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Fellow rbr'r MarkS, taking advantage of a business trip in Europe round the time of the great monuments (coincidence??? I think not!) convinced me to play hookey from a race this w-end to go up and meet him in Flanders to check out the action at the Ronde.
Like I really needed some arm twisting to agree to watch some people race on cobbles rather than to do it myself!
So eaaarly Sunday AM, I head off to the Gare du Nord, catch the early-bird TGV to Tourcoing and RDV up w/ Mark who has decided that the best way to teach himself to drive a stick is to do it with a rental car -- yikes!
After much time spent scrutinising the map, we decide that the best thing to do would be head up to the Koppenberg and catch the riders their live and then find ourselves a café to try out some of the local brewed specialties (no, beer is not usually part of a balanced training regimen, but when in Flanders, do as the Flandrians!) and catch the end of the race on TV.
Mark had spent the better part of Saturday riding the Ronde route w/ 12 000 other riders participating in the RVV cyclosportive. I won't go so far as to say that he was limping, but I did catch him wincing whenever we came close to anything resembling cobbles!
After some exemplary route-finding on the narrow market roads that pass for major thoroughfares in this part of Belgian, we finally made it within walking distance of the top of the Koppenberg and set out.
We were not alone.
In fact, it seemed that a fairly significant proportion of the region's population had come up with the same great idea as we had. And they had sent up multiple megatronic viewing screens and massive beer tents... in an instant of wordless communication, Mark and I knew that this is where we were going to spend the whole day!
I whipped out my Breton flag and afixed it to the umbrellas I had lugged up from Paris in the hopes that they would be enough to keep the rain away (it worked!) just so that somewhone, somewhere on the Koppenberg would be flying something other than the ubiquitous Lion of Flanders. Mark was wishing he had brought a Maryland flag which, according to him, is "objectively the nicest of all the State flags" (flame away!). We staked out our 20 square centimetres of territory each just at the top of the climb and waited. Young, old, drunk and cold -- all of Flanders seemed to be gathered here in what can only be described as a "super bonne ambiance" -- a really great and friendly atmosphere. Mud was everywhere on the sides of the road -- most people were prepared with their wellingtons and other assorted "dirt" shoes... some people inexplicably chose to wear something a bit more exotic!
Like I really needed some arm twisting to agree to watch some people race on cobbles rather than to do it myself!
So eaaarly Sunday AM, I head off to the Gare du Nord, catch the early-bird TGV to Tourcoing and RDV up w/ Mark who has decided that the best way to teach himself to drive a stick is to do it with a rental car -- yikes!
After much time spent scrutinising the map, we decide that the best thing to do would be head up to the Koppenberg and catch the riders their live and then find ourselves a café to try out some of the local brewed specialties (no, beer is not usually part of a balanced training regimen, but when in Flanders, do as the Flandrians!) and catch the end of the race on TV.
Mark had spent the better part of Saturday riding the Ronde route w/ 12 000 other riders participating in the RVV cyclosportive. I won't go so far as to say that he was limping, but I did catch him wincing whenever we came close to anything resembling cobbles!
After some exemplary route-finding on the narrow market roads that pass for major thoroughfares in this part of Belgian, we finally made it within walking distance of the top of the Koppenberg and set out.
We were not alone.
In fact, it seemed that a fairly significant proportion of the region's population had come up with the same great idea as we had. And they had sent up multiple megatronic viewing screens and massive beer tents... in an instant of wordless communication, Mark and I knew that this is where we were going to spend the whole day!
I whipped out my Breton flag and afixed it to the umbrellas I had lugged up from Paris in the hopes that they would be enough to keep the rain away (it worked!) just so that somewhone, somewhere on the Koppenberg would be flying something other than the ubiquitous Lion of Flanders. Mark was wishing he had brought a Maryland flag which, according to him, is "objectively the nicest of all the State flags" (flame away!). We staked out our 20 square centimetres of territory each just at the top of the climb and waited. Young, old, drunk and cold -- all of Flanders seemed to be gathered here in what can only be described as a "super bonne ambiance" -- a really great and friendly atmosphere. Mud was everywhere on the sides of the road -- most people were prepared with their wellingtons and other assorted "dirt" shoes... some people inexplicably chose to wear something a bit more exotic!
