Matthew and I went with our Belgian host, Rik Masil, who got us to wear these 'Dag Staf' t-shirts. We thought nothing of them, but when we started to walk about the crit circuit, random people started shouting, 'Dag Staf, Dag Staf!' to which they then expected a conversation in their local tongue. This did not happen, once they saw our deluded, sunglazed faces staring back at them, in a daze as to what the hell they were talking about.
We soon found out. 'Dag Staf' is the local fan club set up for local rider Staf Scheirlinckx. He is a seasoned professional, with very respectable results on his Palmares, such as 8th in the 2011 Tour of Flanders. He also had a beer with us after the race, and I can confirm he is a top lad, with about 3% body fat.
Wednesday was race day. I wakened early, as there was much to do. First on the list, clean the bike. Done. Next, give the bike a pre-race check up. Everything seemed to be working well, but Matthew pointed out that the cassette was bent. How does that even happen? It works for now, it'll do rightly!
Next, lunch. The food is so much better over here. Not the processed rubbish you usually receive from a local, humdrum supermarket franchise. The race was at 5pm, so I had to eat at 3pm again, which was expertly made by teammate Doyle: Pasta with a pepper/tomato sauce.
We got to the race, and queued up for sign-on. Once again, Fred-analysis was in full effect. My findings were that there was increase from the last race meet. Good!
In fact there were a lot of differences from my last race. I was more focused, less stressed and far more confident. I wasn't a shivering wreck on the start line this time, I was relaxed, in the shade, waiting for the foreign speaking men, to enlighten the procession.
We were off. It hurt. My legs were eating themselves AT THE START OF THE RACE. The game plan had to be changed. Hang in for a few laps and hope I recover. Still relaxed, however.
Plan B worked! Elation. Now to try and win the race. Attack, attack, attack, all over the show. Nothing was getting away. But as the 34 degree heat took its toll on the riders, the tides began to turn.
This race had big wide roads, so it was easy to get to the front. My relaxed attitude helped with that also, shouldering, elbowing, pushing people out of my way. What you can get away with in a corner here is amazing compared to at home. On one right-hander, I dived up the inside, blocking someone on the exit, causing them to slam on the brakes. I expected a Flemish mouthful, which was duly deserved, I would have done so; but none came. Why can't some Irish cyclists keep their mouth shut like these Flemish fellows?!
Then the fireworks started. On the hairpin bend of the circuit, I heard the clatter of carbon, spokes and rubber behind me. I didn't bother to look back, just focused on the person in front of me, who was giving it rice to get away, along with the 12 others ahead of him.
2km later on a straight bit of the course, a Scottish boy was beside me in the bunch. He did something that you should never ever do. I should know, I've done it before and learnt the hard way, for those of you who where there at the Tour of Ards this year! The Scotsman looked over his shoulder, drifted towards me, and then seemed to find my rear wheel attractive, so decided to give it a hug at 45kph. BANG! He was on the ground. I was not. So the Belgian Fight-or-flight defence mechanism kicked in, chin on the tank and flat out until the panic died down.
Surprisingly it caused a split, which I was in, with about 20 other riders. It was too big and the Flemish profanities rolled out. Again, attack, attack, attack. Many riders flying off the front. I saw 2 teammates go up the road and knew they would do well. I had to do something. So I attacked. 3 other boys came with me and we worked well together to catch the chase group behind the leading break. But then the stalling began again. Too many people in the chase group.
It was then 3 laps to go and the leaders where in sight. Attack, attack, attack. I was suffering this time, and could only follow. It was coming to the time where I had to dabble on the decision of either not chasing as I needed something left in the tank, or following the moves, but the leaders were never caught.
I motored in for 12th place, pipping the 13th placed in the line. I was happy with my result, to an extent. Yes it's an improvemt from the last race, but it still isn't top of the charts!
I must compare my results to ones I've got from home. If I want it to make it to the big time, get tons of free kit, live and breath cycling 24/7, be invited to the Roeselare Criterium, I have to always want to improve. If I'm satisfied with 12th, I won't get any better. So as long as the figures keep rising, I'm happy. I know I'm getting stronger with every race, but let's hope my next race I'll break into the top 10!
Until then, adios.
D
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