Tristan Schouten gets a fresh bikes in the pits at Hofdstade from Director Geoff Proctor. Photo Courtesy of Cycling-Pics.be

Hofstade WC is always a crusher for us. Yesterday, no exception. While the sand is more rideable than last year, the course still provides a formidable challenge. The first two uphills taken at warp bottleneck speed from the start, the loose sections of sand off the waterline, and the sapping sand sections right on the beach demand finesse and speed. At one point, when Nys and Boom are off the front with Wellens chasing, Wellens rides the 2nd pit section like a rocket ship. Like a rocket ship. I am down lower in pit 1 waiting for my guys so I can only look slightly up and across at Wellens. I can’t see his wheels; just his body. He looks like he is riding on the road even though he’s riding through 6 inches of moist sand. Finesse. Chapeau.

Why am I in pit 1 while Nys, Boom, and Wellens are passing pit 2? Because that’s how far ahead they are! In fact, these top 3 are in pit 2 while the chase group (!) is passing pit 1, racing for 4th place, 2 minutes behind! Vervecken and co. 2 minutes down! Whoa. Woe.

Earlier in the day, I speak with Jean Paul Van Poppel (multiple stage winner in the Tour back in late 80’s/SuperConfex sprinter) in the pit. His son Boy (World Jr. Cross Champ 2006) eventually finishes 5th in the espoirs yesterday. Anyways, we both speak of how encouraged we are to have such good young guys coming up through. The promise they hold. And he ends with some words that resonate: “the young guys just need time”. This really hits home with me. Needing time. Our guys race Hofstade yesterday and get schooled. Everything takes time. Including their development. I walk away thankful to be reminded that pressure should only have to come later.

Head down, pretty dejected after the hiding our guys take in the elite race, I toil my way back to the van encumbered with two bikes, a pump and two sets of spare wheels. Passing the beer tent in ankle deep sand, I’m suddenly broadsided by a scrum of maybe six sauced-up slammers clamoring to clock each other with every ounce of power they can muster. Knocked several feet and in a tangle of bikes, I scramble for higher ground and gaze forlornly as these boozed-up Belgian broozers pummel each other to a pulp. One guy has a hold of another guy’s belt and he’s yanking, just yanking to cinch it up tighter. The guy’s face is a splotchy mess of blues and reds.

Been awhile since I’ve seen such primal, animalistic, valorless violence. Hooliganism, cyclocross-style Certainly a direction we don’t need to see the sport go.

Loenhout whups tomorrow! A restful day today. Catching breath.

Trebon’s stable of bikes and wheels overshadows the others.

This entry was posted on Thursday, December 27th, 2007 at 7:57 am and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.