Saying that you had the gas to go with the move doesn’t necessarily indicate an excuse. It also doesn’t indicate that George thought he could have won. Honestly, I never found the Molenberg all that difficult of a hill, so the fact that George would say that doesn’t quite mean the same thing as me trying to tell you that I could have followed that Swiss guy on the top of the Muur. If George said he had the beans to go, he had the beans to go.

Perhaps that is the reason why the Molenberg was a good place to get gone — it isn’t that hard. We have grown to expect moves on the Muur. Heck, anyone watching Sunday’s race who wasn’t expecting something to happen there should probably watch a few more old Ronde van Vlaanderen videos. Since elite level cycling is a game of saving your chips for the last few hands, I am sure that George and a few other top dudes thought for sure that given the “easy” nature of the Molenberg, other motivated individuals would step up and counter the moves made by the two top favorites.

Sometimes you just KNOW that someone else will chase. Of course, sometimes you’re wrong. Once the gap grew large enough, every other rider in that group with half a leg to stand on was ready to go at the drop of a hat. Simply put, Cancellara’s — and with him Boonen’s — move was so good, there just wasn’t much George and Co could have done. Yep, long before the Muur, the Swiss champ served an ace for match point.

By the way, I still have chills too. It was one of the better races I have seen in a long time; one that earned Cancellara status as a Flandrien. I reckon he might just do the same thing this weekend. Look out for Matti B, though. Had his mechanic been able to remember which side of the car his bike was on, I think there would have been another (Saxo) banker in the final.

As I mentioned previously, we were here on a top-secret mission for the magazine, so plenty of scouting was done on the days leading up to the Ronde. One of these scouting missions lead us into a café that is located at the foot of the Oude Karemont, a hill that consistently kicked my ass during my days as a bike racer in this country. It’s funny the way the hills in the Flemish Ardennes work; one might always be friendly to a rider while the next is always cruel. I chose to watch the race from the Eikenberg yesterday, because it seemed like I was always able to get up that one in decent position.

But back to the café …

It’s funny who you see when you’re thousands of mile from home. Just a few minutes into this café-reconnaissance, American cyclocross star Jonathan Page sauntered in. After just a few minutes of catching up, he was off to make dinner for some friends, and got out the door before we could even snap a picture.

But there’s light at the end of the tunnel.

As I write this, I am at flight level 360, or somewhere thereabouts, staring out the window at a nearly full moon, heading for BRU. That’s Brussels for those of you who do not have the entire list of airport indicators memorized. If you are reading this site in the first place, I think it is safe for me to assume you know the reason why a person like me would be headed to Belgium for Easter Sunday.

Yep. The Ronde van Vlaanderen.

As it turns out, the fine people at the magazine corporation saw fit to give the staff of Bike an extra assignment; make another magazine—just one issue—about whatever you want. We chose to do one about pavement, instead of dirt.

So hang tight sports fans, because for the next few days I’ll be coming at you direct from the place where it all started. And yes, as a matter of fact, I have been promised 6 days of rain. You can almost smell the fritjes, can’t you?

Follow Me – the Teaser from Anthill Films on Vimeo.

I’ve been gone for a while, but I have a good excuse. A little more than a month ago, I was offered the position of Editor-in-Chief at Bike Magazine. I accepted the offer, packed a few things and headed south. Bike’s Editor, Lou Mazzante, decided it was time to fly the coop, but stuck around until the 19th of February, in order to put his final issue of the magazine to bed. On February 22, I took over the reigns.

My head has been spinning since I walked into the office for the very first time. Bike is a very strong magazine, so I have my work cut out for me. But it’s gonna be cool.

It was an assignment for my school newspaper that first got me interested in cycling. Once I’d gotten a bike and started riding a bit, it was a magazine first began to fuel my daydreams about becoming a bike racer. I guess you could say that my life in cycling has come full circle.

If you’re a hardcore road racer or cross-country mountain bike racer, you might not have given Bike a look. Racing has never been a focus of the magazine, but that is fine by me—I’ve already used up all of my angry pedal-strokes. But if you like beautiful photography, and stories about some of the other things that can be done on a bike, check it out.

As I come up to speed, I might be a little slow here on this weblog, but I will still be here.

Cheers.

Dave,

I’m sure you’ve heard people say, “I was born a few years too early.” Well, I was definitely a part of the era that didn’t really know much about training, but I would never have been able to train like they do today, so I am perfectly happy with when I was born.

There were, definitely, riders who were applying more scientific training techniques to their pre and in-season training, but I was not one of them. I subscribed to the old school Belgian ways of the time. Honestly, we simply rode a bunch of base kilometers , followed by some fairly intense team training rides, and then started racing. Boom — that was it. We used racing as training. Looking back, it worked really well, but it also made it hard to plan for a peak in fitness.

For example, I was on the US National Team for the 1988 World Championship in Ronse, Belgium. My preparation for that race started with a ton of kermis races in Belgium during the month of July. I followed that up with the Vuelta a Burgos, and immediately did the Tour of Belgium after that. In other words, I complimented decent fitness with two good stage races. Coming out of the Tour of Belgium I was flying. I kept sharp with a couple more kermis races and some motor pacing.

In this instance, I don’t believe I could have possibly been better prepared for the Worlds. But it wasn’t like I planned it all out — it just happened. For the same money (and no stage racing beforehand) I could have just been doing kermis races and some fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants intervals, and my form for the Worlds would have been sorely lacking.

In my final years as a pro (on the mountain bike side of the sport) I definitely employed some of the new training techniques and found them to be an enormous leap forward from what I knew. If I had it to do over again, I have no doubt that I would have been a better bike racer because of them. What would have gotten to me, however, was the constant solitude that so many of the current crop of racers have to endure. Knowing that, I am happy that I got to race when 140 races per year was, sort of, the norm.

When I was racing in Belgium, I would always know when my competitors were, shall we say, chemically altered with any number of drugs in the amphetamine category because they could suddenly speak English almost perfectly. Incredibly, some of these jokers managed to speak with so much speed and conviction, I felt like I might even be perched on a bar stool somewhere in Wisconsin, talking with a “regular.” Like I said, I have known and called Bobke a friend since the middle 80s. In all of that time, I have never exchanged a fax, email, im, or text message with the guy. Nope, our communication has always happened via telephone and/or the United States Postal Service. This past weekend, however, I got a somewhat cryptic text message. At first I was confused, but when I looked at the top of the screen and saw that “Boob” had sent it, I knew I was either witnessing the start of a new world order, or Bob was high as a kite on pain meds.

After receiving another, more lucid text from my injured pal yesterday, I gave him a call. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s okay to relax because the new world order has not happened – Bobke’s simply heavily medicated.

All joking aside, my friend Bob is out of commission for a while. I hope you’ll join me in wishing him a very speedy recovery. If you choose to comment and send him good wishes, I’ll be sure to pass each and every one of them along. Hospital beds can be lonely places.

Personally, I can think of nothing better than having the greats of the grand tours in the classics. After all, these guys make the rest of the peloton look almost foolish in the high mountains, so why shouldn’t they get to look less than stellar on the hard roads of the north. Or better, wouldn’t it be great to see one of these guys do well in the Tour of Flanders or Paris-Roubaix? No, I’m not calling for a return to the peloton of yesteryear, but wouldn’t it be cool to see one of these top contenders attacking on the Muur van Geraardsbergen or the Bosberg like in the days of Merckx?

Looking at only the two riders who are commanding the most media attention these days regarding the Tour, I am at a loss to determine which one has the better plan. Although his stated plan is somewhat vague, it seems that Contador will only be checking out the stones via training and course reconnaissance missions in Belgium. Armstrong, on the other hand, plans to race the Tour of Flanders.

At first glance, I like Lance’s plan better. Riding on cobblestones is not that hard, but racing on them is a different story. For those of you who have raced mountain bikes, riding on cobblestones is a lot like riding the average cross-country race course – really not all that hard. But when you’re at pro race speed, just a couple inches from the rider in front of you, little things become a lot more technical than they are at beginner speed.

Contador’s plan, on the other hand, has its own benefits. No rider can become a cobblestone expert after a couple of races on them. Perhaps the Spaniard knows that and has opted to simply avoid any potential for injury caused by a high-speed crash on the stones. On the other hand, while it is pretty easy to simulate race conditions in the high mountains – the dude rides alone there much of the time anyway – there is no way to simulate racing on the stones without a bunch of northern European lunatics bouncing off of you.

Personally, I don’t view the Belgian stones as a deal-breaker for any of the top contenders unless they end up getting stuck behind one of the giant pile-ups that often happen in the classics. However, it will, absolutely, take more energy for a smaller rider to stay in the front over the cobbles than a larger one, because even with modern frame design, lighter riders bounce around more than heavier ones do.

Father de Waele’s fondest early memories were of post WWII Tours de France. Before coming to the Alpe in 1992, he served as a missionary in the Congo for 31 years. Once at the great climb’s church, Father de Waele opened its doors to cycling tourists and journalists. He regularly prayed for cyclists who died during the Tour, namely Tom Simpson, and the bells of Notre-Dame-des-Neiges always sounded for the winners of the Alpe d’Huez stage of the Tour de France.

I don’t bring this up as any attempt to ring the church bells and get anyone to light candles or anything, but rather as a reminder of how much cycling is ingrained into the fabric of daily life in the European cycling countries. As Americans – even as an American who lived there and was part of the professional cycling community – we often forget how important the sport is within those cultures. Many Americans have actually lost site of what it is to actually win the Tour de France, and the other great races too.

Think about it for a minute: Father Joost de Waele was passionately following cycling and the Tour de France three and a half decades before Jonathan Boyer became the first American to enter and complete the thing.

You will never find me inside the Notre-Dame-des-Neiges – I guarantee you that. That does not, however, stop me from hoping the guys at the Vatican will find a suitable – perhaps Flemish – replacement.

I have personally endured my share of broken ribs and am here to say that there really isn’t any possibility that Albert will be defending his rainbow jersey this time around at the Worlds. That, my friends, is a terrible thing. I really would like to write something harsher here, but am consciously making an effort to abide by my own rule of keeping this at least a PG -13 rated site.

Cyclocross has long been a bike racing discipline that has leant itself to a strong party atmosphere. Racing cyclocross, I have been heckled, have personally heckled, and have thoroughly enjoyed watching other racers and fans engaging in similar activities. Taking a rider out of contention, however, for whatever reason, is absolutely unforgivable. Albert, who currently leads the Superprestige and the World Cup, has been officially screwed by someone he was there to entertain. What’s worse, depending upon how the rib heals, Albert may have problems with it for the rest of his career.

In addition to Albert’s misfortune, Sven Nys’ victory has been overshadowed by the antics of one jerk, who apparently fancied himself more important than the race itself. People have been running alongside the European peloton, looking for their 15 seconds of fame, for many years now and I doubt much is going to change that fact. But the riders do not like it — let me assure you of that. It is scary. The Devil has been a regular fixture on the Tour de France since 1993 has been photographed more than many of the race’s competitors and has even managed to land some sponsors – all of which to me is a bit of a bummer. While the Devil’s antics have been fairly respectful, costumed and non-costumed fans continue to cause problems for riders who are just trying to make a living.

I am in no way trying to infringe upon anyone’s right to watch sports in a party atmosphere — I mean, let’s face it; if beer, booze and tailgating were suddenly no longer allowed at major ball sporting events, attendance would decline radically and/or people would actually have to watch the game. If a library atmosphere were to be inflicted upon cycling and everyone watching had to perfect their golf-clap before being allowed to find a spot on the side of the road, there would be fewer people lining the Route du Tour, as well.

But, my dear hecklers, may I respectfully request that if your blood alcohol level is high enough that you cannot legally drive, which for most people is just over a beer or two, keep your f#%*$!g hands in your pockets, above your head, clapping together, holding your beer, holding money for the riders, or shoved squarely up your a$$. Similarly, if you are in danger of failing a roadway sobriety test, stand in one (1) (ONE) place – do not attempt to run, walk or crawl alongside the riders. Professional bike racers, believe it or not, like to be heckled – they just don’t like to be knocked off their bikes and they don’t like to be breathed upon by drunky the clown. In fact, unless you are offering free beer or money, or are a naked woman, the average Euro-based pro does not understand the purpose of your costume, and wishes you would trip on that costume and fall.

While we’re here, let’s talk for just a moment about language …

Race fans, I beg you; if you are a native English speaker, the word for “go” is … wait for it … “go.” I mean no disrespect here for the hordes of people who took a few years of French in school, but if the origin of your passport is USA, Australia, New Zealand, Great Britain, Canada or other English-speaking country, use an English term to indicate that you want the people you are yelling it at to know that you are cheering them on.

As an American abroad, I heard “allez” a lot. After a while it became the same noise that Charlie Brown heard … “wahh wahh, wah wah wah wahhh.” However, when confronted with the odd, “c’mon” or “go” I was suddenly gifted with superhuman hearing and a sudden resolve to push on the pedals just a little bit harder. Don’t get me wrong, either, I can hardly even communicate bike racing without translating Flemish bike racing terminology back into English, and love the old school ways and languages of bike racing, but the sport has evolved to the point where English is no longer the outsider language in the pro peloton. By the way, I am in no way suggesting that you shouldn’t attempt to at least learn how to say “please” and “thank you” but belting out a good ol’ English “go” in no way makes you an ugly ‘merican.