The Saeco squadra and the Waakzame Vingers have something in common: both witnessed a coup d'état this weekend. The youngster Damiano Cunego dethroned Gilberto Simoni and took the Giro. Likewise, gregario Il Boiaⁱ no longer plays second fiddle to your capitano Bruco. In fact, our strategy is due for revision, as (again) became clear on our most recent crusade for Palmares.

The crime scene was the valley of the river Vecht, in Overijssel (NL) and the County of Bentheim (DE), where the 'Internationale Vechtdaltoer' is ridden, as Tradition has it, every last Saturday in May. Getting the titanium-packed Golfie Annan there in time was a bit of a hassle, considering that neither Boia nor Bruco had enough sleep (the latter clocked a mere 3,5 hrs), but the scenery around Zwolle (which looks impressive even seen from the motorway) and the splendid weather was a boost to our Morale.

So was the (rather lonesome) start of the ride. We almost felt like tourists: no traffic, beautiful forests and birds whistling all over the place. What is more important, we both felt 'little pains' in our legs. Usually, this is an indicator of potential strength. Il Boia's Campagnolo drivetrain had been extensively serviced the day before and promised 'silenzio totale'; yet, a few km's into the tour, the Italian drivetrain again started to sing its own stubborn tunes...

Nevertheless, we kept focused on the job, pedalling smoothly and a bit conservatively: Il Boia's diesel engine seems to require a warm-up of about 50 km (Bruco makes mental note: attack here). Incidentally, we reeled in some Opposition riders, who hardly resisted. This is not true for the duo that was led by a fully Bianchi-equipped (bike, shorts, jersey, bandana, ...) time trialist. As soon as we joined his oil-legged train, he stepped up the pace. And although we were already quite Waakzaam by that time, at about 35 km/h we decided to save some juice for later.

The first control was a pure classic: while Bruco managed to dispose of some superfluous body weight/gut pressure, two girls selling coffee and apple pie pretended to be impressed by Boia and gave him more Audience than he has had in a long time. But the best thing about this 55 km interlude was the country & western singer who was routinely flashing his talent, even though it was only 9:15 am ('oh yeah, you do the walk of life'). No wonder that most of the Opposition could hardly get their chamois off the camping chairs.

But Boia and Bruco prefer their stops to be short, in order not to break the rhythm of the ride and to get it over with in general. What we got over with first, was a squadra from Wezep (qualifying therefore as 'locals'; in fact, we were probably the only 'foreign' team on the Vechtdaltoer). I would not go as far as to call them hostile, but they were not particularly pleased by our presence either. We joined them just when the parcours became a bit hilly. So their two front men decided to demonstrate their climbing prowess (and drop us in the process). Little did they know: the Waakzame Vingers had completed the Flêche only a week ago. And Bruco's Angst for elevations is loosening up these days. Those Bentheim ascents are 'big ring material' anyhow. We fought a short, but enjoyable battle. The Wezep strongmen would not allow us to be on pole position and passed us wherever possible. Then they 'attacked' an hill and looked around to inspect the damage done.

Priceless, the expression on their face when they realised that the Vingers were not dealt with, yet. Nothing beats a subtle 'yes, I'm still here'.

Playing around a bit with these guys was okay, but their command of cycling technique, as well as their ability to follow the route signs, was rather poor. Most annoying was their tendency to pedal all out uphill, but then to coast even before the climb was done. No rhythm, no speed, no safety. So when the group again splittered due to a missed turn (and there were a lot of turns in the Vechtdaltoer, just as in a Flemish classic!), Boia and Bruco left them behind. Only to find them back in the ... finale.

An encounter of the pleasant kind was picking up Henk, a 40-year old rider from the vicinity of Zwolle. He sort of instinctively jumped on our wheel, when we passed him, and did not let go for a long, long time (in fact, until the very ... end). This particular form of wheelsucking is allowed, in my book. Henk was doing all 200 km ALONE. He was nevertheless very communicative and social to ride with. He apologised for not taking over, saying that we were just 'too fast' for him. Although I doubted this, I also knew that he was not the type that wants to be brought to the finish 'in an armchair'. So we were more than happy to be a trio. Especially since Henk kept on giving us compliments and also was very alert for the signs.

Boia and Bruco had neglected to consult the road book beforehand (mistake!), we simply assumed that there would be stops/controls/feeding stations at more or less regular intervals. One after 55 km, the next one for example at +/- 120 km... But we were wrong. So Bruco nervously checked the computer, getting hungry and paranoid about 'having missed something'. Almost too late, the three of us decided to have a quick lunch break at a underused busⁱ stop. The exemplary cooperation of Boia and Bruco—taking turns in maintaining a steady tempo (around 33/34 kmh), accelerating swiftly out of every corner (like I wrote, there were a lot of them)—was beginning to take its toll. Later, at 150 km, Henk offered us a coffee at Gaststätte Middendorf: 'If I can't do my share towing, this is the least I can do for you guys.' So we sat down (a bit too long, perhaps) and exchanged some cyclotouristic experiences. We liked Henk more and more. Bruco in the end not even minded that he rode a carbon Trek. (By the way, I spotted a guy wearing a 'Scheveningen-Vladivostok' jersey. Now that is what we call Palmares...)

The final 50km of the Vechtdaltoer were quite tough. Il Boia kept on pounding (with Henk repeatedly asking me 'Is he never getting tired?'), but for some reason Bruco slowly lost his legs. 'Kopwerk' was not in them anymore and gradually Bruco started to falter. The 178 km control did not score major points in the entertainment section (after the show on the first stop we expected at least an Elvis impersonator), but it offered some reanimation (ahh, sugar!). And some sense of competiteveness: the Wezep squadra reappeared on the scene. Not too long after they took off, Bruco started to lead the chase. For a while, he thought that his own little Eddy Mazzoleni (Cunego's domestique) was back. The speed was there, the hunger, the determination. Henk and Boia (always a slower starter after whatever interruption of a ride) were in his wheels, instead of vice versa. But Eddy died, at some dangerous crossroad, where he had to wait and his two companions were allowed to hammer on (although an autopsy might reveal another time of death). Bridging the gap on Bruco's own turned out to be close to impossible. He saw his former fellow escapees looking back for him, but also was not quite convinced of their strategy (not speeding up, but—seen from behind—not significantly slowing down either). Here is where a directeur sportif and radio communication within the squadra would have been helpful. Here is where Il Boia singlehandedly decapitated the Capitano.

The Waakzame Vingers each rode their own race, the last 15km of the ride. Il Boia still had finale potential and together with Henk chased and caught the Wezep wheelers. From what I heard later on (over a nice cold beer in the Toerclub Dalfsen home), the latter in fact were stronger than it seemed (with their older, more routined riders taking charge of the finale). Boia gave them some serious work-out (ignoring all red alerts from his own body—the man can Suffer), but (traditionally, I would say) messed things up by missing a turn (about which the Wezep Opposition was more than happy NOT to warn him). I do not recall anymore what happened exactly after that. My mind is still full of those last 15km which I completed (in a far lesser style): suffering, avoiding collisions with all sorts of handicapped people blocking the cyclepath, getting overtaken (!) by two Oppositionists (one of them the lowest kind of wheelsucker you can imagine) and cursing Il Boia for not waiting for me ('Shite. Here I am. Alone. Me, who always waits for others. This sucks.). But while those seemingly never ending kms (am I sure this is still the right route?) slowly disappeared underneath his Conti's, Bruco found the real culpit: he was angry at himself. There is nothing wrong with letting go team discipline at the end of a 'race'. Of course, Bruco did not share this immediateley with Henk and Boia, who were waiting (only three minutes, they kindly said) for him under the Dalfsen village entry sign. He highheartedly pedalled on to the finish, 'enjoying' his last minutes as designated rider, as if he was ignoring the domestique that had just put him out of the Capitano's job.

BrucoData

Route:
Dalfsen-Beerze-Bergentheim-Bruchterveld-Wielen-Itterbeck-Wilsum-Golenkamp-Gr
asdorff-Esche-Berge-Hoogstede-Emlichheim-Volzel-Laar-Holthone-Collendoorn-Ha
rdenberg-Ommen-Dalfsen
DST: 204,29 km
TM: 06:36:07
AVSⁱ: 31,18 km/h
HRZone: D2 (70-75% Karvo)
In: 02:18:00
Lo: 03:19:00
Hi: 00:56:00
MaxHR: 180
AvgHRⁱ: 145