Floundering In Flanders

A training session with current World Champion Erwin Vervecken, former World Champion Bart Wellens and the rest of the Fidea squad was the offer. Two seconds was the length of hesitation before packing my bags. Belgium, here we come.

The Pits
A couple of bikes and LCS/ProTournews director sportif John Mullineaux loaded in the car and we were off to Tessenderlo in Flanders, home to Ridley Bikes—equipment sponsors of Fidea, as well as Predictor-Lotto and Palmans-Collstrop. Our host for the weekend, Jan Geudens, did the meet-and-greet at the factory before pointing us in the direction of our hotel, unpromisingly named The Pits. You may wonder how a hotel with that moniker could be fully booked, but a classy restaurant overlooking the finishing straight of the Zolder motor racing circuit and a surfeit of business types holding meetings meant there was no room at the inn.

Zolder - local chain-gang

Having found alternative accommodation nearby, things started to look up. The racing circuit is open to cyclists, Tuesday and Thursday evenings, so we kitted up and hightailed down there. Armed with ‘cross bikes and knobbly tyres, we hit the tarmac and thrashed around for a few laps, a ragged string of some 30 Belgians hammering past us several times, desperately clinging to the wheel of the local chain-gang monster.

Searching for something a little more challenging, a brief diversion into the woods behind the hotel yielded some great tracks, the occasional deep sand keeping us on our toes, the fading light stopping play. An evening meal, one or two of Belgium’s finest beers—research purposes only, you understand—then an early night, ready for the big day.

An early morning whistle-stop tour of the Ridley factory with Jan, a quick drool over the gorgeous showroom bikes, then we were off to the hotel to meet the Fidea squad. Team manager Danny De Bie—1989 World Champion and undisputed king of the bunny-hop—introduced us to the riders, a mixture of youngsters, up-and-comers, and top-of the-worlders. The quiet: French-speaking espoir Quentin Bertholet, still getting to grips with the impenetrable Flemish language. The comtemplative: Vervecken, cool, calm and collected. The extrovert: Wellens, always talking, always joking.

And now De Bie dropped the big one. The team were doing an hour on the road and I was invited to join them. Despite assurances they would be taking it easy—“Just a gentle ride,” he said—I took the soft option and jumped in the team car. It looked easy enough from the back seat, the riders spinning low gears, chatting away and joking around. Wellens dropped back to discuss who would be paying for the cakes—team tradition dictating that whoever wins the previous weekend’s race gets a round in. It was only when John pointed out the speedometer hovering around the 40kph mark that I realised it was the correct decision to catch a lift, rather than be scraped off the tarmac and bundled unceremoniously into the back of the Fidea wagon.

Soak the journalist
Back at the hotel, the riders swapped over to off-road wheels and I got kitted out and joined them, some altogether disapproving glances coming in the direction of my Italian bike. Promising to trade it in for a Ridley the minute I got home, we hit the road and a game of ‘soak the journalist’ ensued. Wellens, Tom Meeusen and a couple of other young scamps displayed impressive bike-handling skills, pulling enormous broadside skids in the puddles, throwing huge sprays of rainwater through the air, mostly in my direction. How I laughed.

With Wellens at the front and me assuming my default position at the rear of the line, we hit the trails through the woods. It was the perfect training ground, with forest roads, muddy, technical climbs, slippery tree roots and swooping descents, all leading to a sand dune which most riders opted to run, the ever-watchful De Bie keeping an eye on proceedings from the crest of the hill.

Breathing like a walrus on heat
A few seconds adrift after the first lap and breathing like a walrus on heat, I stiffened my resolve and hammered off in pursuit of the pros, eventually making contact and settling down into some sort of rhythm. Lap two, and I’m up with the boys as we ascend the sand dune. “Think I’ve got the hang of this”, I cockily call out to John, photographing proceedings from his vantage point on the hill. Lap three, and there are a couple of riders behind me, making my comical attempt at a dismount in deep sand all the more humiliating. Lying in a crumpled, amateurish heap, a quick check behind revealed that none of the professionals had spotted my sprawl. A glance up the hill to check that John had no snaps of the crash, a straightened brake lever, then I was back on my way.

Total concentration was the only hope I had of sticking with these guys. Copying their line through the trickier sections seemed to work—a useful lesson for us mortals when we find ourselves following better riders. Thankfully, they were riding at a reasonable tempo, making it just about possible to hang in there. A couple more laps of the small circuit, then it was into the forest for a 30 minute loop before returning to the hotel for a shower and a well-earned lunch.

A couple of observations struck me as we chatted with the riders over pasta, coffee and cake. Finding myself adrift and ever-so slightly lost in the forest, the team sat up and waited for several minutes, a noble gesture to someone gate-crashing their training session. Returning to the changing room after a shower, Vervecken apologised to me for taking my seat and offered to move. That’s the Champion of the World apologising to me for being in the way! Cyclo-cross riders, whatever the level, really are the friendliest, most approachable people you could hope to meet. These guys are national heroes in Belgium, on a par with Premiership footballers in Britain, yet they are poles apart in terms of their grounded attitude to life, their humility and—I would imagine—their paypackets.

Great Belgian Things
Before I forget—and I know you were wondering—the cake was fabulous. So, when compiling your mental list of Great Belgian Things—Tin Tin, chocolate, beer, Plastic Bertrand, Breugels—you can add cake, Ridley Bikes and those very pleasant fellows at the Fidea Team.