Tour of Flanders 2006 by John McDowell - March 31 - April 2

Photos

The annual North Road pilgrimage to Flanders was again well attended this year with nine riders making the trip across to Flanders. My initial introduction on the road into Ghent was a slight disappointment as the suburbs have adopted a shabby post modernist industrial look. However, on arrival at the centrally located Ibis hotel, Ghent reveals itself as having a very charming old town centre. After an early afternoon exploration of a large, rambling bike store, I was introduced to the delights of Belgium beer in a traditional bistro served in the legally binding goblet shaped glasses. The Saturday dawned with a range of weather forecasts, all of which suggested various amounts of rainfall. As we prepared our bikes at the side of the road the portents did not look good with dark heavy clouds scudding across the sky on a stiffish breeze. My ride started well as I won the first uncontested sprint to the start line, much to the derision of my team mates. We had generally decided to ride as a group as we set out among the thronging mass of riders, all heading in the same direction like some vast bicycling migration. Very soon Jim Ewers disappeared off radar on one of his traditional lone wolf attacks and was not seen again until the end of the ride. I had been warned that the first section of cobbles was a bit of a shaker and so it proved to be. I could not help but notice the detritus scattered over the ground; in the UK one gets used to seeing various squashed local mammals, on the cobbles in Flanders it is cycling equipment. Bidons and pumps by the dozen, rain capes, sunglasses, spokes and even a set of jockey wheels shaken free from a derailleur. Just before the first feed point the heavens opened and we all received a thorough soaking for about an hour. Meeting with Richard Somerset to collect some food all the NR riders started to suffer from the cold and it was with some relief that we started to ride again. Although there seemed to be a number of large threatening clouds it actually didn’t rain again. The first cobbled climb proved to be an anti-climax as a large van had managed to stall on the Molenberg, causing a choke point, and forcing a substantial number of riders to walk. My knowledge of international swearing increased greatly as the driver was left in no doubts as to the rider’s feelings. More walking was also required on the Paterberg due to an injured rider requiring assistance from an ambulance. It was the Koppenberg that is the perhaps the most challenging of all the climbs. A very narrow piece of ‘road’ that ramps up in a series of steps and with a road surface that looks like a mis-sized rejected assortment of cobbles badly laid after a late boozy Friday lunch. To make matters worse the cobbles were also very slippery due to the rain. Unfortunately such was the press of riders it had again caused a choke point that ensured that we had to get off and walk again. Even walking up this brute required a technique of hooking your cleat over the cobble to gain the necessary leverage to reach the summit. At about the three-quarter point the ride splintered up as Trevor Burke and Richard forged ahead. I was passed on a climb by a hard charging Bruce Metheringham but although tempted to chase I decided to stick to my own pace with what could be a very hard 40km to go. With Derek Evans suffering from an upset stomach and John Turton having cleat problems and suffering from cramp I settled for a long ride on my own some way behind the big three. Fortunately Chris Glithero had battled on manfully and had slipped away from Bob Wade. We rode together until the second from last cobbled climb – the Kappelmuur. My initial thought was one of disappointment, a long climb through a village that was a challenge but nothing special - ‘is that it?’ I thought. Feeling confident I decided to put in a small attack and picked off several riders in front of me. However, in answer to my own question, that was definitely not it. A sharp right turn revealed the dreaded cobbles ramping up in a series of sweeping turns. The famous church could be seen at the top, but did not seem to get any closer, like some teasing desert mirage. Finally reaching the summit it was just the small matter of the Bosberg and than a very fast and flat 10K run in to the finish. Jim had sneaked in first while an unwell Trevor and a confident Bruce had engaged in a ding-dong flat out race to the finish while the crafty Badger had wheel sucked his way in to the finish. The day itself has everything you could wish for, great climbs and a ride itself that is a true test of man and machine.

It was decided that on the Sunday we would watch the race from the Muur. The day’s entertainment started early while we watched Bruce engage in without doubt the worst display of reverse parking I have ever witnessed. Some lunch in bistro was followed with some big screen watching of the main race itself. My annoyance at walking up the Koppenberg was eased somewhat when the professional riders were also forced to get off and leg it! Obtaining a place on the Muur about an hour before the race arrived the atmosphere built until the big moment when the helicopters arrived overhead announcing the leading riders. With Tom Boonen in the lead the crowd went bananas with the local hero looking set to win. Indeed, his win could be confirmed as the noise of a huge cheer arrived at the Muur some minutes later. With cheerful goodbyes we all set off on our different routes home, tired but elated at another great North Road weekend away.