are sometimes smooth and silky, and other times tired and tight.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Training Weekend (The Ardennes Offensive)

This weekend was that time of year again. Time to hit the Ardennes, and get my first real dose of elevation in far too many months.
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Unlike my previous trip, where the weather was amazing, when I arrived on Friday, it was pouring rain.

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It was quickly decided to drink beer, and prepare dinner, rather than get soaked and filthy.

As we worked our way through 3 courses, and far too many bottles of wine, it rained, and rained, and rained. Asa matter of fact, it rained until +/- 6AM.

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Much to our surprise, things (kind of) cleared up.

So we set out in overcast, misty conditions, on wet and slippy roads, with the plan to do what has become the standard Saturday ride, the Route Buissoniere.

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I didn't get many chances to take pics, but did my best to snap one of appeared to be Easter Saturday celebrations in one of the towns we rode through.

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After 5.5 hours of riding, it was time to kick back, and get Saturdays dinner ready.
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When you have a Sommelier in the group, the bubbles follow.Photobucket

It doesn't hurt when you have a guy who's been in a cooking club for the past 20 years either.

This morning the weather looked better. It was time to break out the bikes, and check out some of the climbs of Liege Bastogne Liege.

With tired legs from the day before, we made our way to some of the more historical climbs of L-B-L, such as the Wanne.
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One of us, working his way up the Wanne.
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The view from the top.

After the Wanne, it's a +/-5 km descent down some sketchy roads to Stavelot.

Thinking of historical climbs, and modern history of the Ardennes, at the bottom of the descent to Stavelot you cross a bridge, and take a right just after you pass this -
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After that, you work your way up the Stockeu.
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And see this.

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After that it's a descent, back to Stavelot, to grab a coffee and crepe.
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Then it's back to the biking through open roads, filled with history.

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Like this.
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To get back in time to watch the Amstel Gold.
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Then pack up, and drive back to Amsterdam, like these guys.

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Part I: A Sunday in Heaven (Paris-Roubaix, secteur 3)

Last summer, I found myself sipping a rum punch, in Bangkok, talking about cycling with a few friends and professional colleagues. While I was the only cyclist in the group, most of the people there were Flemish, and understood my obsession. One of them floated the idea of getting some of the group together, and going to Paris Roubaix. It sounded great, but that was nine months ago, and we weren't completely sober.

So, it was with some surprise, I must admit, when I got a call on Monday, inquiring if I wanted to come for a visit. With the last minute nature of the trip, I didn't do the research that I would have liked to. To be specific, I wasn't 100% sure where I wanted to be, and with no internet connection, I left the task of deciding to my friends. Had I realized how things were going to play out, I would have taken my best camera.

Herewith, the pics.

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We left Dunkirk (about an hours drive from Lille at +/- 11:30). We knew we were getting close when we saw signs on the highway, notifying traffic to expect delays due to the race.
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As it happens, one of my friends went to high school with someone who works with a pro tour team. He was advised by his friend to try and make our way to Cafe l’Arbre, which was wedged between sectors 3 and 4 of the pavé.

My friends had heard that we might have a chance of getting lunch there, and on top of that, there was supposed to be screen, broadcasting the race. I was dubious, but hopeful.

Unsurprisingly, the GPS had some difficulty finding ancient roman roads, and when we found ourselves wondering which way to go in the village of Cysoing, we found a guy on a Look bicycle, and asked. Little did we know, we were 300 meters away from the end of secteur 3.

We made our way past the Gendarmes, and this is what we saw -
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We walked up the road, looking for the Arbre.

Even though it was only 12:30 in the afternoon, and things had yet to hit full swing, things were already swinging.

You name it, they had it:

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The Tom Boonen fan club zone.

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Feestbeesten.

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Aussies.

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Kiwis.

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As we made our way through the kermis-like atmosphere, we spotted the Arbe in the distance.

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We got closer, and the circus got louder.

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And louder.

As it turned out (unsurprisingly) L'Arbre was fully booked. To be specific, it was booked by Lotto, to wine and dine sponsors, clients, VIPS, etc.

So, what to do when you're hungry and thirsty? Grab a beer, and try and find some decent food.

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The beer was easy, but finding food took a little...

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backtracking.

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To Flanders in Flandre.

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We checked out the news and odds.

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And past teams.

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Until we found some food.

Even better, next to the frituur was...

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Some Sporza coverage.

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It proved to be a popular spot.

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The fact that we were feet away from the pavé made it even better.

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The fact that this was next to the TV tent helped as well.

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All of this...

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Means this.

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And while you're busy watering the fields of Flanders, you spot some of its history.

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Apparently they don't teach the dangers of nationalism much these days.

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Even stranger - Belgian Police working in France, making sure the roads are clear for...

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The Amateurs, who are racing ahead of the pros.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Part II: A Sunday in Heaven (Paris-Roubaix, secteur 3)

The waiting is the hardest part.

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When the publicity caravan passes through, you know the action isn't far behind.

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Thomas Voeckler leads the way (or not).

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Followed by a rider from Cofidis.

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You wait, and watch.

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Then there's the quiet...

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The crowds wait.

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The roads fill, and you feel the tension.

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A horn toots in the distance, a team car appears.

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The helicopters approach, the drone of a rotors a sign of the leaders to come.

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Out of the crowds, Tomekke appears.

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Pursued in vain.

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A class act, foiled by bad luck, yet again.

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A Frenchman and an Australian-German battle it out through the fields of Flanders.

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A man of the future on his way to the days end.

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The race near it's end, the stragglers ride on.

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While the crowds move off.

c'est fin.