhill so I could use the 12 to good effect, and got a small gap. I was doing 3 km/h faster than on the previous lap, and definitely not staying on my threshold! I made it through the roadworks, but whenever I looked back, I could see the red jersey of Dutch rider Mark Koghee chasing. Bugger. I knew I was going to have to work for this and I tried, but again at 5 km to go, they caught me. That, I figured, was my last chance, as I had really given it full gas. No way were they going to let me go again. How many left in the group? 10? Damn - for me that usually means sixth or seventh in a sprint.

I gave up and went to last wheel again, as Frederik counter-attacked. I hoped he'd stay away, and it did look like a good move. There were a couple of corners where he could maximise his advantage. Miroslav was just ahead of me, and mustn't have been concentrating, because he suddenly locked up and went into the bushes on the side of the road. He didn't crash, but I thought he may have punctured. Bugger again, as it would have been cool if I could have helped him in the sprint.

Four kilometres to go, and Frederik had about 10 seconds on a bunch unwilling to chase. I was still at the back with Mark K, thinking maybe there was one last chance... The others did start to roll over, and as we came up to a corner with about 3 km to go, I attacked in a totally non-premeditated way. Wanton spontaneity! Kasimir was right on my wheel, but we got around the corner with a small gap, and Frederik was coming back fast. We were nearly up to him, and I asked Kasimir, by way of an elbow flick, to do a turn. He did, and we came up to the Belgian with what I incorrectly guessed as 1.5 km to go.

Frederik had sat up as he saw us coming, and Kasimir was slowing as we caught him. No time to look back, no time to think, except perhaps for Roy & H.G.'s maxim, "Go hard, early, and often, just win!" I didn't have enough for a big attack and I was still pretty sure that we would be caught, but I did it anyway. After getting up to speed, I saw the sign saying 2 km to go, and was somewhat disheartened, as it's hard to go full on for that long.

The road turned into the main drag leading into town, and it was a headwind now. Argh! I was only doing 40 km/h and trying to save enough for the 700m finishing straight. I could see the final roundabout a long way in the distance, and just tried to keep some sort of rhythm without overcooking it. If I could make it to the straight, I'd have more of a tailwind. But 40 km/h wasn't enough, surely? I glanced back and saw I had maybe 10 seconds, but it was hard to tell through the haze. I put my head down and extracted another 2 km/h, wishing that I'd thought of that earlier. I had reached the roundabout!

The straight was ever so gently uphill, and I got out of the saddle, tried to find another gear, but didn't have anything left. I looked back as I sat down again, and I was quite heartened to see no sign of the bunch at the roundabout. One more dig. No more speed. 300 metres to go and I had another look back, and could see they weren't close enough. Fantastic! Finally!!

Then it was a matter of maintaining speed for a bit longer, but that was easy. I didn't have to go into vomit mode. 100 metres to go, one more look back. Yes!! 50 metres to go, and I think I did my first ever two armed victory salute. And once again for good measure across the line, with a very loud "YEAH!". Unbelievable, I had finally done it! So happy. It was such a big relief (Results).

Everyone knew it too, because they had seen me last year and the year before, and they were all happy for me. The Slovenians en masse, including the impressive Miroslav, who came back to the bunch and finished third, Peter de Groot (who had won his third title in a row!), everyone from Cyclingews (via sms), the guys from Procycling, Robert Kuehnen from Tour, the two Belgians, the Italians I'd met in 2004. Argh, only Riparbelli was sadly missing.

I don't think anyone remembered my aborted attempt in Zolder in 2002 when I missed the start, sat on the Over 45s race, very frustrated, then rode 30 km to a train station in the rain. That was what I would class as a low point. In 2004, I was beaten soundly by the better rider in Agostini - no issues with that - but last year in San Marino I was gutted when Mr Rossi came around me in the last 50m.

I checked my heart rate data, and was a bit surprised to see that I'd only averaged 154, with a max. of 188 and 38.2 km/h for the 66 km. The race I did in Erpe the previous Monday was 172 average, but that was in the afternoon. I did spend a lot of the race sitting on, and it wasn't hard unless I was attacking. 15,000 km in the legs probably helped too: despite the lack of racing and breaking my wrist this year, I've felt in better condition than last year.

Everyone had just about gone by the time I picked up my gear from Miroslav's car. We rode slowly back with a portion of the Slovenian contingent, and found a bar in the middle of town. Time for a big Puntigamer I think. And another for the road, because it was 1 km with a 10% climb back to the guest house. In fact, we were quite prepared to stay there for the duration. But the 3 pm presentation beckoned, so at 2:55pm, we thought we'd better make a move and get a shower in. Chamois time is highly overrated.

Fortunately, there was enough protocol and all the TT presentations were done before we had our turn. I was very impressed, because for the first time ever, we were getting 'real' rainbow jerseys. In the first few years, the jerseys were all green with rainbow stripes, then last year they were just green. Now they were all white with all the stripes, and AIJC and UCI printed on the top. The top three got medals and the top eight(!) all got trophies of varying enormity. To top it off, they even had a flag ceremony and played the bloody national anthem! That was cool, even if it was only in front of an estimated crowd.

Congratulating Miroslav on the podium with the mini-Mafiosi looking on
© Jeff Jones

They're playing our song
© Robert Hajdinjak

How much does one of these things hold?
© Robert Hajdinjak

Ahh...Puntigamer
© Robert Hajdinjak

Miroslav was quite happy, although he really wanted the silver so our room could have had the top two placings. Still, it wasn't a bad effort for a guy with 4000 km in his legs and a near wipe-out with 4 km to go. He filled his cup up with a lot of Puntigamer and we drank it as the afternoon wore down. I think I even had a small bite to eat at one point. Then another beer for the road, as there weren't many people left. At the end, only myself, Primoz, Peter, Arian Kuil and Henricus Verdonschot (the hard core Dutchies).

I thought we were going back, but oh no, we found another cafe down the road which happened to be serving Puntigamer beer. It is common in these parts. Several more followed and I don't quite recall all of the details of our conversation. It was now dark, and the others were hungry, so we found a pizzeria up the road and managed to order some sustenance, together with a bottle of bubbly. And more beer.

It was very good to share a glass of prosecco with Peter after last year in San Marino, where we also had one under slightly different circumstances. Arian was very entertaining with his Northern Irish lilt (he lived there for a while), and Henricus and Primoz were in fine form. We only erred when we tried to put some chili oil on the pizza. Oh dear, that was hot. I remember trying to cure Peter of hiccups and failing. Fortunately, we had sufficient liquids at hand.

We finally bid farewell to each other after what I would class as a fairly solid and most enjoyable session. Primoz and I then had to find the Lebensraum hotel, and we wandered through the back streets of Deutschlandsberg looking for the road that would take us up the hill. Somewhere along the way, we took a wrong turn and ended up at the cemetery. Wilhelm Müller and Schubert would have been proud of us. "This isn't the Lebensraum hotel," I remarked. "This is a dead end."

And lo! I was right. We had come too far, but managed to find the steep climb that led us back to the guest house. It wasn't too late, and the manager was still up, so we thought that we should have a beer with him. Only out of politeness, you understand. That was good, and he even laughed at my highly inappropriate joke, but he had lived in Australia for 20-odd years, so he probably understood our sense of humour more than most Austrians.

Somehow, I packed the bike the right way up at 1:00am
© Jeff Jones

That took me up to approx. midnight in Central European Summer Time, and I still had to pack my bike. That took me up to 2:30am CEST, and I'm amazed that I managed to get everything to fit. The cup suffered a bit on the return journey, but I got it back to Gent. I did get some sleep, but had to get up again at 4:00am to make the plane from Graz. Primoz drove me, we had a coffee and swore to meet again soon. He was obviously looking after my best interests when he reminded me that it was September 11 just as I was going to step on the plane. Thanks Primoz, you're a brick! Looking forward to the Croatian experience in a few weeks...

More pics

Looking across to the D-Berg Schloss
© Jeff Jones

Very pictureskew
© Jeff Jones

Downtown Deutschlandsberg
© Jeff Jones

Everyone is jolly.
© Jeff Jones

Austrian flag wavers...
© Jeff Jones

Happy this time
© Robert Hajdinjak

This is going to add weight
© Robert Hajdinjak

De Laatste Ronde

Once again, it's Journo World's time, and this year it's in Deutschlandsberg in Austria, which should be fun. I have been trying to obtain ein zimmer bitte, but all the zimmers seem to be full. It's probably the Slovenians, who booked up most of a hotel for their vast entourage. The advantage of that is that Primoz - of Slovenian wine fame - has found a spot for me in their hotel and will even pick me up from Graz airport. What a toppie!

The training has been dented by the crap weather and solid workload, so I'm not sure how I'll go. Last Saturday, I tried to do the Trap Op on the front, but I could barely keep it going after the first kilometre. Yes it was a headwind, but we only did it in 5'25 and that's with a few of us working. It was possibly an after effect of the ride I did on Thursday: 105 km, 10 climbs, 2'26 up the Berendries, which is the quickest I've done. I took it easy after that. Today was a bit better: 5'11 with a tailwind by myself, but staying well below threshold, which I definitely wasn't doing Saturday.

Unfortunately, the journo world's course only has one 2km climb in it each lap, and there are only two 35 km laps. I don't think the race will be decided on the climb, but it will serve to inflict Pain. I will be riding the Flandria again, as my new Ridley Noah will only come next Tuesday. Even if I got it this week, it's not enough time to get used to it to race on. Bugger! That'll be a noice machine though.

Kermiskoersen

As I did last year, I went down to Erpe for a final kermis on Monday. They'd shortened the course from 7.7 km to just 5.25 km, and that involved cutting most of the flat part out but leaving in 10 corners. So that meant it was basically climbing or descending, and the only flat section was into a block headwind. 22 laps were scheduled, and we had 38 deelnemers on what was a very, very nice afternoon. Eindelijk!

In the first two laps, I surprised myself by keeping in the top 10 and generally being assertive. You have to be in these races, because you'll normally miss the break if you're not. Funny enough, that's what happened. I drifted back on the third lap and suddenly found myself at the back, as we'd already lost a few riders. Then it split in half on lap four, and of course I was in the wrong half. However, with 20 up front, we had a good chance of getting them *if* we chased. I sensed a certain reluctance and went across on my own on the fifth lap, with one or two others.

Just as I got there, with a portion of the rest of the bunch also chasing now, the front group split again and 15 guys rode away. I wasn't spent, but I was on the wrong side to go with them and thought it would come back anyway. Stupid, as that was the race gone. On lap 6, I attacked with an Irish guy Eoin Concannon (didn't realise he was Irish until afterwards!) and we hovered 10 seconds behind the front group for a bit, but couldn't close it. We were caught by a couple of others, and decided to keep going as there wasn't much point in waiting for the rest of the bunch. It was a circuit where you could work with a small group.

Over the next few laps, we gradually lost time - about 10 seconds a lap. We could have ridden harder to limit it, but we weren't going to get them now. At about halfway, Eoin did a hard turn up the steepish 200m climb and got rid of one. Actually it could have been two but I didn't fancy doing the rest of the race with one other, so I made sure the third guy was back on before I did a turn.

The gap went out over a minute, then a bit more, and finally the other two started to slow down. A group of three caught us on about the 13th lap, which I was grateful for, and we picked it up again. Two of them were young guys from De Dijlespurters Mechelen, and they were working well. There was also Rene Mertens from the orange R.A.P. team. He must be close to 50, but he could still do turns. I remember him from Laarne a few years ago.

We were given the laatste ronde on lap 15, and another guy had somehow managed to get up to us. That was depressing, because he looked like he could easily lose 15kg, and this was a hilly race! I decided to see what I had left in the legs and followed one of the Dijlespurters when he attacked on the first hill. We got a bit of a gap, and he had a teammate in the group so it would disrupt the chase a bit. But disaster struck when we hit one of the off-camber speed hump corners and encountered an old lady crossing the road! Jeez Louise!!! I locked it up and got around her on the inside, and my companion chose the right hand route through some deep gravel. Somehow, we survived, but we lost most of our lead, which was annoying.

The others caught us just at the bottom of the short hill, but we both gave it everything to try and get rid of as many as we could. At the top, there were five of us as we'd lost the fat guy and Rene Mertens (phew). Then it was 2 km mostly downhill to the finish, and the Dijlespurters 1-2'd until one of them finally got away for 16th. I followed Stijn De Vriese in for 18th, reasonably satisfied because it was a nice hard race. We did 84 km at 40 km/h on a hilly course, and with the ride down and back it was 140 km all up.

The front group split into seven plus eight, and Mr Goncaras won a good sprint from local Marc Baeyens. That was a good way to finish the race, because when you have seven guys sprinting it out, it generally means it wasn't sold.

Rode home with Javier Contreras from Mexico, racing for Kingsnorth. He'd busted a spoke early on and left the race. Nice guy and we had a good discussion.

Sorry about the boringness of this one. I'll write something more descriptive about the weekend.

Have faith in Frank

Frank is one of the TV weathermen here in Sunny Belgium(tm). He is not always right, but he serves an important role. Together with Blackadder, he helps make TV worth watching occasionally.

I happened to switch onto Frank on Sunday to get the lowdown on what weather delights we were due for this week [we did actually have a good weekend, so it's not all bad]. "Monday will be a terrible day," he said, and I quote fairly loosely as I've just been to Marimain with Reiny and Gerald and my memory isn't what it once was. "Heavy rain with occasional hail. Tuesday will be stormy in the morning but in the afternoon it will clear up."

I trusted these words, as I wanted to race on Tuesday afternoon in Erwetegem. It was 'only' an Open race, so U23/Amateurs/Masters can also race with the Elite zonder contracts. But that was OK, as a) I really liked the course and b) I wouldn't necessarily get a complete arse sport kicking. There was another elite zc race on in Oordegem, but I chose this one instead.

Frank was right in that it rained for much of the morning. But it seemed to be clearing up about lunchtime and I thought 'bonza, I'll get a dry ride out'. It goes without saying that as I rode up the Hundelgemsesteenweg 2 km from home, the heavens opened and I got very drenched very quickly and I noted it was 11 degrees. I was determined to race today, so I continued, and by Bottelare about 5 km later, it had stopped. Another 5 km up the road at Balegem, the roads were bone dry although there was a black cloud that stretched from right to left in front of me. It was not moving towards me, so I figured I'd avoid it (for once). That proved to be correct, and the rest of the afternoon was rather pleasant.

Thanks Frank.

I was number 42 of 44 starters, and it seemed to be a reasonable sort of field. The course was 12 km long to be completed just seven times (84 km), and it had a 1.3 km climb plus a 500m climb each lap. Last year, I finished 12th/20 but it was all elite riders. This time, I hoped for a bit better.

First lap, two guys get away and hover 30 seconds in front for the next two laps. I sat in a strategic position towards the back, as is my wont, but moved up a bit on the long hill up to the start/finish. On the second lap, I started to get itchy legs and had a go with Krijn Verschraegen (4th in this same race yesterday) plus another guy. Unfortunately, he didn't have yesterday's legs. Or more correctly, he did, and we got caught on the descent.

I decided to stay active after that. We'd almost caught the two early leaders at the end of lap 2, and we finally did halfway through lap 3 following the first short climb. At the end of the lap, I went with all the moves on the start/finish hill, and did a hard turn at the top and kept going with it. I ended up with five others for company, but they weren't working that well. Another six quickly joined us and I thought we had a good group of a dozen.

Alas, despite being the lead group, the cooperation was either a) quite appalling b) totally crap or c) bloody terrible. We had managed to gap the peloton, and I hoped that no-one would be working there so we could stay away. That's sort of how it went, but we were doing our chances no favours. On the next two start/finish climbs, I rode a solid tempo to try and extract the best six riders out of the break, but it wasn't to be. I'd end up going over first with a 10 second gap, but would have to sit up because all the others were still together. Argh! It was possible, but you need the right mentality...

At the end of lap 6, I stayed behind another guy on the climb, but that didn't help matters much. On the previous lap, I'd heard someone say "peloton komt terug" but no-one paid it much heed. We were caught by the whole goddamn bunch at the top of the climb with less than one lap to go! Double argh!!!!

There were now 40 riders in the race instead of 12, and I had to rethink my strategy, which up until now had relied on the fact that I would be the only one left at the finish and would therefore win. Maybe if the whole race went uphill, that would have worked. But it didn't.

I probably shouldn't have drifted as far back as I did, as I missed the two four man moves that went in the next few km. I was actually figuring that it would come down to a sprint up the last climb, but halfway through the lap, that was looking improbable. I went with a counter-counter attack, which at least made life difficult for the rest of the bunch, and we hit the final climb about 10 seconds behind the leading eight.

Naturally, no-one wanted to lead out a big sprint on the climb, so about a third of the way up, I thought 'bugger it, I'll go myself'. Surprisingly, no-one reacted until Nico Savat (winner of a few kermises this month) flew past me as I was almost on the back of the lead group. But they just started sprinting and I was already on my limit. I hung on for 10th, which was OK in one sense, but I felt it coulda woulda shoulda been a top five today. The gap between the winner and me was 10 seconds, same as it was at the bottom. That's racing for you.

Cool course though, and I was generally happy with how I was going. Got a few cheers too from my fellow crashee Luc De Loor, who was watching. That's always noice. Post-race recovery meal: a pie, a sausage roll, and five beers.

Congrats to Philippe B for finishing the Criquielion in 6hrs7min. Gold, gold, gold!!! And an even better time to Henk B in 5hrs40min. Not so bad at all!

Newsflash

It's raining. It has been doing that a lot of late.

Nevertheless, you can still do things when it's wet. Like replace your groupset with the new one you bought while riding out to Balegem to race on Monday, except that it was raining hard so you continued down to Aalst, home of Van Eyck Sport. 'You' can be substituted for 'I' in this case. Don't ask me what case it is.

Anyway, if you (not I) need tips on installing Ergopower levers and the special Campagnolo chain with the link pin that ensures you (I) will bugger it totally when putting it on, then please do not ask me. Or them. It works a treat now though.

Due to weather and other shenanigans, I have done a grand total of three races since Feb. I hope to expand that by a few more, but it ain't easy. Tuesday - a rare dry day - I went to Wippelgem for 14 laps of an 8 km circuit. It looked like we had 29 starters until the Kingsnorth team turned up en masse with 10 mins to go after getting lost, so we ended up with 45 starters.

It was a relatively easy affair, despite the presence of Mssrs Willems, Cocquyt, Goncaras, Strole and Baeyens. They were paying three deep in each prime, but the best I could do was fourth as Willems cleaned up most of the early ones with Baeyens. After a bit, we caught them and I think at about halfway, the five hitters mentioned above cleared out with Matt Smith and a couple of others. We chased them hard for 4 km and they put 30 seconds into us anyway, so there wasn't really much point after that.

Poor old Matt got worked over by the 'mafia' in the break and eventually dropped out with another guy, and we caught them on the last lap. By this stage, we had reduced our group to 13 by means of a lotta attacking with about 4 laps to go. The trick to getting into the break is to go with every single attack, which I did. It's only pain. Unfortunately when it came to the sprint on the last lap, I no longer had the necessary legs. I couldn't even follow the leadout so 19th was the result.

Tip: Do not save one day old energy drink mixed with tea for the next day. There is no point, especially as the energy drink was free. The stomach pain was not worth it and I ended up doing the whole race on one bidon. I had to have several beers with Reinhard and a couple of other mates to settle things down, and also found a good Thai place here.

Other amusements

Speaking of Reinhard and a couple of mates, we went to Amadeus in the Patershol last week, which has all you can eat ribs for about 15 euros. I wasn't hungry enough and only managed two slabs of ribs, but Justin (GumNut), who was staying with Reiny, ate five. That is a lot of pig.

In other other happenings, I managed to squeeze in a trip to Brugge last week (crikey that was a busy week) with Michael, Sarah and Holly from either Belgium or Edinburgh or both. It was fun and I have pics to prove it. It didn't even rain much.

Spot the tourist
© Jeff Jones

Brugge is very pictureskew
© Jeff Jones

A headless horse. These are rare.
© Jeff Jones

One of Brugge's noice squares or rounds
© Jeff Jones

Quo vadis?
© Jeff Jones

Michael, Sarah, Holly
© Jeff Jones

Choosing one/two/many ice cream flavours.
© Jeff Jones

The return of the native

Finally, I can race again. Got my licence this week and it goes without saying that after five weeks of sunshine and 30 degrees, the weather turned to utter crap on the same day. I tried to race in Aalst on Thursday, but my wonderful *cough* new FSA cranks came loose again. I didn't have an allen key with me to tighten them, and although I tried a bike shop en route to Aalst, they refused to touch it on the grounds that they'd had a few problems with these cranks (XCO compact). I've heard that the spindles are sometimes too thin. Maybe Superglue or Loctite would help with the fitting.

I rode home, despised and rejected in the rain, and tightened up the crank as much as possible, vowing to have another go on Saturday. And seeing as the Schelde has now become a police-state, I opted not to join the wielerterrorists on their morning constitutional.

That takes us up to the real-time present, so to speak. The race was at Knesselare, which is about 28 km from here into a headwind, or 40 km if you go the way I did. I had planned to stick to the canal, but because I was running late I turned right at the Aalter bridge to take a shorter route into Knesselare. The problem was that the race actually started on the canal, so if I'd ridden 2 km more...

After piss-farting around in town for a while looking for a non-existent bike race, I thought I'd head back down to the canal anyway and start riding home, as I'd given up on the idea of starting and was thus not very gruntled. Fortunately, a car drove past and a guy waved out the window "andere kant" (other side), so I turned around, found a side road which was actually part of the course, and eventually found the sign on cafe with exactly eight minutes to spare. They allowed me to start, and I got changed very quickly, inhaled a powergel, and rolled up to the start line facing the wrong way.

The whistle blew only 2 minutes behind time, and we were away, with me now facing the right way! Because it was really windy, I decided I didn't want to be anywhere near the front, so worked my way stealthily back to about last wheel. At least you don't have to fight for your position there, and you get to see all the crashes and other stupid things that happen in the bunch.

The course was pretty straightforward: along the canal into the headwind, then left and right over a bridge and along a crosswind bit (mind the bollards on the bridge!), then weaving along a tailwind bit past a horse jumping expo, then right into another crosswind bit that was also the finish straight. 18 laps of 5.88 km for 106 km, with 62 starters.

After I worked out where the holes were, I just settled into last wheel and watched numerous attacks go with little interest. They all came back, although some took longer than others to haul in. I was surprised, as usually the winning break goes in the first three laps. And we were only averaging 42-43 km/h.

After an hour or so I got hungry, but had to delay eating for a lap after some idiot took a waterbottle in front of me, and in doing so, dropped completely off the back. It took me a bit too long to register that he wasn't in fact going to even try to get back on, so I chased for a couple of km and regained the bunch just before the bridge/crosswind. Fortunately, it wasn't flat out then and I could recover my composure.

I searched in my pocketses for the testosterone massage cream that I bought in a Phonak fire sale off eBay this week, but in my haste, I must have forgotten it. Verdomme!! Instead, I only had bloody powergels. They taste like crap and come in lurid grape and apple flavours. I suppose they work.

In the race, nothing much was getting away, which was good, I guess. A few more people were getting dropped and I began to reconsider my position in the bunch, which was perhaps not ideal. But I couldn't be arsed moving up yet. After about an hour and a half, I started to feel it in the legs. Coincidentally, my left crank had come loose again, and I was getting a 5 degrees freeplay that is so good for the knees.

This annoyed me, so I decided to channel any pent up frustration into my right leg and practice one-legged sprinting out of corners. I thought I could still finish the race, because I've ridden with this thing loose for a few weeks now (thought it was the pedal), which could also explain why it's totally ruined.

For some reason that I have yet to fathom, I moved up with about four laps to go and got amongst the attacks. The cooperation wasn't particularly good, which explains why nothing had gotten away so far. But then I realised I didn't actually have the legs to do much, so I returned to the rear. The winning move of 20 finally went with some three laps to go, and that was that sorted. The crank was getting a little looser, and my one-legged sprinting was getting a little better.

Coming into one lap to go and suddenly everyone looked very tired. We weren't going to pull back the guys in front, so the battle was for the very minor scraps. I followed some jongens off the front coming up to the line, looked back and saw that the bunch was close but not too interested, so I persisted. Two guys managed to get a gap on us that we couldn't pull back, so that was 21st and 22nd sorted. The rest of our group numbered six at the end, and I managed third for a glorious 25th place. None of us were really doing anything remotely resembling sprinting at that stage, so I don't think the loose crank made one iota of difference. But it was goddamn annoying!

I'd like to race on Tuesday, but I'll have to get my old cranks put on first. Otherwise my right leg will get huge and I wouldn't want that.

The end.