Tragedy in Ghent - by John McDowall

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When the idea of travelling to Belgium to witness one of cycling’s great events, the Ghent six day meet, many of us was looking forward to something that would be another memorable North Road trip to the continent. Tragically the event proved memorable for the wrong reasons due to the death of the Spanish rider Isaac Galvez.

The numbers coming on the trip had steadily snowballed so that a large group of North Roaders travelled via Eurostar from Waterloo while another contingent went via car and the traditional ferry route. The first adventure proved to be the taxi journey from Ghent railway station. The famous road chase scene from the film The French Connection came to mind as we hurtled over the cobbled streets. On arrival at the Ibis Katheedral hotel we tumbled out of cab where I thought of getting on my knees and kissing the ground in pure relief. After several calming Belgium ales we wandered around the historic centre of Ghent whiling away time until the evening racing. The first night’s racing on the Friday was my first introduction to top level track racing. The stadium itself kind of reminded me of an indoor Walthamstow dog track without the colourful tick-tack men. Initially I was a little bored and bemused by what was going on, but as the night went on and the intricacies of the different events were explained I started to become more, and more involved in the whole theatre of the event. The atmosphere helps, a kind of merry, happy involvement in a sport that is clearly close to the hearts of the local people. Derny racing is clearly completely bonkers; whoever thought of the idea is some sort of mad genius. If ever you go to a six day event don’t stay in your seat but wander down into the middle of the track, because for me that is when the whole experience comes to life. Even the intermission was an event of pure Eurotrash surrealism as famous local singer Eddy Wally, dressed in a pink suit dripping with gold jewellery (a combination of Chaz’n’Dave and Jimmy Saville), wandered around the track singing popular ditties. The crowd lapped it up and we realized we were part of the Flemish equivalent of a ‘cockney knees up’.

The real stars of the show are the riders, supreme athletes their riding always looks silky smooth and controlled, while the sprinting is explosive shoulder-to-shoulder stuff that gives the racing a gladiatorial feel. The next day sadly showed the price that can be paid at such events. The racing on the Saturday had almost come to an end when the roar from the crowd alerted us that a collision had occurred. Most of us were in the centre of the track looking away from the accident and was therefore saved from seeing the fatal impact. As Galvez lay on the track 15 meters from our position it quickly became apparent that something very serious was occurring. Although blankets were held up around the scene it was clear to everyone in the stadium that Paramedics were engaged in vigorous emergency heart massage. What had been another joyful night suddenly drained away into feelings of sadness and shock. Although we all hoped for the best I think we all knew in our hearts that Galvez had died in front of us. It was really too much to watch, an intrusion, so we all left as a group before Galvez was carried out to the ambulance, where although he had been resuscitated at the track, he later died on the way to hospital. We didn’t learn until the next day that Galvez had passed away and that the final days racing had been cancelled. In many ways it was a weekend of completely contrasting emotions. I don’t think any of us have any illusions of the skill, strength of will, competitiveness and fitness levels required to be a top cyclist, but maybe some people outside of the sport under estimate the pure bravery required as well. I think I can speak for all North Roaders in offering our condolences to Galvez’s friends and family at this difficult time.