Hell and Back

I rode to Roubaix yesterday to see the famed finish of the Paris-Roubaix bike race. Paris-Roubaix is a 160ish mile race that happens every April, it is considered by most to be the hardest one-day bike race. It was fitting, then, that my ride to it's finish and back was one one of the hardest I've ever one. From Gent, Roubaix is about 50 miles southwest. The Leie River runs directly there and, being Belgium, there i a bike path along the river bank. Also very Belgian is the constant head and cross winds that blow all the way there. Below is a picture of Donny in the wind, note the angle of his body to the ground.

Going there we averaged something like 12 miles per hour, normally I think we would average 18. It was very windy. Donny was feeling good all day and pushed the pace. I knew I was not feeling good and ate and drank as frequently as I could. Feeding was difficult though because I couldn't ride no-hands for fear of being blown over.

We reached France and the weather cleared up. Having no actual directions, we consulted a bus station map. Soon we were there, the Roubaix Velodrome. Because there was a cyclocross race there the previous day the gates were open for maintenance workers, and we slipped into the hallowed grounds. The velodrome and it's surrounding grounds are very neat and well kept. The manicured infield and array of flags lend it the feel of a classical stadium, a place for civilized sport. I guess it's irony that makes it such a suitable finish for Paris-Roubaix. The racers ride into the velodrome bleeding and plastered with mud and the fans applaud from the covered stands, snacking on fries and croissant.

Donny and I had no such greeting. We rode a few laps on the track and set off again.

This was a great time to get lost and we took the opportunity. With a nice detour, we eventually got back on the river bike path and made haste to get home before dark. Donny got a couple flat tires and both of us ran out of food. A tail wind helped us along. It was clear we would have an hour of riding in the dark. Crossing the bridge into Gent a switch flipped somewhere and my body and mind started shutting down. We had started at 11:00 and we reached Gent at 6:00. I was running on fumes. Donny remained upbeat, thrilled to be having a day of boundless energy. I was less thrilled to hear about it. The final challenge of the day was getting my cursed keys out of my cursed pocket and into the cursed lock. All of this cursing was merely mumbled of course, I has long since resorted to grunting to communicate.