Can A Professional Bike Fit Make You Look Like A Pro?

As cyclists, we enjoy the privilege of being able to get closer to the professionals than in almost any other sport. I’m unlikely to get the opportunity to drive Lewis Hamilton’s F1 car, or play a competitive match at Wembley, but I’ve ridden the bike that carried Alberto Contador to victory in the Vuelta Espana and have competed on the same battleground as the world’s best cyclists; the iconic roads of the Tour de France.

Many of our clients look forward to similar experiences: a new Trek Domane, as ridden by Fabian Cancellara, or a GPM10 training camp, covering some of the same roads as this year’s Tour. I celebrate these opportunities, but more troubling is the desire that many of us have for emulating the position and posture of the professional peloton. Let’s accept it, we’ve all tried to ‘look like a pro’ at some point in our cycling ‘career’.

I spent many years idolising the long, low position that has been favoured by professional cyclists for generations. I even sought out frames that would facilitate this fetish; short head-tubes, long top-tubes and extended, negatively orientated stems to get the front of the bike as low as possible, whilst I sat imperiously on a narrow, sparsely padded saddle.

Association Does Not Mean Causation

I analysed and deconstructed the professional’s approach to the sport, in an attempt to learn from and emulate them. Unfortunately, I fell into a trap; I identified an association and assumed causation. That is to say, I assumed that because the pros ride their bikes long and low, that must be helping them to ride fast and far. However, as I began to ascend the ladder of elite cycling and later studied the performance of riders objectively, I came to learn that, often, the truth is quite the opposite.

Many of the positions I admired did not result in optimum performance, even if I could adopt them. For me and likely for many professionals, whilst their position and posture on the bike worked, to some degree, it did not help them to realise their full potential. I’d always assumed that professional riders had all aspects of their training and riding dialed and tuned to maximise performance. How else could they achieve such incredible feats of speed and endurance?

Genetic Freaks

Now, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. Increasing numbers of professional cyclists are embracing evidence-based training methods, individualised nutrition plans and technological innovation. However, for many elite and professional cyclists, this approach represents the exception, not the rule. My bubble burst when I came to the realisation that the reason that many professional cyclists were so good was not down to scientific training and optimised biomechanics. In contrast they were, in the nicest way possible, genetic freaks - endurance monsters, who simply used their huge capacities to overcome all kinds of obstacles, and succeed, without bothering to even think about getting them out of the way.

It turned out that some of the professional cyclists I longed to emulate were very much like American cars. Their mechanics were outdated, the suspension was rubbish, aerodynamic qualities were questionable, but they had enormous engines. Their motors were so big, that they could power over any surface at incredible speed, blast through boulder sized cobblestones, poor biomechanics and still get across the line first. Unfortunately for me, where the professionals were blessed with turbo-charged V8s, I had a 4-cylinder and no amount of suspension lowering or tinted windows would get me to the Tour de France.

Grin And Bear It?

Most professional riders are incredibly genetically gifted. They combine this with hard work and tenacity, to ride to the top of the sport. Some riders optimise everything to reach this pinnacle. Others are happy with their level and choose not to change their position, because there doesn’t seem to be a good reason to; if it isn’t broke, why fix it? For other riders, their tolerance to pain is so high, that they simply grin and bear it, and still get the results. After all, professional riders aren’t getting paid to have a nice time!

For us mere mortals, who ride our bikes for fun, who are often time-limited, with lower pain thresholds and have engines that need all the help they can get - we need to look at every legal opportunity available to us. It was the realisation that I needed to get the most out of my motor that lead me to CycleFit, to begin optimsing my biomechanics to improve my performance. As an aspiring professional rider, getting a professional bike fit resulted in tangible gains in comfort and performance. Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough to land a good pro-contract, but today, whilst my stem may have a couple of spacers underneath, I’m more comfortable than ever and get more out of myself, in my limited training time, than I thought was possible. Similarly, my clients, whilst taking time to come round to the idea of stems ‘flipped-up’ and slightly longer head-tubes, consistently report being able to ride faster, further with less effort.

Headset Spacers: The Devil's Work?

The ‘pro look’ starts off with an assumption, that headset spacers are the devil’s work and that your saddle should be as high as possible; herein lies the problem with trying to look like a pro, for professionals and amateurs alike! The answer is to make the bike fit the rider, not force the rider to fit the bike. At Stephen James Cycles, with our CycleFit process, we start with a blank canvass, learn as much as we can about the rider, design a position and advise on posture, so that the cyclist can achieve their personal goals, even if the resulting position doesn’t conform to an aesthetic tradition. However, if your heart is set on slamming your stem, I have some simple advice: get a custom frame with an appropriately sized head-tube and/or start a regular and rigorous stretching routine!!

We may not be able to able to make you look like your favourite rider, but we will do everything we can to help you get the most out of yourself and the bike, achieve your goals and enjoy this wonderful sport.

This article first appeared at stephenjamescycles.co.uk

Professional Bike Fitting

About a year ago, I made the decision to focus my bike store, Stephen James Cycles, around professional bike fitting and mid to high-end road bikes. I put together this short video to explain what I spend a lot of time doing, these days!

Coffee, Cycling and Mobile Technology

“It’s all part of a lifestyle shift, there are currently three trends in particular: coffee, cycling and mobile technology.” Jeffrey Young, analyst at Allegra Strategies.

And there I was thinking I was special. I came across this quote recently, in a article I was reading on my iPhone, not long before I went out for a ride.

Of the people I know who ride bikes, a significant proportion exhibit an above average appreciation of coffee (sometimes known as an obsession) and many own some form of mobile device. It seems like coffee and cycling were made for each other. Take Michael Albasini, for example. The Swiss professional cyclist rides for a team sponsored by a mobile device manufacturer and likes nothing more than “playing with my coffee machine to make the perfect cappuccino or espresso” according to his profile on his bike sponsor’s website. Matt Seaton, author of three books on cycling writes of the “mysterious affinity between cafes, coffee and cycling". Olympic hero Chris Hoy set up his coffee machine and grinder (a Rocket Espresso Giotto Premium Plus machine with a Mazzer Mini grinder, if I’m not mistaken) in his hotel room during February’s Track World Cup event. There’s even a photo of Sir Chris looking very pleased with himself and the machine.

There seem to be a lot of people out there like me. It’s partly the reason that I began this blog. If you’re reading this on your iPhone, HTC or whatever, sipping an espresso, thinking about riding your bike later, you are not alone.

My Brother’s Bicycle Powered Washing Machine

Last year, my brother, Richard Hewitt, spent some time volunteering in an orphanage in Burundi, Central Africa. He brought back some coffee beans for me and a sack full of inspiration for his Product Design degree at Sheffield Hallam. I woke up this morning and read an excited text to say that his final year project is being reported on all over the world. It really is, I even found a report on a Japanese website. I couldn’t read it, but it looked cool.

My brother’s invented a belt-driven, washing machine tricycle. It’s a simple idea: fit the ‘SpinCycle’ design to the back of a tricycle, load it with dirty clothes, detergent and water, ride around for ten minutes, drain, add rinse water, ride around for another 10 minutes to complete the cycle. If you want to go the extra mile, you can also use it to spin-dry clothes.

This may sound like a long process, so I’ll let Rich take up the story. "One of the tasks I did at the orphanage was to wash around 30 loads of children's clothes by hand. This was extremely time-consuming and I thought 'There must be an easier way than this', and it set off a train of thought that led me to this idea. "They use bikes a lot there so I came up with the idea that it could become a micro-enterprise for people. As well as saving a lot of time, energy and water, people might also be able to make a little bit of money. "In the development stage I looked at making it into a trailer for a bicycle, but it made more sense to create a complete unit. By removing the aesthetic aspects the design could easily be simplified and made cheaper, and in terms of a workable product it's almost there."

Cycling is truly the world’s most beautiful sport, so I love to see ideas that mean a bit of pedaling can create far-reaching benefits for society. If you’re anywhere near Sheffield, today is the last day of his exhibition. You can find out more about the SpinCycle at Sheffield Hallam University's Creative Spark exhibition and if you have any questions for Rich, feel free to contact me via twitter and I’ll put you in touch with him.

Lessons from the bike: protein shakes and family life

These days, there are no grueling interval sessions on the horizon, there isn’t even a structured training programme, but I’d argue that recovery is even more important. A 100km ride now fatigues me as a 160km route once did and I don’t have the luxury of spending the day on the sofa when I return. I actually have to function as a civilised member of the society: husband and father, maker of coffee for wife, domestic chef and occasional nappy changer of young son.

In my late teens and early twenties (only six years ago!), I had the privilege of being a full-time racing cyclist. I wasn’t a pro, but managed to scrape enough money together to concentrate on riding my bike. I appreciated the time, as I was aware it might not last, but I still took some of it for granted. I’ve come to realise how selfish I was able to be. Rolling in after a 5 hour training ride, the rest of the day was my own and no-one cared whether I behaved like a human being. Recovery was about maximising performance tomorrow and in the days to come, whether that was training or racing, and that usually meant a protein shake, a few carbs and an afternoon spent in front of the TV.

How life changes. I’m beginning to ride again for fun and fitness, but now I have a wife and 16 week old baby. Following the end of my cycling career I finished my degree in Sports Science. Ironically, I’m probably in a better position to understand training, eating and recovering appropriately, than I was whilst racing. It’s interesting because, whilst my time spent racing full-time was selfish in some ways, riding my bike has equipped me with endurance and skills that continue to serve me well today, be it in a completely different context. I appreciate the benefits of trying to optimise nutrition even when you don’t have much energy, getting enough sleep, managing time and simply carrying on, even when you’re dog-tired. All good reasons to get out and ride your bike and my excuse for walking round with a protein shake, even though I haven’t pinned on a number since 2005!

The gateway drug to cycling

My dream was to ride Le Tour, but when it became clear that my lungs and legs were not up to the job, I consoled myself with the opportunity to cover two editions of the race for Pezcyclingnews. I had the (some would say) privilege of being close enough to be spattered by Floyd Landis’ sweat as he crossed the line a broken man, following his implosion on Stage 16. I managed to snap a photo, just a face and arm poking into the shot, as he rolled past me and into the arms of his soigneur.

My father - a newcomer to the sport - suggested that Floyd should just attack the next day, to recover his lost time. I scoffed and explained how feats like that were impossible in ‘modern cycling’. On the road to Morzine Floyd made a fool of me, dominating the stage and re-entering the race for the yellow jersey. It’s a great memory, providing I choose to ignore the unpleasant sub-text of the story.

I love the Giro, the Vuelta provides late season fireworks, but nothing can beat the the grandiosity, the drama, the three weeks of gladiatorial battles that make up the Tour de France. Channel 4 coverage of Tour was my gateway drug to cycling. I still get excited when I hear the classic theme tune. Thanks to the internet, you can still enjoy it. Thanks to hindsight, we can now appreciate the fact that, when this clip was filmed, the first face you see probably had blood thick enough to plaster a wall.



The uncertainty of the Tour de France is captivating, when experience lulls the viewer into a false sense of security, unexpected performances can be breathtaking. However, I’m beginning to get a tired of wondering whether the winner of the race will eventually be stripped of his title. Some may say that, should Contador start the race, this year’s edition of the Tour may be run under a cloud of suspicion. I’m not sure. We can’t insulate ourselves from all disappointment, just as we can never mitigate against all risk. I suggest, let’s not let fear of being let down hinder our enjoyment of the event. Come July, I’ll take my chances and allow myself to be captivated again.

Coffee, Cycling And Caffeine - I Love It

Cycling and coffee are like blood brothers. I love cycling and I love coffee, so whilst drinking my second coffee of the day on this rainy bank holiday afternoon, I thought I’d embrace my inner geek, calculate how much caffeine I’m pouring into my body and find out what some of the scientific community thinks about that.

These days, I’ve got into the habit of drinking 3, 300ml cafetiere/french press brewed cups each day. Despite my love for the little fellas, I’ve given up on espressos for now - at home at least. My machine is knackered thanks to limescale and neglect, and it wasn’t that great to start with.

According to the Harvard School of Public Heath, for the purposes of most studies, a cup of coffee is 227.3ml(8oz) with 100 mg of caffeine. So apparently, each of my 300ml cups contains 132mg of caffeine, making my average daily intake 396mg: equivalent to about 5 cans of Red Bull (but thankfully without the sugar) or about 8 Pro Plus tablets.

Obviously, the 100mg in an 8oz coffee is an estimation. Caffeine content varies considerably according to a number of factors including the variety of bean, roast level, temperature of water, brew temperature, length of brew time, grind level, beverage size, but this figure gives a rough idea. Our Harvard friends suggest that drinking up to six cups a day (1,363ml/4.5 of my cups) of coffee is not associated with increased risk of death from any cause. So I should be alright then... unless I got my numbers wrong or another study comes out.

If anyone actually reads this blog, I’d be interested to hear how much everyone else is drinking/consuming, if only to justify my own consumption/give me a reality check!

A Second Chance

After David Millar won the final time trial at the Giro yesterday, I was reminded of an interview I did with him as he was making his comeback in 2006. I read through the piece this morning, as I was sipping an excellent Bolivian coffee from Has Bean. I thought I'd re-post the abridged version here. Personally, I think Millar's story is a good illustration of the value of giving people a second chance and a great example of someone using it well.

(This article first appeared on Pezcyclingnews.com in 2006)

Despite the fact that he is still banned from competition, Britain’s David Millar is still very much a professional cyclist. We caught up with the Scot at his team’s first training camp in Spain and talked about his suspension, redemption and lots more...

Having recently signed with the Spanish ProTour team, Saunier Duval-Prodir, the former Tour de France yellow jersey holder is continuing his preparation for the French Grand Tour which will see his comeback. After leaving Biarritz to re-establish himself in England's Peak District, Millar has found rural life to his liking, perfect for logging the long miles before he returns to the start ramp.
Parlez vous Espanol?

Having ridden for the same French team for his entire professional career, David has made the move to a Spanish formation. The change highlighted the contrasting cultures between Saunier Duval and his former setup Cofidis. As the interview progresses, he hints at his desire for greater independence and a more mature approach to his life as a professional cyclist. “[At Saunier Duval] it’s completely different, it sounds cliché to say, but it’s chilled and relaxed, really effective, effortless professionalism. For me it’s the perfect environment. You don’t get baby-sat, they trust us”

Motivation

Returning from his two year ban, Millar is taking the modern notion of more training and a lighter competitive schedule to the extreme. In fact, none other than the Tour de France will mark his first return to racing. (Millar is able to compete after the courts backdated his ban to begin on the day he confessed, June 24th.) Could 'La Grande Boucle' be his salvation? I was interested to find out how David is staying motivated without any imminent competitive demands, until July. “It’s different than it’s had to be in the past, it was a constant pressure of racing, I’ve spent the last six months planning and I’ve got myself into a mindset now of being able to train and train and train.” In the past, David had a reputation for being fond of racing but less so of training. What changed? “It’s harder to do big training blocks when you’re racing, you’re so tired mentally” he said. “I can see now. When we used to race people would say 'how do amateurs go out on their bikes every day'. It’s actually easier than I thought it would be.”

Millar warms to his theme, appearing keen to share his fresh, more disciplined approach to preparation. “I have a structured programme leading me up to the Tour. It’s blocks of training. Kilometres for the next couple of months, then mountains, then time trial work.” Millar's former home was an stylish residence not far from the beach surrounded by idyllic training territory. Will 'Le Dandy', as he was once labelled, be able to stick it out in the North of England? “My pied à terre is going to be near Manchester, in the Peak District. Then I’ll switch between Spain for little training camps and also go with the team and train whilst they’re racing, just to break it up really. The only problem with the Peak District is the weather, it can be unpredictable and also you need a good group of Pros to train with for the level and the distance. I’ve been living in England just over a year now, it’s nice, I’m really loving it. I didn’t think I’d say that after living in France, in England everything is so much simpler. There’s a much more pragmatic way of going about things. When all the chips are down I’ll always go back to the UK. When I lost everything, that’s where I went back to regroup. I don’t have to modify my personality too much to fit in, where as in France you have to become French. I want to live abroad again just for my cycling to ride with other pros, that’s imperative. I think I’ll be back over here [in Spain] next year. I’m using this year to scout it out.”

The Comeback

Millar's very public drugs saga began when a leisurely dinner with his friend Dave Brailsford was interrupted by 'Les Stups'; the French drug squad. Despite his front-row view of Millar's fall from grace, the Performance Director of British Cycling, has provided public support, not ruling out that David may represent GB in the future. “Outside of British Cycling, he [Brailsford] was a personal friend before everything." Millar reveals. "That friendship comes first. Obviously, he’s had to distance himself professionally but that's completely normal. As soon as I’m back, I’ve paid my price and as long as they [British Cycling] stick to their guns, they’ll support me. That’s good to know.”

Speaking of friends, there’s nothing like hard times to sort the wheat from the chaff. We were interested to find out what happened to his following post suspension. “Actually, every single one of my friends stuck by me and if anything, I found more people supported me; especially in France, people who wouldn’t have come up and said hello, came up and expressed their support. I really didn’t expect that. I don’t think one person has come up and given me sh*t. They generally save that for letters. My friends and family have been enormous through it all.”

I learned that David had been working with a University in Britain, specifically as a subject at Cardiff University for a Phd study. “It was all on a King-cycle [stationary bike for power measurement]. It was hard, really hard. I came out of it shattered. It was good for me because it was in that kind of dead period in October and November and it was a dilemma as to how we would tackle it. I was basically a guinea pig.”

This was a far cry from the Millar of old, reported to have shunned heart rate monitors and power meters in favour of a traditional approach based on ‘feel’ but was this simply a caricature? “They raced me so much when I was a young pro that I’d never get more than 10 days without racing. You can’t do structured training. Cycling has changed a bit now. Training is becoming more important. I’ve got a lot more respect for it now. I’ve had to with the situation I’ve got myself into. It’s all I can do now. I do believe that if you do it all properly, you can win the biggest races without drugs.”

His thoughts on what it takes to win the biggest bike races are encouraging and, we hope, realistic. “You need the engine, you need the workload, the right trainer and be able to pick your goals properly. As you get older you get better at doing it, increasing the workload. Guys with the bigger engines have to train harder so you have to have the head to do it. For me it’s taken until I’m a bit older to be able to absorb that workload week in week out. It’s pushing through those days that you’re shattered, that's when it’s hard.”

Before his ban, David was making more regular appearances on the track. Is a return to the boards and bikes with no brakes was on the cards? “I’d like to, just for fun, maybe World Cups, I’d like to do the Team Pursuit, it’s such a cool event. I want to just enjoy it when I go back. Maybe do some track races in the winter and see what happens. I’d like to do the hour record as well and get more and more time on the boards to get the technique down. We’ve got such a great facility [at Manchester].” After being well known for his interest in clothes and fashion, a fan recently suggested he return to racing on the track before his ban expires, perhaps by donning a crafty disguise, a beard or moustache. Does the idea appeal? “No, the problem is that everybody would spot me a mile off! I’d have to change my position and everything!”

Do As I Say – Not As I Do

Before his 'mistake' David's story was an inspiration to many young cyclists; an example of someone who made the move to the continent as a teenager and graduated from the amateur ranks to enjoy a successful professional career. In light of his experience, what is his advice to young riders aspiring to pro careers? How can they avoid the pitfalls to which he succumbed? Millar’s response is emphatic. “F*@^in‚ don’t take drugs, that’s number one, you don’t need to. You can win the biggest races without drugs. I’ve done it. It’s just greed and that brief period of my life when my morals were a bit 'left field' if you like that made me do it. Secondly, it’s to understand the amount of work it’s going to take. If you’ve got a big engine and you’re super talented you’re going to have to work so hard. It doesn’t come easy even for the best of these guys. There’s a lot of suffering and a lot of time by yourself. From that first year amateur, the first four years are hard, your friends are going to be at university, you’re not going to be partying, you’re not going to be drinking, you’re going to be lonely but once a month, you’re going to have a day in a race where it makes it worthwhile. Stick at it because once you get through that, then you can come out of it and it’s all worthwhile.”

Keep an eye out for the Scot this July. Whatever his result, we hope this Millar time marks a redemptive new chapter in his turbulent tale.

"When the goal of a ride is about the experience..."

In 2005 I was living in the South of France and desperate to become a professional cyclist. My days were spent eating, riding, sleeping, counting my watts, watching my calories and, in my spare time, working for a bike touring company to fund my quest.

I often guided our North American guests on rides around the local area. They were captivated by the beauty of the region, happy to dawdle around, stop at a boulangerie, cruise through the vineyards. I couldn’t relate, lost in my world of aerobic thresholds and PowerTaps. A year later, after a series of crashes, illnesses and with the stinging realisation that I didn’t have the physical capacity to make it as a professional cyclist, I returned to university in England. To me, cycling had become a rigorous, ascetic, scientific exercise and, now it was clear that I’d never reach my goal, I had no desire to pursue it further.

I stayed in touch with what was happening in the cycling world but began to sleep in longer, enjoy an extra coffee on a Sunday morning in place of heading out for a training ride, or speeding off in the car to another non-descript amateur race. My road bike began gathering dust, tires deflating slowly as it languished in the spare room.

The variety was refreshing, but it didn’t take much to revive old memories: walking past a group of cyclists gathering on campus before a ride, watching the Tour de France. Despite this, it was the end of 2010 before I turned a pedal with any sense of purpose. This time, there was no PowerTap, no heart rate monitor, no cadence sensor. I adjusted the gears on my old 9-speed Dura-Ace and headed out for a ride. I dawdled through the lanes, took in gulps of cold winter air and let my head write a few cheques on the hills that my body was in no state to cash.

To some an over-hyped poser’s brand, to others the embodiment of epic authenticity; whatever you think of Rapha, I couldn’t agree more with their assertion that “When the goal of a ride is about the experience instead of the speed or the distance, it changes everything.”

Rapha Continental – The Movie from RAPHA on Vimeo.

Chasing Flanders

The morning dawns wet, windy and inimitably Flemish. I find myself rushing through the cobbled streets of Brugge trying to track down the office where I’m to pick up press accreditation. It was a fitting start to a day that would be characterized by many mad dashes scouting for vantage points to see 'De Ronde'; Belgium's most important bike race.

Our chaperone for the day was Andy Deschuyffeleer, Bert Roesem’s father in law. Bert, the former Belgian Time Trial Champion and all round hard man would be spending the day riding in support of Peter Van Petegem. They say daughters always marry a man like their father. Andy is a true Flemand, hewn from granite, a road racing fanatic and expert in the art of locating the climbs and cobbled roads that make the ‘Ronde’ so distinctive and notoriously difficult.

I collect my press pass and sticker accreditation for the car and feel smug as I breeze past the stewards, wolf down breakfast and check the batteries on my camera. I grab a strong black coffee and head out into the rain to meet Andy at the Davitamon Lotto team bus. The riders’ paddock is a few hundred metres from the start in the centre of Brugge. Throngs of staff, riders and sponsors congeal around the team’s vehicles. Mechanics make last minute checks, click gears earnestly and lubricate chains with bikes mounted on workshop stands suspended like art house installations. The machines will take a beating on the unforgiving roads today. I give Andy a call on my mobile and it dawns on me that I’ve never met him and don’t know what he looks like. It turns out that he’s standing right next to me and we both share the first of many laughs that day. We also meet Inge, Bert’s wife who will be joining us on the adventure. Andy quickly shares the agenda for the day, eager to map out the route and barely able to conceal his enthusiasm as he spreads the chart on the bonnet of the car. They must be born with a passion for bike racing in Flanders. Andy wastes no time in introducing me to the team’s staff and the managing director of Omega-pharma, one of the biggest sponsors of the team. He is an avid fan, “maybe too much” Inge whispers knowingly. We look for Bert but he is encased in the team bus behind tinted glass for the top secret team meeting. I ask Inge how Bert is riding. “He is riding well” she says “but today everything is for Peter van Petegem.”

Time to go. We sprint to the car as the riders make their way to the start so we can get to our first observation point on the course. “We’ll try to see the race 9 times” says Andy. “A few years ago watching the Ronde was like a race. We used to be able to see it 15 times but we had to drive really fast.” “Now...” he says, suddenly deflated, “we have to watch out for the police because they are really looking for fans speeding to see the race.”

Despite Andy’s reservations about the strong arm of the law he still seems to have a liberal approach to speed limits. After darting through side streets we pass between the barriers and onto the race route. Speeding ahead of the race we pull over for our first of the nine stops along the route. “You have to make sure you stop on the right side of the road” says Bert. “If you don’t, you’ll get blocked off after the race passes.” The publicity caravan speeds by, soon followed by the race. The peloton is together but there are a few stragglers, the survivors of an earlier crash. We jump back into the Peugeot to continue the race of our own.

Back on the course we negotiate with a roadside steward who seems less than happy about letting us pass by. Well actually, Andy negotiates, delivering an authoritative speech in Flemish which seems to satisfy the official. “You can’t hesitate” says Andy, now dispensing advice for dealing with authority figures. Before we know it we are back on the race route and dash through on our way to Ichtegem, our next port of call. Suddenly we spot a flash of red around the corner. Andy brakes and we come to a quick stop. A marching band is making its way through the town just ahead of the race. We let it pass, stop by the side of the road and take the opportunity to snap a few shots before we accelerate off again.The whole of Flanders is partying!

At Ichtegem we find our spot and watch the race pass. The crowd goes mad shouting support for their local heroes. The cries of Van Petegem, Boonen and local hero Roesems are still reverberating in our ears as we head off in pursuit of a vantage point to see the riders tackle the feared cobble stones. These boulders that make up the road surface are the size of baby’s heads and won’t hesitate to crack bones and bikes should a rider fall or take the wrong line. Cobbled sections are strewn over the entire course, breaking the rhythm and testing the nerve of the riders. Before the start I asked Inge if she was nervous for her husband as he sped over the cobbled sections of the race, forced to stay near the front and take risks to protect his team leader. “Yes” she said. “Especially if they are wet.” By this point in the day the rain has passed but the roads still retain a film of moisture giving them an ominous sheen.

We reach the cobbles but already the publicity caravan is hot on our tail. The escort motorbikes are sitting on the bumper of the car with sirens blaring so we pull to the side of the road and persuade a group of fans to let us use their driveway for a temporary parking lot. It seems we’re not the only ones with that idea as a VIP car squeezes in front of us. It turns out that one of the passengers is the former editor the newspaper Het Nieuwsblad, who also sponsor and organise the race. Even in retirement, De Ronde still holds a special place in his heart. “Everybody comes to watch the race, old and young. It’s an important part of the culture.” he says. The stop also provides a good opportunity to sample another Belgian tradition and we enjoy a couple of cold dark beers from the freezer bag Andy has stashed in the car.

The circling helicopter signals the approach of the race and we lean out into the road to see the riders speeding by. By now a small break has formed and the crowd goes crazy again as they pass. This leading group benefits from being able to ride on the crest of the cobbles where the surface, whilst far from smooth, is at least more consistent. The riders, like modern day gladiators, battle across the roads that wind through the fields of Flanders, jostling for position and splashing mud on the spectators. The riders affectionately call this dirt ‘Belgian toothpaste’ and the locals love it. I ask Andy what makes the Belgian fans special. “They really know racing” he says. “In France they cheer for everyone but in Belgium they support the strong riders. They understand what is happening.” “We love this race!” says one fan with slurred speech more a consequence of the half empty beer in his hand than the language barrier. I ask who will win today. The question provokes a flurry of debate. “Boonen!” shouts one, “No, Peter van Petegem!” We lean out into the road again and I narrowly miss getting my face rearranged by a motorbike as it squeezes past a group of riders. The group passes close to the fans and Inge spots Bert. We’ve heard that he’s been working hard for van Petegem all day and he still maintains a good position in the peloton. We have to push our way back through the crowds to get to our next stop in time.

On the way we turn on to a tiny road barely wide enough for the car. Andy accelerates and soon we’re bouncing over the uneven road. Inge acts as a navigator; they could start their own rally team. We arrive at the ‘Oude Kwaremont’ and Andy pulls onto the verge. Paolo Bettini leads the group followed by Erik Zabel, the veteran German's face set in an inscrutable expression. Andy stops to chat with a Davitamon mechanic who is waiting with some spare wheels. By now we can see the fatigue in the rider’s eyes and legs. I watch them pass with interest. The pedalling has lost its fluid motion and jaws are slack with mouths hung open. We climb back in the car and attempt to pull back onto the road but it’s clear that the wheels have sunk into the mud. Not to worry, Inge and I are helped by a couple of spectators. We’re soon on our way but not before a few people are sprayed with a liberal coating of 'toothpaste' from the tires.

The race is nearing its end. We drive to the finish and find Andy’s gift of the gab has bagged us a parking space next to the team buses. The barriers keep out the other spectators but we arrive just as Boonen and Hoste are approaching the final kilometre. By this point, it's impossible to find a spot to view the finale. A sea of people are compressed across the railings. However, Andy isn’t going to let a few thousand fans stop him seeing his son in law finish this monument of the sport. He wastes no time in scaling a nearby scaffolding to secure his observation point.

Soon we find out the favourite, Boonen, has taken the win. The finish area is a cacophony of noise. Hoste arrives a close second and George Hincapie takes the third step of the podium for the Discovery team. Bert’s team mate Peter Van Petegem finishes a disappointing fourth. Van Petegem’s wife is in tears beside the team bus. She knows the sacrifice, the hours spent pounding the roads and days away from home that went into preparing for this event. Bert himself comes in twenty third, covered in mud and looking dog tired. A good result considering the massive amount of work he contributed for his team leader. I ask him about the race and despite the fatigue he shares a few words. “It was a hard day but I had good legs.” Boonen was just too strong. Suddenly, we realise the time. We make our final dash to the car, we only have two hours to reach Calais. Accelerating away, leaving Flanders behind, we carry hapy memories and a spattering of Belgian toothpaste for the ferry home.

(This article first featured on Pezcyclingnews.com)