Greetz van Vlaanderen!

This might be a massive entry, since I have a lot to catch up on, and a lot of pictures to post. I could break it up, I suppose, but you can just decide how much you want to read. I'll start with today and work backwards. Or rather, I'll start with tomorrow and work backwards, since tomorrow is my first race.

Aardooie is probably a decent race to start with. It sounds like it's not incredibly technical, and is normally a fast race. On the other hand, it's Belgium, and it's been raining all day today. So whatever. My goal is to not have a goal. I'm just going to warm up like I always do, start where ever they line me up, and ride hard for an hour.

Today I did a 'cross workout on a permanent 'cross course (complete with signs for the turns) in Lichtaart. Now, that would be cool enough, but imagine showing up to do your workout and finding 50 other people already there doing the same thing, and 10-15 people walking around watching. It was like after school football practice. The kids have a 1/2 day on Wednesday, and there were 25 10-14 year olds just ripping around the course. And I mean ripping. It reminded me of when I first learned to cross country ski, and 90-pound 10-year-olds would pole by me while I was struggling just to make myself move forward.

I tried to do an opening up workout, but I felt slow. I slept 12 hours last night, and didn't wake up until noon. The day before, after flying all night and only sleeping a few hours, I got dragged on a 2.5 hour road ride that was about 1.5 hours too long, and just a little too hard. My legs feel good, but I'm dragging.

So far, Belgium's been great. I'm staying with Sten Raeymakers, who came over to the US a couple of times before to race. Sten is close friends with Erwin Vervecken, who lives in the next town, and it was Erwin who brought him over to the US when they came the first time. Sten and I have stayed friends since then, and I stayed with him the last time I came to Belgium for meetings and races.

I already brushed my teeth and got into bed. But I am STARVING!

Sten lives 13 kilometers from the Westmalle Abbey, where they make, duh, Westmalle beer. The Westmalle Tripel was one of the first Trappist beers beyond Chimay that really stoked my interest in Belgian beer. Sadly, you can't tour the brewery, but you can get Westmalle everywhere. Including the restaurant attached to Sten's house where he works, and where I get to go eat all my meals. I may have had a dubbel with dinner tonight. It's going to be hard to stick to my one beer per week rule that I've been doing a mostly good job with this fall.

Last Sunday night after Gloucester I actually finally drank the Westvleteren 12 that Liz Hatch brought back for me last time she was over here:

The 12 is also known as the Abbot or Abt 12, and is considered the Holy Grail of beer due to the fact that you can generally only get it on site at the St. Sixtus Abbey in Westvleteren, only on certain days, and only when it happens to be available. They do not distribute it for resale, although occasionally people get their hands on some, and you can allegedly always find it at the bar across the street from the abbey. When Liz told me she brought this bottle home for me, I actually choked up and got misty. It was a sweet thing to do, and the kind of gift that not everyone can appreciate. Very special.

The beer tasted, not surprisingly, a lot like the St. Bernardus Abt 12. St. Bernardus is just down the street and at one point brewed beer for commercial distribution for the abbey, under the St. Sixtus label. Now they brew their own beer in the abbey style, and it's probably my favorite Belgian brewery. Like the St. Bernardus, the Westvleteren 12 was malty and dark, almost creamy. At 11% ABV, you can taste the alcohol, and the whole thing really lights up the back of your mouth. The main difference I noticed was that the Westvleteren had a very different finish. Sharp, but not bitter or hoppy. My beer palate still isn't developed enough to really put my finger on what it was or how to describe it. I could only note it and be happy that my taste was evolving to the point of being able to pick things like that out.

I shared the 11.2 oz beer with Janice, which made it that much more enjoyable. She even let me finish hers, with all the glorious, unfiltered sediment swirling in her glass.

So, Gloucester then. I would describe the weekend as going "fairly." My goal was to be top 10 both days, and I achieved that, if only barely. I'm satisfied, which is a step down from happy, but still a good place to be. Top 10 in a race like this is the par I expect from myself, so it was good to put in solid rides and build a little confidence before I left for Europe. I was hoping to be able to follow the leaders, but a little bad luck, some fear, and rusty pipes from the big rest week kept me in my place. They were decent rides, and I shouldn't complain about being top 10. I got a few pics on Cyclingnews, and that's always good for the sponsors.

I think a couple of riders who had some decent rides up in Vermont while I was down and out got it in their heads that they were going to come to Gloucester and really do something. People were being really pushy in the start both days, trying to move up in turns when there were no gaps, and then making gaps themselves after using so much energy to barge their way to wheels they couldn't hold. It was annoying.

Sunday I had the guy in front of me slide out in a turn, crash, and take me off the group not once, but TWICE! I had started well and was solid and comfortable in the 2nd group at the end of the first lap, with only 5 guys up the road. I drifted to the back of the group as we went through the start finish line, and then on the way down the s-turns on the grass, Mike Gallagher was pushing way too hard to stay on the wheels and slid out like he was on a moto gp bike at 200 mph. It took me all the way to the fence as I tried to go around him, and with one foot out I eventually had to kick his bike back to keep it from completely leg sweeping me to the ground. That gapped me enough that I couldn't jump back across, and had to settle in with the next group that came by.

In that group, Justin Spinelli was motivated and pulling hard, just like the day before. He was going really well all weekend. I was feeling much better the second day, and wanted that group back pretty badly. Justin pulled for a while, and then as we were taking the U-turn just past the pit, and very close to making contact, Justin also slid out. He saved it, but the force of the slide then rolled his tire, and he went down the same way Gallagher did, and took me all the way to the tape the same way Gallagher did. I managed to chase back on to the group, but now that Justin's engine was gone and I was gassed from chasing twice, I knew I was stuck in this group for a little while, and I was going to have to hope some guys came back from the group in front of us, as opposed to going up and across to them.

Josh Dillon seemed like he might be the strongest guy in our group, and with 3 laps to go he punched it a few times and managed to separate himself. I was able to cover, and with everyone else in the group dropped, and 3 riders just up the road within sight, this was the point of the race I was waiting for. Josh and I were racing for 10th, and the last UCI point, but if we caught the guys up the road, we'd be potentially racing for 7th. So when Josh waved for me to come through, by all means, I pulled through. I wanted 7th place.

I finished my pull as we came onto the pavement with 2 to go, and I swung off expecting Josh to take his turn, Instead, he thought this was his only chance for 10th place, and attacked me. I cannot express to you how fucking pissed I was. Part of me wanted to chase him down just so I could punch him. All I could think about was how dumb he was for attacking me, how dumb did he think I was for taking a pull if I thought I wasn't going to be able to cover an attack, and how badly I was now going to beat him in the sprint. If he was going to ruin our chance to be racing for 7th, then I damn well was not going to lose the sprint to him for 10th.

I covered his attack as if it was my last effort of the day. And from there, I was racing against him, and only him. He started the war, when up to that point we should have been allies in our pursuit of the 3 riders in front of us. So I sat on. When he slowed, I slowed. And when he accelerated, I accelerated. About half way through the lap, I saw that the riders we had dropped when he had attacked previously were catching us back. I didn't care. Not only did I not care, I started to taunt Josh with it. "Too bad you attacked me back there, Josh. Now those guys are going to catch us, and instead of sprinting against 4 guys for 7th, you're going to be sprinting against 3 guys for 10th. And I can beat every one of you in the sprint."

"Oh well," was Josh's reply.

Sure enough, out of the sand pit we were caught by Matt O'Keefe and Osmond Bakker. Matt did exactly the right thing, and immediately attacked, and I was able to catch his wheel as he came by. I had no problem covering, and assumed the whole last lap would be like this. Sure enough, when we hit the pavement and got 1 to go, Josh countered from behind. The sun was at our backs on this section, so I had been watching the shadows of the riders behind me on the ground in front of me. When Josh came by, not only had I seen him getting ready to go, I also heard him coming in anticipation. I had already started accelerating before he even got to me, and covered the attack without hesitation. It was damn hard, and it popped Matt and Osmond, but I wasn't going to get dropped until there was blood coming out of my ears.

At the top of the run up, Josh dropped his chain either from putting his bike down too hard, or perhaps at the start of the run when he dismounted. I was back on and clipped in, and he was running next to his bike in front of me trying to fix it. I went to attack right then and figured I should at least make his life more difficult, but he moved over to the side I was passing him on, mostly likely, I thought to get out of my way rather than to intentionally block me, but either way it was a shoulder block that almost knocked me off my bike, and certainly put a dent in my attack. It was only 2 turns later that he was back on my wheel.

No matter. I rode S L O W. I wasn't in a hurry. The more recovered I was, the better to either cover his attacks, or beat him in the sprint. He passed me at his first opportunity and tried to raise the tempo. I followed, but it was obvious he was no longer 100%. Coming into the last section of tight turns before the sand, I attacked myself, in order to control that section from the front. Josh raced me to the turn, but I had the inside, and no plans to back off. It wasn't the best line for the turn, but Josh's options were to back off or crash. Once I had the front, I took the turns as fast but comfortable speed. I didn't want to apply any pressure, and I didn't want to make a mistake. I just wanted to lead, and get closer to the sprint.

As we exited the sand, I had actually put a gap on him, and was already clipped in to my pedals when I looked back and saw him still fumbling to get back on and into his. I hit it a little; not enough to try to make it to the finish from there, but enough that he was going to have to dig to get me back. He made one more attempt to pass before the last up and down technical section, but again I beat him to the inside of the turn, and controlled the tempo. I ripped the turns, didn't take any risks, and waiting for the final attack.

He decided not to wait for the pavement, and passed me on the grass before the last turn. It was like I wrote a script he didn't know he was following. He started his sprint so early, pretty much as soon as we were safely through the corner and on to the pavement. I sat there behind him for a little bit and let him sprint.

For a sprinter, the sprint often goes in slow motion. Things slow down, and seconds drip. You have this clarity, this patient vision of how things are going to go. Josh was sprinting as hard as he could; I was gently debating with myself which side to go on. I wanted to go on the left, but we were already on the left side, and it would be easy for him to shut to the door on me. I started to switch to the right, but since the road curved to the left, the right was the long way. I decided that not only was I going to beat him, but I was going to beat him by going through the narrow side and making a point. Mind you, that whole conversation with myself took about 1-2 seconds, and over 1000 watts.

So I hit up the left and took the sprint for 10th, the final UCI point, and the battle of egos. Apparently Josh still must have thought he was going to win the sprint, as I was told he was smashing his handlebars behind me and making a show of it like it was Sean Kelly in the '80's or something. Now don't get me wrong - I really like Josh. This happened in a race, and while I'm blogging about it here, it stays in the race for me. It has nothing to do with who Josh is as a person, his moral worth, or his place in society. I hope we can have a beer and laugh about it later. But DUDE! Are you serious? You made bad decision after bad decision, and got beat by a tactical Grandmaster - a practitioner of cycling judo. You pushed, I pulled. I used all your efforts against you. And that is what makes bike racing absolutely beautiful.

Bed now. Ardooie tomorrow. I expect to get slaughtered, but I know so many of you are psyched that I'm here and want me to do well. It really means a lot. I'll try to remember that when I'm on the start line wondering what the hell I'm doing.

Thanks to Mark Suprenant for those Gloucester photos, by the way. Dave Chiu took some great ones, too, that made it up on Cyclingnews. So thanks to him for making me look skinny:

http://www.cyclingnews.com/cross.php?id=/photos/2008/oct08/gloucester08/gloucester084/002-dchiu-2008gcx02-amyerson