One of the great things of having an understanding wife who shares ones passion for cycling and all things bike (well, at least as far as Van Petergens eyes and Extabarria's smile!) is that it has allowed me earlier this year to rent a holiday flat in another country.
The glorious sunny climes of Spain? The wonderful culinary delights of France or maybe mixing and enjoying some time with the beautiful people of Italy?
No. Belgium! Yes, the harsh sometimes brutal weathered and battered Flanders has always been my idea of cycling country. Not for me that typical of all Italians Felice Gimondi, nor one of his contemparies at the time, the swarthy Giovanni Battaglin, and deffinately not that Wallonie Eddy Merckx!. No sir! My heros were the fearsome sprinter Freddy Maertens, harder-than-hard Marc De Meyer and Monsiure Paris-Roubaix himself, Roger De Valeminck. All Flandrians. All speaking Flemish and with a distaste for anything non Flandrian!
With the flat being in Oostende (that's how we spell it, you know!), so much has been possible and achieved I might add. Myself and four other agreeables assaulting this years Tour of Flanders has already been documented by Keith and quite superbly too. But I have a couple of little stories that for brief, but unforgettable moments, had me acting as though I was 18 all over again!
On the Friday before De Ronde and on my way to exchange some sterling for my increasing love of Euros, in anticipation of the Agreeables arriving a few hours later, I made my way from the flat up through Oostende towards the marina. It was then that I saw four cyclists pull up at a cafe across the road. Two were wearing the 'Metze' jerseys of the National Belgian Elite squad, one in Vlaanderen 2002 kit, the fourth......he was kitted out head to foot in Domo. He was also wearing an unmistakable bandanna; blue with a yellow lion. It wasn't; it could be; no, not here in Oostende, surely? He only lives 20 klm's down the road in Gistel, I suppose it could be him, stopping off for a coffee. Best have a look. So I crossed the road, sauntered past the caffe and , bloudy hell, it was him! Johane Museeuw was sitting in a caffe waiting for a coffee! Think, quickly, pen...no....paper.....no....this chance again....possibly not. Legs take over and run 800 metres to town center, take me into shop and......magazine....cycling magazine....Cyclo-Sprint.....perfect.....pen.....I don't have a clue what pen I want....one that writes for Gods sake woman.....yes I am English.....Just keep the bloody change....no I don't need a bag.....yes it is nice today....for Christ's sake woman, give me the ******* book and pen will you! Legs now running back up to caffe, 50 meters to caffe.....walk.....breathe deeply.....stop sweating......wipe brow.....calm down.....look nonchalantly into caffe....."Excusier Menheer" show mag and pen.....a smile.....he signs ..."danke ville menheer".....he passes back.....signed mag...."neen, danke" he replies. I had just seen and met Johane Museeuw, the true Lion of Flanders and for a few brief moments he was a mate, a fellow bikie. No sneering drunkard who forgets that it's the fans that put them on a pedestal and keep them there. He didn't bark that he was out with friends and didn't sign autographs when not in PR mode. I wanted to tell him that he was my hero, how I admired his courage, coming back from a smashed knee, then again from a motorcycle accident, how I cheered at the Roubaix velodrome the year previous, but there was no need. The sweat pouring down my forehead had told him that.
Alongside the Belgian canals run paths-roads that are a pleasure to ride and it's possible to go from Oostende, through Brugge to Ghent without touching a main road as such. I went for one such ride in the days between The Tour of Flanders and Ghent-Wevelgem. Having had some excellent coffee and 'gratis' biscuits, cake and pastry ( all I had to do was talk to the owner about Museeuw's dreadful luck in 'De Ronde') just west of Ghent, I retraced my rout back to Oostende via Brugge.
After a while, I heard the unmistakable sing of highly inflated tyres behind me, the sort of tyres that cost 40 quid a piece and take 140 psi as standard, you know the sort....They didn't pass me in a whoosh, indeed the sound was a gradual build up rather than a group out training and putting the hammer down. Then, in an instant, someone was alongside me, two of them in fact. Wearing US Postal blue, all I recognised were the trademark Oakleys. '"hoi" said Georgr Hincappie......In a voice resembling my denying stealing a Mars bar I said "no, I'm English, I'm on my honeymoon, I'm here to see the classics". "He's English, he's here to see the classics" he said as he turned to the others following. They were all there; Matt White, Tom Boonen, Cristian Van de Velde, and sitting at the back, now level alongside, Lance Armstrong. "Hi, you on honeymoon, cool, did you go see 'Flanders' " said the Texan in a voice softer than I would have tought. It seemed that 10 minutes past before I answered. " Yeah, I enjoyed it, my wifes a fan of yours". What? You Muppet Watts! You're riding along with Lance Armstrong and all you can say is that your wife is a fan of his! Does he think I'm not? Lance, come back, I like you too...honest! We chatted about me living in London and renting a flat in Ostende, how mild the weather was in Flnaders this Spring, small talk that two bikies would have when meeting on the road anywhere in the world. They said that they were turning off to go back to their hotel in Brugge and I wished them good luck in Ghent-Wevelgem. They in turn wished me luck and to enjoy the rest of my honeymoon.
There's a cobbled section coming into Oostende near the old railway that comes in from the direction of Brugge. They didn't shake me today; on the worse section, I didn't raise myself off the saddle now and again to ease the vibrations that only Flemish 'casselen' (Pave is in France). I was floating! Man, was I floating!
If only he was a Flandrian, now that would be cool!
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