Shelley Cycles

Recently the Wanderly Wagon (population 2) has mostly been over training, sick and crashing and Belgium is raining on our parade – literally, non-stop precipitation.

Apparently it has been the coldest April in Belgium since the beginning of time (slight exaggeration, maybe). This time last year I was the proud owner of one very prominent panda tan! This year I am confronted by scenes that remind me of monsoon rains in Singapore. Rains that had me trapped in a bar forced to consume countless Singapore Slings – sure you couldn’t go out in that!! Oh how times have changed – now I’m out training and racing in that, not to mention being kept awake all night as it pelts relentlessly off the camper.

A few weeks ago I hit some really good form which had progressed nicely through the preceding weeks. The spring races in Waregem and Gent-Wevelgem showed the progression and then GP de Dottignies, 133km at world cup level, confirmed that I was on my way back. I was finally starting to feel like a bike rider again for the first time in a long long time. The flat, sluggish sensations of the early season were gone and I was racing- finally!

With my trusted coach unavailable for a few weeks I was left to my own devices – never a good thing. Instead of taking my new found form and letting it slowly develop with the right mix of rest, recovery and training I went at it all guns blazing and successfully drove myself into the ground and two weeks of being run down and sick. I even went to Luxembourg, complete with chest infection, to train in the hills. As you can imagine it was very successful. Luxembourg has some really nice roads though and some really cheap diesel. And no, we did not meet the Shlecky Schlecks out training, in fact we didn’t meet anyone out training. I don’t think anyone actually lives there!!!

Luxembourg

Should I have known better – yes. Do I know better – yes. As Dr Hutch put it, “Most of us are no more likely to recognise that we’re doing too much than we are to wake up one morning and decide over breakfast that really we’re rude, ugly and our breath smells”. Why did I persist with hard races and training sessions when I felt crappy and was drowning in my own phlegm – well racing is about ignoring that voice in your head that pleads with you to “make the bad man stop” and you get really good at it. Come to think of it – a couple of good sessions with a psychiatrist would probably sort me right out!! Anyway a long conversation with my coach Scott and it has been decided that I will be staying on the leash, never again to be left to my own devices!!!

Now for the crashing – enter The Wobble. As mentioned the weather has been all about the rain and cold in Belgium for the last couple of weeks so it was with a large degree of smugness that I settled down in the camper, on the start/finish line, with cup of tea in hand to watch the Wobble suffer in the rain. Second time through the start/finish and it was lined out in the gutter with a savage cross wind (although if you believe the Belgians it can never be windy and wet at the same time!!). I rolled down the window to shout some encouragement from the comfort of my swivel chair. Next lap and I had the wipers going full speed to try and see the race passing – no Wobble – probably just missed him. I didn’t spot him on the next lap either. Some scrambling at the camper door revealed a broken Wobble. Well maybe not broken but bruised and bloodied.

I was heading to Dries later that night for a massage so he had a look at the Wobble’s war wounds and decided he would live but suggested that we pick up something from a friend of his (enter the witch doctor – just kidding) to help the healing process. Four little bottles to be consumed over the next four nights. What could be in these magical vials. A glance at the leaflet revealed that among other things they contained horse’s tail and devils claw!!!

The following morning and to our relief not a single neigh out of the Wobble. We had made a hurried return from Luxembourg after a call from Nico informed me that the team had gotten a late entry at GP Stad Roeselare. Having had some really bad luck at Halle Buzingen the weekend before, a race where I was really expecting to have a good performance, I jumped at the chance. The chest infection was a minor obstacle!!!!

At Halle Buzingen I had gotten caught up in a massive pile-up. Our team car was at the back of the cavalcade and wasn’t informed that I was involved in the crash. As a result I was stood on the side of the road for an age and was probably ten minutes behind the peleton when I finally got back on my bike. Nico kept telling me not to panic. A few minutes later and his brother was hanging out the window of the car propelling me along at high speed. I had never done this before and was a bit apprehensive about the whole thing but I went with it, I desperately wanted to get back into this race. It wasn’t to be however. The peleton had been flying with a tail wind when the crash happened and even with the car I wasn’t getting back on. A motorbike commissaire put an end to the chase in spite of some angry retort from Nico.

Disgruntled Turtle

So I stood on the start line in Roeselare wearing half my wardrobe and, if the team presentation photo is anything to go by, looking like a disgruntled turtle. It was raining, of course. The first hour of the race was like Disney On Ice. Nobody was safe. Riders were going down on every bend and corner we took. I got caught in another crash right before the Kemmelberg and although I managed to chase hard, through the coughing and spluttering, to regain the back of the peleton by the top, I descended like my grandmother and lost them again. Race over. It was about this time I decided that my decision-making was questionable at best. How I thought I could race at this level when I was struggling to just breathe is beyond me. I’m not even that much of an optimist. I needed the Scott man!!!

Cobbled climbs and phlegm don’t mix

Thankfully Scott is now making all my decisions for me and things are already on the up. I did have a little spill when out training in the rain (only slightly embarrassing). The result was a very, very tight leg. Dries suggested that I go to Liesbeth (hitherto jokingly referred to as the witch doctor but actually as I discovered a very nice, and more importantly, very good chiro/osteopath). Anyway in short I went in a twisted tangled mess and an hour later after a lot of cracking and stretching I was no longer blocked. I was however, much to my surprise, absolutely wrecked!!! I felt like I had done a five hour spin or something. I was in bits for days and training and racing were not going well. I felt like I had been run over by a train. I have now had a second session and apparently things are looking much better and everything I was feeling was actually a good sign that my body was reacting strongly to heal itself. With some really big races coming up I hope that is the case. For now I think I will be a little bit more sensible and take it easy for a day or two to let this session settle.

Pre-riding Kermis course with the Wobble – probably the only time I was in the drops!!!!

Now for a little aside. About two weeks ago I got a very late call and then a very early call from the Mammy. The Mammy is getting into the cycling and has come a long way from trying to hand out bottles to her crazy daughter in Belgium a few years ago to today when she watches the odd race on Eurosport without me to inflict it on her and heads out on the bike for an hour or sometimes more. Anyway she had decided to do her first race (she insisted on calling a race even though I went to great lengths explaining that it was a sportive!!!). Anyway she wanted to know what to wear, what to bring, what to eat. She was suitably horrified when I suggested that she eat cake or a snickers bar before the start. Anyway armed with a bottle and two bananas she successfully completed the 60 odd kilometre course and despite every cyclists enemy, the wind, she had a pretty great time. She hooked up with some of the other women on the route and knew their life stories by the finish!!!! She even got her photo in the Observer. Thankfully she had worn full make up for the race (her words not mine). Next challenge for the Mammy, the Ring of Kerry. Do it!!!!!

Race day and as the Wobble had deserted me at one in the morning to go to the airport my team mate Annelies picked me up at ten and we set off for Dottignies. We arrived three hours before the race, an hour early, not ideal but the sun was out so we just chilled and ate until Nico and the rest of the team arrived an hour later. Nico as per usual arrived with race numbers and the all important “papers for the bike”. I took a quick scan and was rather alarmed to see cobbles make an appearance not twice as per our team training spin but seven times. We had apparently skipped these in the training spin as we had ridden them as part of the bigger loop. Fantastic – only one thing better than cobbles and that’s surprise cobbles. Sure I only love the cobbles.

Looking at the start list you would have been forgiven for thinking that this was a world cup race. More than 25 UCI teams took the start along with 7/8 non-trade teams. The parcours and the distance coupled with riders meant that this was going to be a very tough day at the office.

With the cobbles making an appearance only about 2km into the race I wanted to start near the front and avoid any possible crashes or splits in the bunch. To this end I was on the start line as soon as the team presentation ended. About twenty minutes later the starter gun went and the race was on.

As expected the speed was up from the off with everybody fighting to get to the front for the cobbles. Over the cobbles for the first time and the race settled down a bit as we got onto bigger roads. The roads that we would race over for the day were predominately small and narrow with little opportunity to move up in the bunch as they would be packed solid with riders when the pace was slow and when the pace was up and the bunch was lined out it was about biting the handlebars and sticking to the wheel in front.

About ten km in and the race had had its first big crash.Motorbike marshals ride ahead of the bunch to stop and signal anything dangerous on the route to the approaching peleton. They do this all day and are constantly re passing the bunch throughout the race by riding up the side of the peleton where the road allows or by using shortcuts to get ahead of the racing peleton. A motorbike marshal had been standing in front of a vehicle on the course signaling to the peleton to move around. He went unseen by one of the riders and as I passed both were on the ground. This is a very mad sport but the race goes on as none of us think it will happen to us, even though it generally has, repeatedly!

The climbs made a gradual appearance – the odd drag here, little bump there. Then we were on the first GPM climb of the day and we knew all about it. With the talent that was in the peleton that day the pace was on. I was better positioned than normal but still not near enough to the front to actually be doing anything other than desperately closing gaps and riding through a pretty much decimated field. The climbing continued after the GPM line before flattening out on an exposed country road. By this time my legs were screaming at the effort. I caught a group ahead just at the start of the descent. With more than half the peleton behind us we were in hot pursuit of the front group. I knew from our training spin that the descents were safe with no mad bends or corners so I was confident to go all out and we were hitting in excess of 80km an hour on the way down.

Only a few kilometers later and with the front of the field now in view we hit the dreaded cobbled climb. I say climb but wall is a more accurate description. The cobbles were horrible. They were taking a “none shall pass” attitude to the whole affair and riders were doing the dying swan dance from side to side. I too was dying. My legs were screaming. I was a mostly dead swan. My arms, yes my arms, were ready to fall off. I didn’t so much ride to the top of the climb as bunny hop my way there. It was agonizing. People were getting pushed by fans on the roadside and as I dragged my bike kicking and screaming to the top in the least stylish of ways I thought “push me you bleeeep”.

Finally over the top and another screaming decent. Some pretty torturous kilometers later and I had rejoined the front of the race. One last GPM climb left and with two pretty savage climbs behind us I was now finally near the front. This last climb was taken at a moderate pace until a couple of hundred meters from the GPM and I got over it easily in the group.

With the climbs behind us it was on to Dottignies and the local tours. The pace was on again as we went went through the start/finish line for the first time. Two kilometers later and we were on the cobbles again. People were letting wheels go everywhere and you had to constantly look up the line and ride around any gaps immediately as the fierce pace meant that spotting a gap late could mean getting dropped and seeing the group ride away.

It felt like we were lined out for the next three laps. Groups went off the front and were brought back over and over again. At this stage I was dying and praying for some kind of stall. My legs were cramping and I was a mess of gels, spit, snot and energy drink. Finally with two laps to go there was a ceasefire. The pace eased off for an entire lap. I knew that the last lap would be insane but I was enjoying the calm before the storm and happy to be there having been on my limit so many times in the race already. This was good.

“Laste ronde” was announced as we went through the start/finish with one lap to go. All the big teams were now going to throw the kitchen sink at it. My mistake was not moving up on the cobbles when the pace was not that fast. I was sitting near the back of the group. With legs that had been cramping for nearly an hour and a now non functioning brain, where before I had vigilantly looked up the line now I focused on the wheel just in front of me. It was a big mistake. As we exited the cobbles I could see that there was already a split in the line which only got bigger as the group sprinted out of the next corner and lined out in the wind. With team USA ahead of me having dropped the wheels and my dead legs I took to screaming at them to close the gap, it was after all their inability to stay on a wheel that had landed us in this mess (a bit harsh I know but as I said the brain had long departed at this stage and myself and team USA had to make up coming in the road because one of the Belgian riders kept attacking us – she mustn’t have drank enough either!!!). Mistake number two. I should have gone around them as quickly as possible and I might have had some chance. As it was with only 4 of 133 kilometers left I agonizingly watched the front of the race pull away from me.

Having crossed the finish line in 90^th odd position of well over 180 starters in a field that was of world cup level I was both satisfied and disappointed. If I had stayed concentrated until the end I could have had a much better finishing position but I proved to myself that my form is coming.

I arrived back to the camper at nine that night. Having eaten only a protein bar and two little cakes after the race I was too tired to contemplate cooking dinner. I had toast. I woke up the next morning with sore legs, the beast (my stomach) complaining loudly and not one, not two but three cold-sores.

So with Gent Wevelgem done and dusted the plan was to head to Dordrecht where a Tuesday and Thursday night crit would help put some speed in the legs. Monday, having had a chilled morning, we hit the road and headed for Dutchieland.

The sun was out, the birds were singing. We entered a roundabout (life was sweet), we exited said roundabout (much bitterness ensued). Lets just say the Wanderly Wagon took the turn a bit on the sharp side and every plate, bowl and cup in our possession shot from an overhead press. There were no survivors!!!

One trip to Ikea and an hour spent picking bits of crockery out of the carpet and we were back on track – well, mostly (we wouldn’t be eating out of saucepans but we hadn’t quite found our happy place!!!).

Tuesday morning and it was out for an easy pedal. 6:30 pm, and the Wanderly Wagon is sitting outside the circuit in Dordrecht, ready for action and some real training. Things are looking pretty quiet at De Mol. 6:45 one guy turns up. Cool. 6:50 and a second rider arrives. 6:55 both riders leave again. Hmmmm. We are apparently a week early. Plan B, race at Gouda on Wednesday night.

With some training finally having gone to plan we were back on the road and headed for our beloved Harelbeke. The aire in Harelbeke has become our home from home. It has it all. We can empty the tanks that need to be emptied and fill the ones that need to be filled. We can fire up the washing machine and dryer, charge phones and laptops, get the toaster going. The legend that is Dries is only minutes away for massage. The canal is perfect for recovery rides and tempo training. Oudenaarde is on our doorstep for all that Flanders has to offer. Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better – you guessed it, it got better. The cafe on the grounds of the sports centre where the aire is situated now has free wifi. We may never leave.

Home away from home

Saturday morning I met up with the team in Dottignies for a training ride on the course for GP de Dottignies on the Monday. It would be a chance to see the course and also have a chat with my team mates who I usually see only at races. We did four hours with Nico following in the team car. The first 75km loop featured a stretch of cobbles of just over 1km as well as four climbs one of which was cobbled. This brought us to a local lap of over 14km to be completed 4 times bringing the race to about 133km. We did 100km on the day giving it a dig on the climbs for the craic.

Sunday and it was pre race spin day so myself and the Wobble set out along the canal just spinning out the legs. About 20 minutes in we heard the unmistakably awful and seemingly obligatory lead car music blaring in the distance. A manic orienteering/sprint session on the bike ensued and we found ourselves surrounded by Flandrian flags and eagerly awaiting the Ronde van Vlaanderen. The excitement and anticipation were palpable. It took less than 10 seconds for the peleton to pass us. Cycling is the weirdest sport. Everywhere along the route fans waited for the race, for what is essentially just a a passing blur and weirder still it isn’t even anticlimactic. Myself and the Wobble did another 10 minutes before turning around with every intention of racing back home and sitting in a cafe for the rest of the day drinking coffee and watching the race.

Flanders baby!!

As it happened we spotted a load of bikes outside a cafe just as we got off the canal. We went in for what was to be a quick peak to see where the race was at before going home, showering, eating something and then watching the last hour or so. We popped our heads in the door with 137km to go and we were still there (stinky cycling gear and all) when Boonen sprinted to victory, much to the excitement of the locals. In that time we had of course had numerous coffees complete with some little shot glass of liquor which, just so you know, you do not pour into the coffee as this will actually curdle!!! We also had some pretty damn good croque monsieur with half a tonne of salad. Watching people come and go for the bones of three and half hours I think the waffles were definitely the crowd pleaser. They were massive – like I’m talking double decker and easily bigger than an A4 page. They looked to me like they could be the very thing that would get one appropriately fueled for 133km of all out savagery!!!

The Wanderly Wagon arrived in Middlekerk the evening before Gent Wevelgem. Having found Casino Middlekerk which would host the start of the first edition of the women’s elite race already barriered off, we found a spot on the side of the road a few kilometers from the start to set up camp for the night. The Wobble assured me that some snoring on my part was evidence that I had gotten some sleep during the course of the night although the constant stream of traffic, and more worryingly for me and my race the next day, the wind howling through the camper meant that I woke up feeling like I hadn’t slept at all.

The next morning we headed straight for the team parking area on the seafront even before cracking open the Barry’s Tea to allow for stress free parking. The weather all week had been fantastic with temperatures well into the mid twenties but we woke up to a freezing fog on the coast and as we lined up for the race start, with pre race rituals and obligations done and dusted, the fog was going nowhere and it was a pretty frozen peleton that rolled out of the square on the promenade at Middlekerk for a couple of neutralised kilometers to take us out past the crowds and out of the city.

Studying the road map for the race in the days leading up to Gent Wevelgem it looked like the race would most likely stay together until about the 67km mark where four steep climbs in the space of twenty kilometers would undoubtedly see the race split to bits. Our DS Nico had given us a “paper for the bike” detailing where the climbs came, where the feed zone for the race would be, etc. It read 28.2km WIND. Fantastic. Apparently this stretch of 10km or so of small open country roads would usually see the men’s race split into a number of echelons and blow the peleton apart.

For the non-aficionados usually in a race when the speed goes up the bunch strings out as riders sit directly behind one another in what is termed a lineout. The reason for this is that it gives a drafting effect. In other words the rider sitting behind and out of the wind has to put in a significantly lesser effort for the same speed. In a crosswind however the riders line up across the road left or right depending on the direction of the wind. This means that the group of riders who can benefit from the drafting is limited by the width of the road and usually means that the peleton is decimated in a matter of minutes. This is exactly what happened at 28.2km into Gent Wevelgem. Now it was all about suffering and being very very smart, measuring every effort and using other riders by forcing them into the wind and reaping the drafting benefits.

20 or 30 lung and leg busting kilometers later and the peleton was largely back together. Doubtless there were casualties but the majority headed for the hills and the next onslaught. Before we could tackle the hills we had to survive the feed zone. At the feed zone every team will have at least one but usually 2/3 soigneurs to hand out bottles and race food to the riders as they whiz by at 40kph. As you can imagine this doesn’t always run so smoothly and there can be crashes.

The 4 climbs in question were short but savagely steep in places. The Kemmelberg is cobbled and was ultimately where the race winning breaks in the peleton took place. I was feeling really good on the climbs, the problem was my positioning. Getting to and staying at the front of a peleton of 180 or so riders is not any easy task and with so little racing last year its a skill that I am having to relearn. As a result I was cursing on the Kemmelberg not because of the gradient or the cobbles but the frustration of being held up by half the peleton.

Climbs over and with 25km to go I was in the second group on the road and hitting a bit of a bad patch. Through the suffering I heard “Oi, Irish, you trying to put me in the ditch or something, ha ha”. It was my Scottish buddy and former teammate Eileen. Finally a bit of friendly banter to distract from the suffering. At this stage I felt like my wheel was rubbing but knew it was my legs!!! 15km later and I was out of my bad patch and riding strongly again. 4 km to go and I was on the front of the group thinking about leading out my team mate for the craic when there was an attack on the right. From that point to the finish line was complete madness. The fact that a group of 20 riders were up the road didn’t seem to bother anyone. Everyone was going for it, diving onto paths and off of paths, left and right, into holes not really big enough to fit into. 500M to go and there was a gaping hole down the right side of the group but fear of death made me hesitate and it closed. I’m not a sprinter and I didn’t feel like dicing with death so that I could come 40^th instead of 60^th.

Overall I was really happy with the race. Finishing in the top third of such a strong field tells me that things are going in the right direction. Through the finish line and I was handed a coke by the team soigneur and it was good!!! The Wobble was to be found at the other side of the fence with the Wanderly Wagon wedged between some men’s pro team buses – right where it belonged.

Ah the life of a wandering cyclist – me, the Wobble, a camper and trailer – all of Europe spread before us to be explored and conquered. Like modern day hunters and gatherers we are eagle eyed and alert in our pursuit of the free of charge on our constant quest for water, the internet and a spot to call home. Life on the road and on a budget is all very Del Boy and now one month into our rootless foray we are increasingly well versed in the Trotter way. Mrs Garmin locates the closest MaciD’s for the free wifi; truck stops and motorway garages are good for water and bins, and the bible “Aires” guides us to free or cheap water and electricity.

Following the racing means that we are almost constantly on the move. In previous years I would often wake up and spend five or more minutes trying to figure out where I was. It was a strange and slightly unsettling feeling. I thought that waking up in the familiar surrounds of a 7.5mx2m box would put an end to this but now I spend a few minutes every morning trying to remember where we are parked and we have parked everywhere. Nights have been spent being “gently” rocked to sleep by a constant stream of traffic as it thunders by, random car parks which have turned into party central at all hours of the morning, one (previously mentioned) extremely dodgy campsite in Mons where strange comings and goings from moss covered caravans went hand in hand with contented ducks frolicking in waterlogged pitches. Mons has set the marker. Just the other day as we drove into a campsite I found myself saying “ Oh no, does it have a bit of the Mons about it?!!!”. While this campsite did feature ducks they were happily enjoying the pool as opposed to an entirely waterlogged campsite. I was waiting for one to do a triple twist off the diving board.

The Wobble’s relationship with his beloved trailer has taken somewhat of a downward trend of late. Now when we look at any entrance, car park or space we immediately calculate our exit strategy and if it involves reversing of any kind its a no, no. Like a bold child the trailer refuses to do what its told resulting in many the Austin Powers type 20 point turn with lost in translation signaling or flailing of arms by yours truly. Kinda funny really but don’t tell the Wobble I said that!!!

When I pictured living in a camper the images that were conjured in my mind featured quite a bit more sun than the reality of Belgium and Holland in February and March!!! It is cold. Last week we headed for a training camp in Valkenburg in east Holland. It’s my favorite place to train and as well as hosting the women’s elite Valkenburg Hills Classic and men’s legendary Amstel Gold races it will be the site for this year’s World Championships. When I think of Valkenburg I think of great training roads peppered with short but brutal climbs, great coffee and sun. Last week it had it all (with the exception of sun)!! I did some hard efforts on the short climbs and the combination of the cold and the effort meant that a group of walkers heard me and my asthma attack long before actually laying eyes on me.

Having put in a good week of training in the hills we headed north for Gouda (cheese central) for some flat recovery rides and some speed training. Holland loves its criterium or crit races and most clubs have their own purpose built circuits complete with flood lighting, clubhouse and a surface not unlike the M50. Crit racing is about all out speed, sprinting and cornering. The race is usually between an hour and an hour and a half plus 3 rounds in length. Short, but hard enough to leave a taste of blood in your mouth and your legs tingling for hours afterwards. Its really good training not only for fitness but also for bike handling. I spent the whole thing fighting my natural instincts. Not braking going into a 180 degree turn and pedaling around bends almost as sharp. Its basically an hour of “don’t brake, don’t brake; pedal,pedal,pedal; sprint, sprint,sprint”!

With that session in the bag it was on to Hans for a massage and two days easy on the bike before racing on Saturday. The race was a typically Dutch affair on the polder – dykes, narrow roads and wind. I had changed teams to avoid this kind of racing and here I was of my own free well – what had I been thinking!!! The race was laps of a 16/17km circuit and although it wasn’t extremely windy by Dutchie standards there was definitely wind. We flew out of the gate with a tailwind for the first couple of kilometers and one left turn later it was lined out in a lovely, torturous crosswind. There were the typically narrow turns on to and off of dykes where you would be lucky to squeeze two bikes in side by side. The race broke up a few times in the crosswind sections but having suffered well I finished in the front group, a first for the season so far and possibly the result of wearing my lucky Irish socks on Paddy’s Day.

Next it was on to the Wobble’s race in Stekene the following day. We arrived very early to ensure smooth parking of aforementioned stubborn trailer and found a nice big car park just a few minutes from the permanence. We weren’t the first to arrive however and myself and the Wobble got some high entertainment value watching a car with a black and yellow BMC on the back park in at least 20 different spots in the car park before deciding that they had found the perfect pre race parking spot. If they changed spaces 20 times the auld lad driving must have had 30 “natural breaks” in the car park. Watching them was hilarious and we decided that the young lad racing was either going to win or come last!!!!

With the Wobble signed on and off warming up I was sitting in the camper with 40 minutes to the start of the race already feeling like I was missing out on the excitement so I had a quick cup of Barry’s and headed for the start line. For those who don’t know kermis racing involves racing around a circuit of anywhere between 8 and 16km, usually between 100 and 120km in length in total. The start/finish is always in a small town, generally right in front of a cafe and the permanence or sign on is always in a cafe usually in a cloud of smoke. The circuits are generally flat but on the odd occasion take in a little climb or stretch of cobbles. There are primes every couple of laps or even every lap. For the onlookers there is beer and coffee to be drunk and frites with mayonnaise to be scoffed. Some amusement rides add to the carnival atmosphere. There is sometimes betting on the races I can only guess that the woman who nearly killed five people in her crazied attempt to buy the start list had a bit of the gambler in her!!!

 As the race rolled through the start/finish line the entire crowd started walking briskly in the opposite direction. Yours truly found the sheep in me and immediately followed the crowd. These Belgian fans would know how to watch this race. In what seemed like no time at all the race passed for the first time and looked all together until five minutes later who could I see in the distance holding up the broom wagon – you’ve guessed it – Mr BMC himself!!!

One hour and twenty minutes later and I was cursing my decision to follow these crazy Belgians. How long was this stupid lap anyway!!! Both little toes had blisters and my calves were turning to concrete – I’m a cyclist for God’s sake, I don’t do the walking thing, EVER!!! I eventually made it back to the camper to refuel after my marathon and pulled out the bike to watch the rest of the race and give the Wobble a bottle if he wanted one.

Of the race the Wobble had this to say “ It was very fast. It hurt a lot, over and over. Did I mention it was very fast!!”.

With the weekend’s racing over we headed for our trusted 5 star aire in Harelbeke and some recovery rides on the canal. I haven’t killed a single duck this year. (UPDATE: Since writing this we have killed a duck, or at least finished him off with the camper. On our way to the Wobble’s race on Saturday the wanderly wagon was innocently pottering along the road when a low flying duck smacked off of an oncoming car and like something from Wimbledon headed for the camper. It smacked the windscreen with a such a thump we were amazed that it hadn’t smashed from the impact. The car had warmed him up but the camper finished him off. It went something like a water balloon but with more of a duck pate look about it. As we went through the next town on the look out for a car wash we got some very strange looks. Turns out Daffy hadn’t limited himself to the windscreen but was sprawled from head to foot of the camper like something out of a horror show!!! Our failure to find a car wash meant the Wobble was out power washing the side of the camper in a car park at nine at night complete with head torch – I’m surprised we haven’t been arrested!!!)

With everything going in the right direction I’m looking forward to racing a kermis on Wednesday and Gent Wevelgem Sunday with the team.

Having arrived off the ferry in Cherbourg, precious cargo of Barry’s Tea intact, we made our way to the team’s service course in Kontich, Antwerp, to meet Nico, my new director sportive, and collect my new racing kit for the season. The team had a very successful season last year taking the Lotto Cycling Cup (competition for Belgian riders and teams taking in a series of Belgian UCI races) sprinters jersey and finishing fourth behind two UCI teams and one other non trade team, Sengers, which is a UCI team this season.

Next it was on to the Eddy Merckx centre in Gent. This is the race start area for Omloop Het Nieuwsblad and while the following morning it would be packed with team buses and cars it was practically empty when we set up camp for the night. That is until eleven o’clock that night when a group armed with guitars started a singsong in the car park which as the night progressed saw the introduction of a sound system and wolf whistler all of which meant that the Wobble was out in his boxers hitching up the trailer at one in the morning in a rather surreal getaway scene.

Standing on the start line of Omloop het Nieuwsblad, surrounded by some of the best riders in the world, trying to remain calm and contain my pre-race nerves I was facing the unknown. I had gone into last season with high expectations. I had a season ending injury that went undiagnosed for months. Not knowing why I was under performing so badly hit my confidence hard. I questioned my ability, my right to be there. Now having gone through a major surgery and put everything into my training I was toeing the start line again but with realistic expectations. I know that I am not going to be able to jump back into racing at this level and expect to start where I left off. These early races are about building back up, they are essentially more training. My big goals are later in the season.

Omloop Het Nieuwsblad was VERY good training!!! Having had a pre-race talk from director sportive (DS) Nico in more languages than an EU Greek bailout conference could shake a stick at we headed for the team presentation and sign on, followed by a short spin to loosen the legs out before lining up for the off. Decked out in my shiny new team kit I made it through a typically hectic neutralised section before the lead car dropped the flag and the racing began.

The pace was up from the off but I had a nagging feeling that it felt harder than it should have and thirty kilometers in, coming to a strategically crucial part of the race, I was forced to change my back wheel which had been rubbing since kilometer zero. With car 21 in the cavalcade it was not a quick change but with my front wheel practically rubbing the team car’s rear bumper, doing speeds in excess of 70kph and survivng a rather dodgy roundabout, I rejoined the back of the peleton as we hit the first climb. Being at the back on such steep narrow climbs means that it is extremely difficult to cover splits in the peleton and frustratingly a couple of climbs later I had lost contact with the front of the race. I was still in a group however and we rode the remaining climbs and cobbled sections hard to the finish. The cobbles were unrelenting and seemingly endless and in the latter part of the race I was starting to feel those familiar nips in my legs that are often a precursor to the dreaded cramp!!! On one of the dreaded cobbled sections, an Italian rider turned to me and said “Theeze is not foor me!!”.

Cobbles, cobbles, cobbles.

Three days later, standing at the start line of GP Le Samyn, and those cobbles were still in my legs!!!! The wanderly wagon had spent the two days prior to the race in a campsite in Mons. Well I say campsite but a more accurate description would be bog/lake. It certainly attracted a lot of ducks and getting stuck in the mud on our first attempt to pull into a pitch only to be rescued by 5 French pensioners did not bode well for our time in Mons. There were a lot of caravans growing moss and looking generally uninhabitable which turned out to be very much inhabited by some, well lets just say dodgy looking folk!!! On our “recovery” spins we seemed to find cobbles at every turn, where were the bloody roads!!! Suffice to say we will not be in a rush back to Mons.

The race itself was 40km out from the start in Frameries to a 20km loop in Dour to be completed 4 times. The first 40km seemed designed to test our ability to go around roundabouts – there seemed to be a roundabout every 800m!!!! Yours truly also picked the wrong side of a central reserve on the motorway only to have to do a u-turn and chase back on to the peleton like a woman possessed!!! In the early part of the race I was feeling alright but I knew that the real racing would start on the circuits which included two climbs, one cobbled. The second time on the very slippy cobbled section I was starting to feel it and the minute we came off the cobbles my legs just deserted me completely. You get a very strange sensation in your legs when you come off of a hard cobbled section. Its like they say, look I did the hard bit for you, I’m out. Your legs actually feel worse than when you were riding the cobbles. Of course if you are going well you can capitalise on this and go harder and make the race, and if like me your legs haven’t recovered from the previous race they collapse underneath you. I had plenty of UCI team riders for company though so I wasn’t the only one in the horrors. It was very disappointing though as the race wasn’t actually that hard.

Straight after the race I was on to Nico looking for the number of somebody who did massage. I should have gotten one after Het Nieuwsblad but trying to save money and deal with life in a wanderly wagon I stupidly thought my legs would recover all by themselves. Nico gave me the number for Dries so the wagon headed to Harelbeke where we pulled up in a fantastical aire. An aire is basically a kind of car park for campers but some have facilities like water and electricity and this one was five star. For five euro you got limitless water and juice and NO MUD!!!! The Wobble was accosted almost immediately by a retired Brit who was also parked up for the night. He asked the Wobble how long he had been into motor-homing. The Wobble responded, “about a week now”.

Dries as it turned out was not the eighty year old wizzled Belgian soigneur I had been expecting but about my age and going out with one of the now Lotto riders who had been on my team last year. He has worked with Saxo Bank, Leopard-Trek and now Katusha and has done some grand tours with them so he had a lot of stories and a lot of fancy bikes!!!! The following day and the massage had done wonders for my legs and they were feeling much much better.

Two days later it was time for Omloop van het Hageland which I had been looking forward to but the rain, the freezing cold and the constant crashes soon killed my enthusiasm. All I got from the race was near pneumonia and a bike filled with sand. I forgot the golden rule, the McCauley way, its supposed to be savagely hard, its bike racing!!! One concrete milkshake please!!!

Phase two of winter training was a coffee stop free zone and oh how this made the Wobble bitter!!!

My first training block in January was a tough one and a definite step up. This year’s winter training has been very different from previous years in that I have really had to rebuild strength and endurance and it has been a slow and gradual process. In January the focus was still on strength and endurance for the first two weeks with two short high intensity sessions in the form of spinning classes with Scott at the Winning Solutions centre. The final week saw the introduction of some threshold work on some climbs. The split session days and volume meant that it was quite a big workload and I have never looked forward to or respected my rest week as much!!!! I was so tired in the last few days that one evening the thought of having to go to the shop to buy the food before I could cook the food to eat the food almost lead to a complete nervous breakdown!!! Almost!!!!

The much anticipated rest week finally arrived and I met it with some kind of flu/stomach bug, fantastic!!! Myself and the Wobble headed down to Kerry for the week for some Mammy dinners and a test run in the camper that my parents were lending us for the season. As we left the driveway for our test run on Wednesday morning I don’t doubt that Mammy and Daddy Geoghegan were questioning the wisdom of letting us off in their beloved camper and I was half expecting to see my father in the rear view mirror running out of the house screaming “Noooooooooooooo”. We, or should I say the Wobble, successfully navigated the camper to Dingle without incident and parked up in front of the marina. We had picked possibly the coldest day of the year for our outing and my mother was convinced that we would freeze to death but we weren’t budging. The next morning we woke up alive and not frozen to death as some predicted and headed out for an easy spin around Slea Head. Its been a while since I’ve been down in Dingle and the scenery was amazing. Much to the delight of the Wobble coffee stops are a must on rest weeks!!!!!!

The Wobble had to admit that Kerry is AWESOME!!!

Remember Cav's face going over this in the Tour of Ireland - funny.

While down at home I also met with Paul Brennan, sports editor for the Kerryman, and I will be writing a fortnightly column for the sports section starting on the 22^nd of February. Hopefully people like it and it gives an insight into the sport.

Rest week over and I get an email entitled “Welcome to the Hurt Locker”. Its from Scott and its my training programme for the couple of weeks to my season opener Omloop Het Nieuwsblad. No false advertising here – it is another serious ramp up with lots of threshold, lactate threshold, sprinting and strength intervals along with some attacking on long spins – playing on the bike!!! Luckily I had my awesome training buddies on hand to help dish out the suffering – especially the Wobble who suspected I was trying to kill him!!!

The last few weeks have been seriously hectic trying to get everything right training wise while also getting everything ready to head to the continent for six months or more. The Wobble has been busy with his “Man Shed”, aka the trailer that we got to house the bikes. It is now fully pimped out with washing machine and dryer, solar panel, battery and inverter that could power a small village, gas water heater and water tank that feeds into the camper for proper showers and neatly stores four bikes, five sets of wheels, two turbo trainers, a power washer, a set of rollers, tools and bike bits. Both the camper and trailer have been taking up John and Mary’s front yard for about two weeks now as we pottered in and out packing. Thanks John and Mary. As well as that my two bikes have had a complete overhaul thanks to Dave Tansey (Joe Daly Cycles Dundrum) and I have had my final check up with Sean O’Neill at St James and I too am ready for road.

The Wobble with his pride and joy.

In the last week I have been out on my racing bike to get used to it again before I race (a lesson I learned last year when I had a technical nightmare at Omloop Het Nieuwsblad). Ah the good bike is, well, its just so damn good!!! After a winter on the “hacker” there is nothing quite like getting back on your good bike, it just feels faster. This year I even got to do a race at home before heading off. Last Sunday I headed to Monasterevin. The race was 70km on a flat circuit and was a great training session. It was fantastic to get some time in a bunch before heading over to race with the team.

Thanks to Will O’Flaherty at Celtic Links Ferries myself, the Wanderly Wagon, the Wobble and a small cargo of Barry’sTea are just two hours from Cherbourg and more importantly only about seven hours from Decathlon (anyone who has not had the Decathlon experience is missing out!!!). My racing programme for the next week or so is as follows;

25^th February Omloop Het Nieuwsblad

29^th February Le Samyn des Dames

4^th March Omloop van Het Hageland

With the build up I’ve had this year following on from last year’s injury woes I am trying to be realistic with my early season expectations. Only one thing is for certain Saturday night I will be very, very, BROKEN!!!

The Wanderly Wagon