Once again the Waakzame Vingers, represented by Il Boiaⁱ and Bruco,
ventured into the Flemish Ardennes to honour the Grand Tradition of
Cycling and to collect some serious Palmares. Since our club's motto is
'Joy through Suffering' (I know, motto's should be in Latin, but mine
is a bit rusty, to say the least; perhaps somebody can help me out
here?), we could not have picked a better event than Omloop Het Volk.

As
you all recall, the real OHV had to be cancelled this year, due to
weather circumstances that perhaps could have led to the long-expected
re-incarnation of 'the Flandrien' ('God has returned', is written all
over the Oude Kwaremont, but Vandenbroucke hardly qualifies), but that
at the same time would make such a Briek Schotte resurrection a very
temporary one: the course is technically challenging as it is (narrow,
tortuous roads; steep uphills, treacherous descents; and of course
those darned cobbles when you least need them); riding it in
snow/hail/rain is outright suicidal.

This is not to say that
last Saturday's near-perfect Spring meteorology made for a safe
excursion. On the contrary: Bruco again managed a touch down. The
incident, the first in a long row of precision bombardments against
your Capitano's Morale, occurred somewhere before the first (53 km)
'control' and can be summarised as a momentary lapse of concentration,
a minor lack of communication (I could have sworn that Boia was heading
straight on, instead of taking that sharp, last-minute right turn) and
a surplus of braking power (leave those front brakes alone, especially
on gravel (a.k.a.
'shite') -covered cobbles). Fortunately, apart
from a punctured shin (blood always is spectacular) and some torn
handlebar tape (which was brand new, for crying out 'loud), there was
no harm done. I hope that the Belgium youngster whom we found trembling
and disoriented after a close encounter with a lorry, a few km further
down the Flanders fields, had an equally speedy recovery ('Do you think
my leg is broken?' 'Nope, not if you can still stand on it.'). Less
lucky was the poor soul whose Dura-Ace derailler had eaten its way into
the spokes of his rear wheel on one of those derelict cobble stretches
sometimes referred to as 'road'. The odds are that he did not make it
to the finish...

In retrospect (during the ride you must never
contemplate 'failure', for what you think is what you get), I am glad
to be able to report that the Waakzame Vingers, both of them, DID make
it to the finish. Il Boia is not the issue here. Apart from the first
50 km (his Diesel Engine just needs some time to get going, plus his
ability to keep his testosterones in check has increased
significantly), he did not expose any weakness whatsoever and thus,
probably, never seriously doubted his form. Of course, Boia's faithful
adherence to the Sacred Schedule (maintained up until two days before
OHV; helmets off!) pays off. But there is more to it. Our Bohemian
Butcher can now lay claim to the undisputed title of
'kasseienspecialist'
(cobbleslayer). He got rave reviews from one some of the friendly 'locals'
('Jij
rijdt goed op de steentjes': 'You ride well on the stones', a blatant
euphemism for those speed killing, castrating and debilitating
cobbles). And notwithstanding his Voorschoten-Benthuizen-Boskoop
physiology, Boia is also not bad on those short, but steep Flemish leg
killers. Style credits for his
outfit: the Peugeot checkerboard jersey--it finally made its debut in the cyclotouristic peloton!--is a sight for sore eyes.

Bruco,
on the other hand, was anything but 'ruling' this OHV. It is certainly
no exaggeration to say that he had to go to the end of his tether
('tandvlees')--and beyond--to reach Gent. The ongoing work on his
domicile deprived him of some essential training km's and waking up at
4 a.m. on 'racing day' is still not his thing (picture yourself touring
the Mekka of cycling while yawning...). But most disturbing was a
nagging pain in the left knee, which already had reared its ugly head
on the previous Sunday's
175 km roundtrip to Naarden and which
manifested itself on every elevation (and there were plenty) of the
second half of the Omloop. It might be true that the mind controls the
body (as I kept on convincing myself inbetween those proven Aitor Osa
mantras), but the body was sure as hell sending strange signals to the
mind. The most annoying of these were cramp-related ('You make sure
that your next pedal stroke is gentle, otherwise we, the legs, will go
on strike.'). On the plus side of the equation, the constant bargaining
with my quadriceps and whatever other quasi-muscles (some of them felt
really odd) I suspect to be dangling around beneath the waist, occupied
me enough not to be asking the lethal question ('Will I step down on
this one?'). For Bruco, it was definitively not a climbing day. Raise
the (Saeco) red lantern... To add to his plight: the cobble
stretches--even if they are perfectly horizontal (the 2200 metres of
Paddestraat ('toad road') never seem to come to an end)--have to be
attacked as if they were hills: full power (and a bit more) in order to
retain speed and traction (it is amazing how much pedalling force, and
in my case confidence and souplesseⁱ, is lost with this mindless
bouncing around).

Most painful for me, however, was missing the
Finale (usually my favourite part of any cyclosportif). The last 40 km
or so of our OHV were relatively mild and perfectly suited for
pacelining, tactical maneuvering and other playful behaviour. Il Boia
was ready and able, not only because he had been strong for most of the
day, but also because he had been extensively complimented--a novelty!
imagine his 'Audience' grin--by two nice and strong Flemish roadies
with whom we had become friendly during parts of the ride and on some
of the control/feeding stops (discussing the difficult remaining
sections, other recommendable cyclosportifs and--subtly but
painfully--Bruco's apparent upcoming encounter with the Man with the
Hammer). On flat and smooth (please!) terrain, I assisted where
possible, even squeezing some decent pulling labour out of my dead
calves. But the closer we got to Gent, the more often I found myself
struggling to restore contact with the 20-rider or so grupetto (yep, I
got dropped). The infamous 'rubber band' phenomenon. Character and hurt
pride take Bruco a long way, but the last few viaducts over the Schelde
river (which then to me seemed as steep and long as an Alpe), plus this
nasty little bugger of a Poortakkerstraat (450 metres of reverse road
engineering) proved to be too much. Il Boia (a bit vexed since he was
overtaken on the aforementioned 'Straat' by two Amsterdam (sic) roadies
of the Presto squadra) meanwhile kept on competing at the front line,
tearing off legs (including his own) and putting all hopes of the
Competition to an easy OHV victory to rest.

From afar I was
counting on a well-deserved Waakzame Vingers trophy. Yet in the chaos
of the final hectometres, Il Boia instinctively resorted to his
self-proclaimed status of a domestique and waited to escort his
Capitano over the finish line. A nice gesture, which fits Boia's Sean
Yates identification. Whether it was tactically apt, is not relevant.
Whether I was worthy of being given the 'protected status', is clear by
now.

Of course, OHV was not only about Suffering. We have
already reported about the understated beauty--and the extreme
pedalibility--of the Flemish land, which has Cycling Tradition written
all over it. The described difficulty of the terrain does not leave any
room for boredom (like our polders sometimes do). As in the E3 Prize,
the turnout was massive, international (an unexpected Dutch presence
and even some Brits) and varied (all ages, all sexes, all raw
materials: steel, alu, carbon and ti (I spotted, and overtook, a lady
on an Arenberg)). Our Belgian colleagues and their sponsors (see below
for the details) know how to reward this enthusiasm: a very warm
reception (even though we did not win anything in the lottery), good
signalling (apart perhaps from the intersection that had Bruco biting
the
dust) and excellent 'ravitaillage' (carbohydration; the stop in
the Roman Brewery scoring major touristic-sentimental bonus points).

OHV
also will go down in Waakzame Vingers history as the first 'classic' in
which there were no 'unforced errors', i.e. step-downs (à la Patersberg
in last month's E3 and--in ancient times--La Redoute, Stockeu and Thier
de Coo in the Flêche de Wallonie). We are getting there... Some (in my
case most) of the hills of OHV are quite challenging (they are listed
below, for your reference). But Il Boia's advice, just before we were
hitting the Muur
('Wall') van Geraardsbergen, was spot on: 'Have no
respect!' The subsequent taking of the Muur will always remain a
precious memory. The climb starts in the middle of Geraardsbergen, in a
run-down, Liège-like asphalt road, which is steep from the outset, of
poor quality and surrounded by (even for Belgian standards) appalling
architecture. Before you know it (that is, if you manage not to get
overwhelmed by the gradient), the tarmac changes into cobbles (recently
relayed, for which one can only be grateful) and the trademark
roll-shutters make room for trees. The road then gets narrower and
steeper (click, click, click--there is the granny gear) and graciously
winds itself around the hill, which is topped by the famous chapel. You
did it!

Thanks go to the pedestrian tourists that shouted us
up (participating 'Audience'!) that last rewarding, and demanding,
section of this 'monument', or 'institution', as Boia puts it).

So
a very inspiring piece of Palmares it was. This report hardly does
justice to the 'Joy through Suffering' that OHV and other cyclosportifs
can bring (you have to taste it yourselves), but I sincerely hope that
one day more Vingers will experience it. Thanks, Boia, for your
excellent company and willingness to stay sober and drive all the way
back, so that I could drown my self-pity in Romy pils. In next month's
Flêche, you can rely on me again. That is a promise (and a stick to get
me back into the training programme again).

HOSTS: W.T.C. Hijftespurters, Lochristi (http://www.hijftespurters.be/).

SPONSORS:
Fiets (the Dutch monthly cycling magazine), Century 21/De Leefboom
(don't know what they're about, but they certainly dominate the
Hijftespurters jerseys), Ename (beer from a monastery), Het Volk
(newspaper), De Geest (the holy one?), Centea (De Muynck's--isn't that
the former Belgium pro, or his nephew--consulting firm a.k.a. tax
evasion academy), Passe-Partout (fits all...), Plum-Gent (probably a
bike shop), Radio 10, Landers.be (stamps, t-shirts, advertising
billboards).

ITERINARY: Gent, St. Denijs Westrem, St. Martens
Latem, Nazareth, Wannegem, Ooike, Elsegem, Avelgem, Kluisbergen,
Kwaremont, Zulzeke, Geraardsbergen, Schendelbeke, Deftinge, St. Martens
Lierde, Nederbrakel, St. Kornelis Horebeke, Michelbeke, Zwalm, Roborst,
Velzeke, Scheldewindeke, Beerlegem, Vurste, Semmerzake, Zwijnaarde, St.
Denijs Westrem, Gent.

ASCENTS: Kluisberg, Cote de Trieu, Oude
Kwaremont, Kalkhoveberg, Pottelberg/La Houppe, Muur van Geraardsbergen,
Valkenberg, Eikenberg, Varent, Leberg, Berendries, Molenberg.

BONESHAKERS:
Kalkhovenstraat, Oudenbergstraat, Haaghoek, Paddestraat, Van
Reysschootlaan, Poortakkerstraat (see also under 'ascents').

The enevitable DATA (according to Bruco's Sigma BC1600 and PC1600,
respectively):
DST: 206,74 km
Ridetime: 7:44:45
AVSⁱ: 26,9 kph
MaxSPD: 58,7 kph
HRZone: D2 (70-75% Karvonen; 147-154 bpm)
In: 1:55
Lo: 4:11
Hi: 1:40
AvgHRⁱ: 145 bpm
MaxHR: 235 ??? (probably around 180 bpm)