Chipseal, Cobbles, and Pedals

After I was informed about the collapse of Montaubaun’s finances and my own funds were also withering away; I had to make a decision of whether or not to stay and try to get into some races or go home and start working.  I thought about it for many days, somewhat losing sleep over it.  Chris caught me one morning on the street and confronted me about the issue.  Immediately I swelled up with tears. “Don’t cry,” he said sympathetically, “it’s not the end of the world. Just do what you want to do and don’t worry about the money.” That afternoon I returned from a ride and suddenly caught a glimpse of myself in a full length mirror.  I had hardly seen my reflection over the summer, so I stopped and stared at my reflection.  I looked older than the person I saw two months ago.  I appeared tough and confident; like the women I used to be intimidated by.  But I could see straight into my eyes, and deep in there I saw that I was tired.  Sixteen days of elite level racing in under eight weeks, thousands of miles traveling by car, train, and plane, and hours upon hours of training during the week. The bike had become my companion over the summer, and we shared many wonderful adventures, adventures I once had dreamed of when I was a little girl.  When I looked into my eyes, I realized that it was time to go home, time to start preparing for next season.

                                                                                   Off on my adventure!

So with the decision made and my tickets changed, I headed up to the Pyrenees for a quick backpacking trip as I would be returning to the States on Sunday.  I borrowed some backpacking gear from a few Kiwi friends and Chris loaned me a car, so I took off for a night under the stars in the mountains.  The Pyrenees were only a few hours drive with most of it through beautiful narrow gorges and windy roads. I stopped in Les Angles, a ski village where I parked the car.  I began hiking up the ski trails, knowing that I’d eventually run into my trail. It turned out that the trails were close to one another, running parallel to each other as one was below a steep grade of the hill.  I decided to think like my brothers would, skip the back-tracking and cut straight down the steep hill through the trees and thick brush. It appeared to be the shorter and faster route but took ages as the brush was so thick and the hill so steep.  My legs were getting so scratched I started to bleed a little, but finally I made it safely to the trail. My shoes were dirty and my hair a wreck.  I began to chuckle at the success of my genius idea and why it might justify my mother worrying about me. I walked up the road and soon found a spring where I took off my pack, washed all the grime off my limbs and filled my bottles.

                                                                                                                               This is the steep hill I decided to cut through…and the path I finally found.

Before coming, I had imagined myself climbing to the top of peaks but soon found how tired I was.  Instead, I found a lake, hiked to a rock near the water and sat there for hours, soaking my feet, thinking, reading, and eventually sleeping.  I must have been pretty tired to sleep on a rock, but it was comforting with the warm sun beating down.  I felt like I was back home, camping in the Big Horns, everything looking so similar to that mountain. The only reminder I had of being in Europe were the nude swimmers across the lake.

                                                                           My campsite. I picked it near the rocks in-case of rain, then I could get some shelter.

                                                                                     I could use some coffee.

Eventually I awoke and hiked further along the trail until I found the perfect spot to camp. I ate my dinner; packaged chicken and a can of beans and then read until the stars came out. I could hear the clanging of the cow bells in the distance, but soon they faded away and I began my restless night under the stars.  I awoke at dawn, ate my muesli and began hiking about an hour towards the spring to fill my empty canisters.  As the clouds were hovering over the mountain, I decided to hike to the lake near Les Angles, so it wouldn’t be far to walk if it started raining. 

                                                                                                           The lake from up above.

After my adventurous hike, I drove out of the mountains to Bugarach for my last meal of the delicious Catalan lamb, rinsed down with the traditional pourou. The meal was most welcoming after a night of “roughing” it. But on the drive back to Limoux on a full stomach, I knew that I would be back; another great season of racing, another season to become a better cyclist and live my youthful dreams.

Bon voyage France! Se bon!

Hello America!

Last Thursday, Chris decided that I needed to do a little work for my keep.  It was pretty rough but I managed to survive as it has been nearly five months since I have had a job. This is the story of my day that one day I will tell my children and grandchildren, “back when I was your age….” so they know of all the sweat and pain I suffered.

 Chris owns a hotel business where he picks up a group of about 10 guests who are either cyclists or artists from Canada or the States and gives them a wonderful package that I don’t think you could find anywhere else in the world.  They are picked up from the airport, taken to Limoux where they stay in a hotel that is a renovated monastery.  Every day Chris will drive them to some wonderful place, decided upon day to day, based upon the weather, and they can enjoy the rich ancient history and beauty of the area by either cycling or painting.  The group we had were a bunch of lovely ladies from Canada who came to enjoy spreading their vibrant paints over the canvas to capture the rich area.

We drove to the ancient town of Minerve that was built atop a beautiful gorge. I drove the air-conditioned car and Chris drove the van.  This ancient city had a dark history of genocide as the Crusades has passed through many years ago.  A group of Cathars had occupied the area and when the Crusades came smashing through the village, the Cathars were told to convert to Christianity or die.  The Cathars refused to convert and were slaughtered; thrown off into the gorge or burned.

While the guests spent the day painting, I was again tortured into hiking through the beautiful gorge where I discovered an old Roman bridge and mill.  Back in the day, the area was used for farming the there were roads for people to take their carts full of grain to the mill to be ground.  Under the bridge there was a stream that had formed many natural Roman-style baths.  My “work” day suddenly became challenging as I had packed a towel and swimsuit as I proceeded to take a dip in the fresh clear water where little waterfalls surrounded me.  “How stressful this is!” I thought as the water was relaxing the muscles throughout my body.

                                                                                                  This is my version of heaven.  See the bridge up top and all the little baths are formed below the waterfalls.

When lunchtime finally rolled around, I hiked back up the hill and found a café where I could eat. It was very hot that afternoon and many flies were hopping around as it was the beginning of the wine harvest.  After lunch I was sweating from the heat of the sun so I strolled back down into the gorge for another swim.

We left Minerve at 5:30 and drove to a nearby village where we were served a wonderful dinner in an old artist’s studio. On the way back to Limoux, when the sun was starting to set, we stopped off onto a dirt road and visited an ancient structure similar to Stonehenge.  The sun was setting shone through the rocks like a spectacle!  It was so beautiful and I marveled at the brilliance of the human mind as the stones used to build this structure were not from the near area.  The sun faded away as we drove home. 

I let out a big yawn.  “Tough day at the office.”

After a few unexpected, but not surprising turns in the my originally planned racing schedule for the remainder of the season, I decided that this weekend I should race as if it were my very last race.  And I did.  I arrived to the race in style with freshly painted nails; my toes were Raging Raisin, and fingers Love Her Madly.  I thought a little attitude might make this the best race ever.  But being that I rarely paint my nails, I was inspired by Cathy, my future mother-in-law.  She sent me a package with some polish and a card that read, “Life is tough.  I recommend getting a manicure and a really cute helmet.”  Inside she wrote, “Melissa, I know you have a cute helmet, now get busy with your manicure and pedicure because then you’ll be able to race faster!”  I was painted and ready for battle.

Saturday’s race went very well for me.  I did end up getting dropped but I spent a lot more time working at the front and taking part in some of the action.  In the beginning I was sitting in the mid-back of the peleton.  Edwidge Patel, a teammate of Jeannie Longo and winner of a few stages in last week’s tour, looked over at me, said something in French, and motioned with her head to say, “come here.”  I followed her wheel to the front and managed to stay up there for a long while, taking some good pulls.  This was a great position for me as we suddenly turned onto a muddy and narrow road.  Everyone was fishtailing including myself and I could hear ladies yelling as if there might be a few crashes.  My back wheel had been acting funny and I became a little paranoid that I had a flat.  In actuality my tire pressure was a little too high for the wet conditions so I was more sensitive to feeling the road.  But because I was worried about my wheel, I lost position and ended up getting dropped into a headwind.  I chased and came close to catching on but was looking at the cars ahead and accidentally missed my turn.  Immediately a man pulled over and hollered at me so I quickly got onto the right path.  A group of ten riders came along and immediately I noticed that only 2 or 3 of us were doing any work at the front.  This frustrated me a great deal, so I accelerated, broke away, and with only 15 Ks to go, I rode my heart out, catching people along the way.  I was 50th overall, but results don’t matter.  I thought my racing skills had improved for this race.

Sunday we awoke bright and early to a humid and cloudy morning. The time trial started at 9:30 so we were stuffing our faces by 6:30.  For any normal and working person, this is a common hour to have breakfast, but for a cyclist, it seemed terribly early.  The time trail was a little over 6 Ks in length and I was able to catch the girl who started a minute ahead.  I was 38th overall.  The road race started in the same town but not until later in the afternoon so I decided to take a snooze after lunch.  I was aroused by Sebastian, “Mélissa, it is time to get ready.”  Soon I was chamiosed up and we marched up to the podium for the team presentation.  This announcer was particularly enthusiastic and introduced each rider as if they were the French champion, “La champion du France!”  When he came to me, he asked if I was American and then proceeded to place the microphone at my mouth. I didn’t know what I was supposed to say to all the French onlookers by my French teammates leaned over and whispered in my ears, “American.” So, with my best French accent I said “American” loud and proud and smiled as my face turned a few shades of red.

                                                                   Me walking off the podium…boy do I look goofy walking in cleats!

We started the race making a loop around the church, where many families had gathered for a picnic and to enjoy the race. The 80 K loop started and ended on the road where the time trial was held.  I felt confident and aggressive as the speed was high and the road a bit windy.  But it wasn’t far into the race when the field became strung out from the wind and I was struggling to hold onto wheels.  My confidence vanished as I became separated from the peleton.  I was with a small group of girls but they too didn’t want to take turns pulling so I separated myself from them.  The team cars started passing us and for a moment the the thought of dropping out crossed my mind.  Once I thought of this, visions of my brothers and younger siblings (ages 6 & 9), went through my head and I knew I had to be a good example for them so I told myself sternly, “Finish what you start!”  At that moment the New Zealand car drove by and Andy yelled out the window, “Melissa, get behind the car!”  I became determined with rage as I was moto-paced closer to the group and began hopping from one car to the next until finally I caught back onto the group. My jaw hung down low as I was trying to inhale as much air as possible.  This was the first time I had successfully used the cars and caught back onto the peleton, so my confidence went from drowning to soaring.  I immediately stormed up to the front of the group, just in time for a points sprint. I tried sprinting and finished about 7th and a break-away group of 6 riders formed ahead with me in-between them and the peleton. I tried bridging to them but was caught by the riders behind. I fell back a ways to rest as I had just put in a ginormous effort.  It was sunny and hot and I had forgotten to apply my sunscreen as it was humid and cloudy earlier in the day. I began craving lots of water.

The remainder of the race was fast and challenging as we were headed into the wind.  A couple of times I tried to move to the front but realized my legs didn’t have much juice so I tucked into the group.  With 10 Ks to go, the girl in front of me was suddenly falling off her bike as it appeared the wheel had locked up.  My tires skidded as I thought for sure there would be a collision.  But lucky me, I stayed upright and chased back to the group.  The last 5Ks was fast on the windy time trial road and I forced myself to stay close to the other wheels.  The sprint was on a slight uphill and the first 10 ladies sprinted while the rest of us coasted in as we were in a jam.

 Afterwards I said my goodbyes to my teammates with the custom kissing motion on each cheek.  “Ciao Mélissa!  Next summer we see you!”

Though there are times when events in our life do not go as planned, it is from these often frustrating instances that we learn how to make the most out of the moment.  When my computer decided to crash on me yesterday, I decided to remember the time I was a child and the hot water heater, vacuum, and probably the car too all decided to fall apart when my poor parents were just trying to get by.  When I thought of this…as I am sitting in an apartment in the most beautiful part of France with only myself to care for, I decided that I would survive!  So, with much haste I conquer typing on a French keyboard where all the letters are mixed around, to update you on my challenging race over the past weekend. 

Last Friday, while I was lying on the massage table, in paradise as my tired legs were getting rubbed down, I decided then and there that I should race my bike for the wonderful massages that come afterwards. The 4-day stage race in Limousine was a challenging test of both physical and mental will power.  The course consisted of many challenging climbs as well as technical descents on roads the size of American bike paths; a course that also sought after prime bike handling skills.  This weekend I was challenged in all these areas and found myself again struggling near the back.  Although my results were not what I had hoped for, I was able to overcome a hurting pride to finish every stage within the time limit and to learn what I needed to improve on. I found that my greatest weakness was descending.  I would give myself too much room and then I would have to work hard to catch back up.  Sometimes I felt at ease as we’d fly around the bends, but other times I was more tense as the pace was high and the turns more technical.  It was hard for me to trust the wheels in front, but I will admit that my confidence had improved from the previous week.  Even in practice, you can never simulate the effect of flying down a narrow bending road at high speeds in a group of 100 women!

Nothing happened until 90Ks into the race when we came upon a very very steep climb. It was there that the race broke apart as women were scrambling up the hill. I too became separated from the front group and soon it began to rain.  The last 20Ks was a double lap circuit and included the most dangerous turns.  You would come screaming down a hill at full speed and then have a sudden right hand 100 degree turn!  I was on my own by then and slowed to a near stall to get around the turn as adrenaline was exploding through my body.  I finished the race and immediately felt like I could just lay down and die; my brain was a bowl of mush. 

The drive back to the dorms was an hour and I utilized the time to stuff my face; sandwich after sandwich, drink after drink until finally my brain began functioning again.  My parents weren’t kidding when they said, “food is fuel for your brain.”

                                                            Starting area for Saturday’s race.

Saturday’s stage went better for me as it was the most challenging course I had ever ridden.  It was a pure test of physical strength and will power. The course profile couldn’t justify the amount of climbing we did, as only would a seat in a saddle with two legs pedaling away make sense of what our bodies were put through.

The beginning of the race was fast with both descending and flat areas. I was more comfortable but had to yell at myself to fill the gaps and move closer. It was early into the race when the climbing began. I was proud when on the second hill I was able to lunge myself straight to the front. But soon it was on the third, long and steady climb that I struggled to stay with the group.  Girls were getting strung out.  The team car  went by and Sebastian pointed at the group of ladies behind that I should wait and work with them.  We were only at 20Ks into the 120K race.  I was relieved when my teammate Sylvia came behind and put her hand on my back as if to say, “I’m here”.

We spent the next 100 kilometers climbing our hearts out and working together to finish the race within the time limit. The 9 of us had an unspoken alliance that we would stay together. I felt strong on the climbs and sat at the front of the group, keeping a rhythm and singing in my head a mixture of “Allez, allez allez allez,” and Johnny Cash’s Big River song.  I felt very strong until 25Ks to go when we became very fatigued and praying that there wouldn’t be another hill.  My chain fell off on one of the steeper climbs and because of that alliance we had, when I stopped to put it back on, the group slowed the pace and waited up for me. When we finally saw the sign with 1K to go, everyone’s spirits were uplifted as we were so happy to give our bodies a rest.

I had drank about 6 bottles of fluid during the race and chugged down another three.  I felt better than the day before as my confidence had been boosted by surviving the course.  The same day, back in good ol’ Laramie, Wyoming, the Enduro was taking place.  As exhausted as I felt, I remembered watching Aaron and Carl last summer when they too gave everything they had to just finish the enduring mountain race. Sometimes our biggest feats can be merely finishing what we have started.

                                                                                      How the French enjoy bike races. 

The final day of Limousine did not turn out how I had expected as again I was dropped early into the race.  But I fought my hurting pride, found a group to work with, and finished the race.  I felt frustrated with myself, but decided, “Hey, I am racing my bike in beautiful France where people are cheering. This isn’t so bad.”  So, I suddenly smiled as a man yelled “Se bon! Allez!” as we rode through a small village.  Another person sat along side of the road in a red speedo, striped towel, and umbrella, as if he was on the beach, and aged ladies with silver hair cheered as they remanenced about their past. ”I should enjoy this moment,” I thought.  And I did.

Six countries in one week; Belgium, Czech Republic, Poland, German, Holland, and France. As I sped across the audubon of Germany, back to Belgium on Sunday, I smiled in the back seat of the car. All I could think of was that I have wanted to do this my whole life.  Now here I am in the midst of my adventure.

After returning from an eventful weekend in Czech, I packed my few belongings and boarded a plane to France.  My home away from home, Limoux was sunny and warm, and new adventures awaited for the week. I had left Tielt-Winge at 4:30am as Kieran had kindly driven me to the airport for my 6:30 flight.  I arrived in Limoux at 8am and by 10 o’clock, I was headed in the van with Chris, Jasmine, Cam, and two other local riders for a 17 K climb up the Pic de Nore. We were told to go as hard as we could, and I finished with a time of 1:00.33. Chris had taken off like a rabbit, and beat me by 4 minutes.  “I know you can do better,” he said.  “You should be able to do it in 50 minutes.”

    Chris, Jasmine, Me, Cam, and two riders from Limoux at the top of the Pic de Nore.

The view was a spectacle from the top, and as I was cruising around after my effortful climb, a group of school children were walking up the road.  A small boy, about 14 years of age handed me a handful of wild-flowers with the roots still attached.  “Bonjour madame!” I gladly took the flowers, “Merci!” All the children began to giggle as their classmate had cleverly flirted with the lady cyclist. 

      The peleton of the Tour de France.

Thursday, the Tour de France was in route through the region.  Chris gave me a map with time-tables of when the race would come through each town and I planned a good workout near the area.  I packed my small courier bag with some recovery drink, lunch, sandals, and a jacket and took off on my ride.  My workout for the day was three 12 minute efforts up a climb, so when I reached the climb, I hid my sack in the brush and started climbing. The workout went by with ease as the climbing the day before had been such a challenge. I found my way to the town of Puivert and immediately reserved a spot on the sidewalk to view the race.

                There I am! Right after the peleton flew past.

While eating my salami sandwich I had packed along, children nearby sang in chorus, “Allez, allez allez allez!” Old men sat with arms crossed, and families had picnics of bread, cheese, and wine. People moved in and out of their houses, and everyone conversed with both friends and strangers. I had arrived an hour early, but just missed the souvenir van that came through. Team cars drove through the town honking in a parade as the crowd waved and cheered.  Anticipation for the riders grew as more vehicles drove through and finally helicopters hovered above.  Everyone stood up and the noise of the crowd grew.  Finally, the moment came and a group of about 10 riders came flying around the corner.  A minute later the peleton followed and the fans went wild!  But in only moments it was all over and everyone began heading home.  I had randomly met up with Cam and Jamie, so we rode back to Limoux together. Being that I had climbed most of the way to Puivert, the 40 minute ride home was mostly down hill.

                                          The lamb is getting drizzled with flaming pork fat.

Later that evening, Chris invited me to join him and his guests in Bugarach for a wonderful meal.  The menu was similar to what we had back in April, only this time instead of wild-boar, we were treated to a specially cooked lamb. The evening ended with full tummies and I returned home, ready to turn down for the night. 

                   Overlooking a beautiful landscape, an hour and a half into the ride.

Friday, Jasmine and I went on an adventurous 4 1/2 hour ride over hills, through ancient towns, and many micro climates.  The morning started warm, humid and windy, and turned hot and dry halfway through the ride.  Midway, we stopped in the ancient town of Lagrasse and sat down to rest and eat our sandwiches we’d packed along.

            The ancient city of Lagrasse.

The rest of the loop involved three major climbs, the first being the most prominent.  As the weather had become very hot and windy, fatigue had started to settle in for the both of us.  But, when we had finally crested the final climb, a burst of excitement ran through my body and I took of sprinting and throwing my fists in the air as if I’d just won a race.  “All down-hill from here!” 

Now I sit, resting inside the cool stone building, laptop in hand as the sun beats down upon the French rooftops outside.  Today I rest, completely off the feet and prepare for another adventure tomorrow, racing up 10-hills with Chris.

They say bad luck comes in threes. I had a bit of bad luck over the weekend, but in the end, I was still proud that I had finished and felt I had learned some valuable lessons from my misfortunes.

Wednesday I flew into Prague and met up with my team mates for the weekend.  I was guest riding for a team called Luciano out of Great Britain.  Gabby Day was there, and I knew her quite well from living at the house in Belgium.  We took a transfer shuttle from Prague to Krasna Lipa.  It took 3 hours because the driver got lost and the whole time we kept making jokes about ‘an American, a Scottish, and two British women missing, last seen in Prague airport.’  We imagined all the terror movies we’d seen where people got drug out into the woods and Gabby emphasized this by making stabbing motions at me.  We all laughed and were perfectly safe arriving to the little town of Krasna Lipa.

The first day of racing started with rain and wet roads.  There was lots of descending in the beginning, so everyone was a bit edgy.  I wasn’t in a good position and it was only 10Ks into the race that I got dropped from the first group on the climb. Stewart, our manager motor-paced me to catch up.  Motor-pacing is when you’re sitting behind a car and you’re able to pedal at high speeds because the vehicle is blocking the wind; this is legal in professional races.  Anyhow, I was flying at probably 30MPH coming into a round-about.  I was so close to the girls ahead, but the road was wet and the pavement slightly banked, so I suddenly panicked, realizing I was going too fast and tapped my breaks.  Immediately I did a superman-dive onto the pavement, like a belly-flop into a pool and began sliding nearly 30feet on my stomach.  I screamed in agony as I felt the wind get knocked out of me and the bony part of my hips take a beating.  Stewart was behind, so he got out of the car and helped me up.  Soon a girl came speeding around and must have braked to avoid the car and came sliding almost under the vehicle!  My stomach hurt.  I thought I was going to vomit as all my abdominal muscles were cramping up.  “Are you going to finish or do you want to get in the car?”  I had a quick vision of a note my brother Mike had written, “Mel, you will crash, but you are tough so you will get up and catch the front group.”  Through sobs, I said, “I’ll just…ride.”

So, I pedaled and soon realized that I only had two of my hardest gears to use; my 12 in my big ring and small ring. (The 12 is the hardest gear in the back). The shifting had completely failed.  I thought, “Well, I rode a fixed gear all winter, I can do this.”  I had to stand a lot and the course was very hilly, but I found my legs feeling fresher as time passed.  I rode with another girl and we were at the very back with the last support vehicle.  I was having difficulty on one of the steep climbs, so I stopped to fiddle with my bike.  The support people told me I could quit, but I said ‘no’.  So, on the really steep climbs, they let me hang onto the vechicle and they helped pull me along.  (This is also legal…especially if you’re in last place. Also, don’t do this unless you’re a professional!) We caught three other girls and stayed together the rest of the race.  Sometimes I could drop them on the hills, but they’d catch a ride up to me. 

The last 10Ks was beautiful on a windy road through the forest.  With only 2Ks to go, my shifting started to work again!  I had gears!  Immediately I laughed and when we turned the corner for the finish, I sprinted like there was no tomorrow.  I was very proud of myself for finishing after crashing and riding for about 60 miles with only two gears, but I found out later that night when we got the results, that I was 5 minutes off the time cut.

The next morning I awoke, very sore in my lower abdomen, but ready to see if I could race.  I had to ask the chief judge for permission, since I hadn’t made the time cut.  He was very nice and spoke English well.  “It is too late,” he said.  “You should have asked yesterday.”  “But we didn’t get the results until late last night.”  “Ok, I will think about it.”  I warmed up and five minutes before the start of the race, he gave me permission to ride!

The race started off well and I moved up to the front, but when we came through the forest, onto the wet and windy road, I was was a little timid, thinking of my crash from the day before. I lost position, but when we came to the first hill, the race leaders came around me and I thought, “I’m ok.” So, I pounded up the hill and got back into the group.  When I thought I was fine, I heard my rear wheel blow, “hissssssssss” and immediately raised my arm in the air and radioed my team.  The US Team car drove by first and they pulled over to help me out.  The mechanic changed my wheel quickly and gave me a big push.  I chased through the cars and Stewart came by and motor-paced me for awhile.  When we came to a turn, I saw a rider going straight and followed her.  This was a bad decision because she had gone off course.  I lost radio contact so I couldn’t hear Stewart telling me to turn around.  Soon I figured this out and turned around, spending the remainder of the time chasing alone.

                    Finishing town on second day.  Sorry for the lack of pictures…my batteries died and I didn’t bring any spares.

I soared up the climbs and my legs felt so powerful.  I kept eating and drinking.  Near the last lap on our figure-eight circuit course, I was mistaken as a race leader and was sent in the wrong direction! When the leaders came by me, it appeared I had been lapped.  I had no idea what was going on, so I just kept racing, minding not to jump into the groups as I didn’t see it as being an ethical choice. In the end, I finished strong.

Later that night, we received the results and I saw that I was cut from the race.  In a stage race, if you don’t finish a stage within the time limit, you aren’t allowed to continue the next day.  When I saw on paper that I wasn’t going to race the naxt day, it hit me hard and hurt. I had felt so strong, and still wouldn’t be able to race.

                             Getting ready for podium awards after second stage.

After I had crossed the finish line that day, I returned the wheel to the US Team. The guys said to me, “So Melissa, how is the race going?”  “Alright I guess,”  I paused, “Just had a bit of bad luck this week.”  I laughed as I thought of everything that had happened and continued, “But this is still great training and I’m learning a lot.”  Their faces lit up and they replied, “That’s a great attitude to have.”

Saturday I took the train to the race.  As I was returning home, smiling with pride I might add, I was riding in the first-class cabin, as a kind gentleman and cycling fan had given me a seat.  Someone had asked, “Do you eat something special?”  I replied, “Well, just these gooey things you rip the tops off and squirt into your mouth.”  “Oh, astronaut food!!”  We all laughed, and later I decided that I should have told him, “Yes, I ate a piece of Old Glory pie last night…and that’s what gave me such power today!”

                                                      Old Glory Pie

As it was the 4th of July, everyone at the house was very interested in how Americans celebrate the holiday.  So, just to give the Kiwi’s and Aussies a treat, I called my mother up and got a recipe for an Old Glory pie.  We all joined in and made salads and had a wonderful BBQ, and as we sat around and conversed. Kieren the Irishman told stories of the American independence and declared it to be a fight started by an Irishman!  The food was welcoming as I had spent another hard week of training.  To top it off, my coach had given me some advice to go play around with my bike and practice cornering, and doing figure-eight exercises.  I had a lot of fun with these drills and soon found myself diving into every corner I could possibly find.

Now, to the race…

                                           Train station in Kontich

As mentioned before, I took the trains north to Kontich for another Belgium crit. My legs felt great and from the start of the race, I sensed something good would happen. In the beginning, the peleton only inched forward.  No one attempted to attack, and for a second I was a little disappointed because I was hoping for a race, not tea.  So after two laps, I moved to the front and at that instant, a girl attacked on the corner and I was the first person to jump on it.  It had begun to rain and the white paint became very slippery, so everyone was cautious on the corners.  Like a madwoman, I decided I shouldn’t care and I’d be as aggressive as possible. I took them hard, only once having my back wheel slide out.  From that moment on, I stayed in the front; there were five of us rotating through, taking pulls and keeping the pace high.  A few girls would attack and I’d jump on it and again get into the habit of rotating through to the front to take a pull.

Suddenly, I looked back and didn’t see any riders behind us! I thought, “Oh my!  We have a break….and I’m in it!!” Immediately I got back in, pushing through and sharing the work.  There were 14 ladies in our group and all were very serious and organized.  We took quick pulls at the front and some kept yelling, “Come on, come on!  Get closer to the wheels. Pull through!  You can do it!”  And we did.  We had separated from the peleton sometime around 40 minutes into the race, and held it for the remainder, finishing with almost a 2 minute lead. Our finishing time was about 1:50.  Coming into the last sprint, my legs were beat, and I found myself at the front of the group right before the sprint.  I waited for someone to move, and when it happened, they all flew around me and I was completely annihilated in the sprint!  I placed 14th and was very proud of how the race turned out.  Finally, I figured out how to stay at the front! I won 12 Euros and nearly paid for my trip.

As I rode the 15 Ks to the house in Tielt from the train station in Aarschot, I had a smile on my face the entire time.  The rain couldn’t even wash it away.

Kieren and Yolandi confronted me last night about my riding.  “Melissa, I think you are afraid of the corners,” said Yolandi.  “I noticed when you were riding in the Ardennes with Helen and I that you would always fall back, especially the descents too.”  Keiren had asked me about the crit, and I had given him the ‘thumbs-down’ sign. 

The criterium was in a town only 30Ks away.  The streets were packed with spectators and riders, and there were many balconies full of people, viewing from above.  People were drinking beer and eating frites.  Nearby, a band played onstage. I would suspect a good 100 riders were in our field, and all the strong girls had returned from their tours.  I arrived to the race with Yolandi’s Belgian teammate, Kim.  Her team was there, and they kindly took care of my bike and even offered me a pre-race massage!  I hurried over to the start line, to get myself a position in the front, but just my luck, all the racers came piling in the front and soon I found myself at the back. 

The start was fast, and soon I was wishing I’d warmed-up for the race. Almost immediately, the field was strung out and it became nearly impossible to move-up.  Quickly we turned right off the main drag into a residential area, onto a curb, over some speed bumps and wound around the narrow roads, braking, turning, and putting the pedal down to get back up to the speed of the front group.  The sun was beating down on us and I could feel the hot pressure building inside my skull.  “Move-up, move-up,” I yelled at myself, but found fatigue building early into the race. My hopes of getting to the front dissipated into the air.

I was dropped with a small group of ladies as we all struggled to grab a wheel.  Soon, my small group broke apart and I became a solo rider, trying to chase down the peleton.  After 30 minutes of chasing, the official waved the flag, and I was cut from the race and very disappointed about the results.

                                                    The winners.

Later that night, I replied to Yolandi’s remark about my hesitation on the corners, “I am scared of the turns, and descending.  I’m afraid to trust the wheel in front of me, afraid to trust that my bike will stay upright when I go over the curb.  I was good at crits in the States, but we had wide roads and they aren’t so technical and fast.”  Kieren chirped in; once more sharing his Irish wisdom, “Melissa, we’ve seen a lot of girls with the same problem.  You just have to overcome it.  You are a cyclist.  You will crash because you know, you are sitting on something with only two wheels, and if you stand it up on it’s own, it will tip over.  But many people crash, and they are usually able to finish the race.  They just stand up, dust off their scrapes, and get back onto the bike.” I smiled when he said this as suddenly it reminded me of something my dad would say. Kieren continued, “Just get over the fact you’re going to crash, because you will…and be aggressive!”

As I was finishing the last 10 seconds of my 20 minute interval yesterday afternoon, I felt a stinging sensation on my chest.  Completely irritated, I began slapping myself and pulling at my jersey as the sensation intensified.  Finally, the interval was up and I peered down my shirt, just spotting a small, fuzzy, yellow thing. I assumed this to be pollen and my skin must be extra sensitive, so again I tried swatting and digging it out of there. It kept stinging. Once more I peered down my shirt, this time with a better view, and what I saw was not pollen, but a dead bee!  I’d been stung in the breast by a bee!  Frantically, I tried swatting it out of there, as I was a little shaken by the idea of a bee resting in my bra. This was my first bee sting, so I didn’t know how I’d react, but luckily I was close to the house. I checked it out and you could barely tell I’d been stung.  I determined the gender of the bee to be male, since it was so keen on peeping down my shirt! Such a male instinct.

Wednesday Helen, Yolandi, and I got in the car and drove about and hour or so south, to do some climbing in the Ardennes: http://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&hl=en&geocode=&saddr=&daddr=50.127622,5.438232&mra=mi&mrsp=0&sz=7&sll=50.611132,5.394287&sspn=2.74698,5.614014&ie=UTF8&t=h&z=7. Since Belgium is pretty flat, I jumped at the opportunity.  We arrived in a cute little town, near the river and did a 3 hour loop from there.  Helen was familiar with the area, so she led the way. It rained about half-way into the ride, but the air was warm and humid, and the dense brush kept us fairly dry.  As usual, I spent most of the ride in deep thought over the people that were back home in America. 

                           Helen (England) and Yolandi (South Africa)

Being that I haven’t seen an American since I left the States, 3 weeks ago, I have felt like a foreigner, for the first time in my life. The last two times I’ve been in Europe, there was always a group of Americans that I was with, either for school, or as teammates.  This time, I am the only one, so I’ve been discovering some interesting habits that Americans have…at least from my part of the country.

                                  I spotted this castle! 

For instance, the other day we were all sitting outside, enjoying the sun and Kieren, an Irishman looked at my Nalgene, full of water and said with a puzzled look, “What’s the deal with carrying liquid in a huge plastic container?”  The other girls, from the UK and New Zealand turned and looked too, all with puzzled expressions.  “Really?!”  I said.  “My Nalgene?  These are so popular back home!  Everyone carries one to class, and some even put little carribeaners on them so they can be hooked to something.”  Everyone just burst out laughing!  “Can I put alcohol in there and pretend it’s water?”  Kieren asked.  “Oh yea, they do that too, especially for American football games!”  Anyhow, by the end of the discussion, I hadn’t convinced a soul that they too should join this ‘cool’ American fad!

                             This is the town we started our ride from.  Very cute…I think I’d like to take a vacation here with Aaron some day.

Another interesting thing I’ve experienced as a foreigner is the many differences in the English language!  So far I have been asked several times, “And what do you call this?” And they would giggle after my response, at how funny I sounded to them.  A jacket is a ‘jumper’, sandals are ‘jankles’, candy is ‘lollies’, a brake lever is a ‘leever’. I think my response time during conversations has been a bit slow, as I’ve tried to figure out what they’ve been talking about!  I am getting much better as I’m learning their vocabulary, but I still use my American terminology when conversing!

One more difference that I’ve noticed is the way in which the dishes are washed.  I know this sounds quite funny, but I have noticed that I am the only person, out of Kiwi’s, the girls from the UK, South Africa, Australia, and Belgium to rinse the dishes after they’ve been washed in the soapy water! I’ve never met an American who didn’t rinse them.  I was always taught that this was important because we didn’t want to ingest any soap, but I haven’t met a person here besides myself who rinses!  How much water do we waste rinsing dishes?  Probably too much.  Anyhow, they usually put water in the sink, clean off the gunk from the dishes, drain the water and put in clean soapy water and wash and put the dish in the drying rack.  Simple as that, but hard for me to grasp as I was brought-up believing that any soap ingestion would kill me.   It’s funny to discover that your ‘ways’ are actually rather odd compared to the rest of the world, even when it comes to washing dishes.