What's The Big Deal?
It felt here nor there to me, I thought, deciding whether or not to go the USA. I wasn't sure whether I would race the Tour of California but, if I did, I would spend a week in Boulder first for some altitude and solid training. I was still recovering from my crash at Amstel Gold Race. What seemed like an insignificant pavement slam had done some damage in my lower back and things were not quite perfect yet. I was ready to train but was I ready to race? Was all the travel worth it? What was the big deal about Boulder anyway?
Even though the weather forecast looked awful, some coaxing from a locally placed friend was enough to sway the vote and I was off to Colorado. Arriving in Denver, I was less than impressed with the flat terrain. Where were the mountains?
With jet lag brain, I stared out the window but then it started. The horizon grew into a jagged silhouette and with it my excitement. I saw the Flatirons, massive rocks in the shape of clothing irons, and the landscape grew evermore impressive the closer we came to Boulder. By the time we got to our accommodation, jet lag had been overruled by excitement.
The next morning felt like Christmas. With so many new roads high up, places to see, and bad weather coming later in the week, the blue-sky day was the perfect opportunity to get in a massive ride. The route was called Peak-to-Peak, a famous local loop of 120km with 3,000m of climbing.
The Rocky Mountain terrain was different from the European mountains I knew. The roads were straighter and, without the signal of a switchback, deceptively steep. Instead of going up and down mountains, it was more riding up canyons and staying along the top. Riding up at 2500-3000m for so long was a new experience. The entire day was spent in the saddle and it was one of those fulfilling memorable rides that left me tired, excited, and motivated. I’ve never fallen out of love with cycling but this felt like it was happening all over again.
The predicted bad weather arrived and sat over Boulder for the next few days. I wasn’t bothered by a snow day after such a big first day and it was good to have some easier inside rides to adjust to the altitude. By the time the clouds and snow cleared, I was ready to enjoy the sun and mountains again. I was also ready for the Tour of California. I felt so energized, motivated, and simply happy after only a few days of riding.
So, I got it: Boulder was pretty special. There was a reason why it was so famous, why so many athletes lived there, and why it attracted so many more to come and visit.
The last time I had felt such a jolt of energy was the first time I rode in Banyoles and I ended up moving there. I’m still in love with the Girona area so I definitely won’t be moving to Boulder, but it reminded me about how special that feeling was.
The pure joy of riding a bike that every cyclist has felt before. It’s the feeling we are always chasing and remembering; it’s the feeling I want to share with others when they come stay with us at Rocacorba Cycling; it was the feeling that made Boulder a pretty big deal.
I’ll never forget it and I’ll definitely be back.
The Sting Of Bad Luck
Flanders is one of those races where it still means something if you finish. The tiniest country roads, the unforgiving rough and stupidly steep cobbles, the blood sport fight to position yourself before the climbs, and don’t forget the weather if Mother Nature decides to show up. Actually, it’s one of those races where it still means something if you start and CCC-Liv started perfectly.
No doubt it was the best race we had done as a team. For the first 115 kilometres we had this amazing rhythm, operating like a well-oiled machine and then some. We were riding together, positioned well, Marianne felt amazing and so did I. To have everyone come together like that, it was just another level. We had the goods to pull off a win, we just needed the luck.
The final 30 kilometres is where the big bets are made. I knew we had the fire power to execute the final strategy but as we got together on the Kanarieberg (climb #6) someone switched my wheel. Somehow I didn’t crash and, after a quick foot down, I started to chase back. I wasn’t too far behind but there also wasn’t a lot of time before the next climb, the cobbled Taaienberg (climb #7), where the pressure would continue.
I didn’t have a choice: I had to go all in to catch the peloton or it was race over. I didn’t even have to think about making a decision, my legs were already powering across the gap and up the Kanarieberg.
Image: Jojo Harper
Now, I know Belgian roads. I’ve raced in Belgium for many years. I know the cobbles, the narrow roads, the road furniture, and the wide crack right down the centre of their concrete roads. I’m always aware of that crack. I know it’s there but as if two hands reached up and grabbed my wheels, out of nowhere my bike instantly came to a complete stop. My wheels were both perfectly stuck in that centre crack. Like walking into a glass door, it caught me so off guard I only realized what had happened after I hit the ground, slid across the road into the ditch, and came to a stop in stinging nettles.
Grazed and confused, I got up and back to my bike. The drivetrain was all messed up. I definitely needed a new bike but, after the big splits on the Kanarieberg, the team cars were too far behind. Everything had happened so fast that I could actually still see the bunch ahead. It didn’t matter what I had, I needed to go all in again if I was to get back.
Image: Oliver Grenaa
My body was stinging all over from nettles and road rash but my muscles were working. I got back up to speed and as I clicked into an easier gear as I hit the bottom of the Taaienberg, my derailleur went into my back wheel and fell off! “Ok, that’s it,” I thought with a sigh. With the odds so stacked against me, it was smarter to save my legs for the next race.
Up at the front Marriane wasn’t faring much better with a poorly timed puncture. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed; it really wasn’t our day. You can have the best legs and the best team on the day but to win a bike race you always need some luck or, at least, no bad luck. Still, we had finished one of the toughest Spring Classics and the magic of the first 115 kilometres made me believe at the next race our luck would change.