Monkey Wrench

Man, what a whirlwind of a week! It's been a crazy past seven days, which at first which appeared to be set up for a relaxing week, but it has been anything but that.

The week, or weekend, started with a 2 day trip to Paris to see the Foo Fighters at the music festival, Rock En Seine. Nice.

First to arrive on the scene for the FF. Not. 

What a great city. This was my second time visiting the City of Lights and it didn't disappoint. I felt much more comfortable walking around, using the metro, and speaking to people. Perhaps this was the case since I have been immersed in a French speaking culture and environment for the past two months, or because it was my second time strolling amongst Parisians, I felt really comfortable exploring and discovering the perpetually growing list of gems to see. Of course my french still needs some improvement. I thought I would try and throw a little of this and that toward somebody to gauge my level on the totem pole of francais . As I entered the hostel room, I said a few words in French to the girl who worked there. She responded. YES! I then said in French, "It's hot in here, eh?".

"I'm sorry", she replied, " I don't speak English".

I think I have a little work to do on my enunciation.

I stayed at the same hostel as Tyler and I stayed at last fall and what a difference. Not only was this one of the quietest and subdued hostel rooms I have every stayed in, but it didn't have any Australians! Don't get me wrong, Australians are great but after traveling for 2 months across Europe last year, it seemed like they were taking over the continent. Plus, I didn't have the unique exposure to another Ausi "plowin' the forest" at 5AM.

After one train ride, a 4 hour bus ride, and 2 metro rides, I finally made it to Rock En Seine. It was INSANE. I don't think I've ever stood in a beer line for an entire set; conveniently, Funeral Party was playing right across the field so I was able to enjoy some punk alternative ambiance. And they appeared to be pretty popular with the French.

I made my way over to the Foo Fighters after watching a bit of Kid Cudi. I asked one girl if anyone understood what Mr. Rager was saying.

" A little bit, but I can't understand him right now"

The Foo Fighters were amazing. It was actually hard to enjoy the first 4-5 songs because it was so rough and...intimate. Europeans know how to have a good time. I don't think I've been in such an enthusiastic and animated crowd. My first Green Day concert at the Warfield might come close, but this was a non stop dancing, moshing, singing and screaming party. In other words- the Europeans make the American crowds look like amateurs. At one point, I found myself 3 rows back from the fence. And then I found myself in the mud with people tumbling and falling over me. Luckily, some friendly French person helped bring me to my feet before the mob had a chance to collapse on top.

I got a little closer. And closer. And closer. 

And, it didn't rain. Not until the very end, at least. My shoes were so dirty, however, that two Parisian guys on the metro afterwards asked if I had just gone to Woodstock. Almost.


The next day, I checked out Versailles. Pretty impressive, to say the least. It was funny seeing all the tourist and tour buses, and vendors selling miniature Eiffel Towers out in front. Brought me right back to the days of our backpacking entourage seeking out the shortest line into the Louvre or the quickest lift up the Eiffel  Tower.

One of about 50 self portraits I took that day. 

On my 4 hour bus ride back to Brussels, I met a lovely Dutch women who informed me she spoke 5 languages. Again, as it happens too often, I was left speechless, which leaves my chatting partner speechless as well. And then, they usually utter something in Dutch, French, German or Turkish that I don't understand. Luckily, she kept the conversation to English and we had a great time exchanging our tales of foreign travel.


AND THE RACES...


It's probably a good thing I didn't endeavor to recap any of the races yesterday as I began to write this blog; I think my initial perception and description of the past week while still high on copious amounts of caffeine and endorphins from earlier that day would be too raw for public consumption.

I think the best way to describe what I am beginning to analyze, observe and conclude in these Kermesses is best analogized with a set of matches. At the start, I have a full box of matches. I can decide when to burn them, how many to burn, how quickly, how big of a fire or explosive effort I want to make, and gauge how many I will need to keep the fire burning until the end.

I have only been here for two months but have deduced two general types of kermesse races: 1-A race of attrition. 2-A race of tactics. A race of attrition occurs when the course is not flat, crosswinds are present, and the field size, while it can be large, generally makes the race more difficult when small. A race of tactics more often than not takes place when the course is pancake flat, no wind, and the field is usually big.

This last week it's been a lot of tactics, very few attrition. And when it comes to tactics in a kermesse, it seems 75% of the time it's about luck. Luck getting into the right breakaway. Luck that the pelaton doesn't chase you down. Luck that you have strong riding partners. This all may sound all too familiar in the world of bike racing but I have never seen it more amplified in a Kermesse. The lack of hills, or other factors to split up the field, inevitably creates a final selection process that almost resembles a crap shoot. Yes, the riders in the front are strong. But so are the 85 riders in the back.

The last two races resembled a similar decomposition to that of above. But, forget about that. I'll talk about the race of attrition- the first race of the week, instead.

Basically, that one word succinctly captures it.  It was fast and pancake flat in Flanders, as usual. Remember the matches analogy? Well, I burned 2/3 of my matches early, going with all the attacks. You see, one has a choice during these kermesses. When one attacks, if the attack manages to draw out a string of riders, one usually has some sort of cooperation, initially. Then, two scenarios can occur. The group of riders one is in can be brought back and absorbed by the pelaton, OR, the group will stay away. When the group is absorbed, one has to make a decision: Do I sit in for a few minutes and recover, or do I go with another attack, possibly this is the winning move because I recognized another stronger rider who is going on the front.

This process and evaluation is repeated 20-30 times throughout the race, at a split second rate.

Well, I chose to go with the attacks early.

The race was attack after attack after attack. I remember one moment when a group was off the front and we were chasing flat out-single file for 10KM. I recall looking up, while on the rivet, wondering how those 5 riders were still away. And they stayed away.

In the end, the pelaton splintered. Yes, this course was flat, but with the small field, wind and selection process determined by the ubiquitous aggressive nature that these races are known for, it was a race of attrition. After all that work and riding for what seemed like 3 hours of suffering, I got into the money. Thank god.

After the race, Freddy and I stopped by to see his friend, who is a reporter for a Belgium cycling magazine, and his three daughters, one who studies at Ghent. They offered me a beer and I couldn't resist indulging myself. Beer after a bike race. Good times. That was probably the highlight of the day!

The last two races I've done I've felt very good. Unfortunately, the courses themselves were not that selective. I managed to make 15-20 rider splits off the front which appeared to be the right move, only to be brought back a couple of laps later. And then, the real break of 5 guys gets off. What I'm starting to realize, after all of this, and I hope you are too, is that in order to place in the top 10-15, one needs to kill oneself in the race. Which basically means, you are dead at the end. Go hard or go home!


But hey, that's bike racing.

I often ask myself sometimes amongst the times of misery in the pouring rain, the mud, hail, gutters, and long hours of solitude why I pursue such a difficult endeavor and sport. Most of the time it's a hard notion, conclusion or concept to wrap your head around, or try to rationalize in any way that is comprehensible to the rest of the world. I sometimes don't understand it. But, maybe that's what makes it so special. It's a constantly evolving and malleable piece of art.

As my friend Michael J once told me, "Cycling is a drug". It's more than just a drug, it encapsulates a certain way of life, almost metaphorically. To me, cycling, like life, is all about the journey. Whether if it's the smokey cafes, the two-faced Belgium hecklers from the bar,  the brutal pavé, my drivers and friends, or riding through the Ardennes and Belgium country side, the results almost become an after thought.

What I do know is that if I enjoy the ride, fully embrace the culture and lifestyle of cycling and Europe, the results, types of races, flats or hills, attacks and tactics-  will take care of itself. And as Dave Grohl put it, "It's times like these you learn to live again".  Allez!