I love watching race DVD's, but I'm often in two minds about watching races live:
You spend ages waiting by the side of the road
for the race to approach
and it seems that regardless of whether you have a front row view
or not
the riders pass far too quickly
to pick out individuals or make sense of what's going on.
And then just when you think you've found the perfect race viewing spot at the exit of the Arenberg Forest, Hennie Kuiper and the Rabobank team come and set up their pit area right in front of you.
I didn't mind that too much, actually. When the race came by and the mechanic grabbed Langeveld's bike to offer it up for a change, Flecha's clattered to the ground. I couldn't resist picking it up and got to hold it for a moment before entrusting it back into the care of someone on the crew.
Anyone going to watch the Spring Classics hoping to actually see and follow the progress of a race will be sorely disappointed. What it's really all about is being immersed in the atmosphere and getting close to the effort and emotion of the riders - and to the bikes :).
At the Tour of Flanders on Sunday, after spending time at the start in Brugge wandering around the team bus parking area, we watched the peloton roll out of town and then dashed to the coach to get to a number of different viewing spots. There is a whole separate race amongst the following spectators to get to convenient parking places at popular points along the course. We had to park about a mile away from the Oude Kwaremont, but the walk was worth it as we got the full-on drunk Belgian Lion of Flanders flag-waving experience while little balls of ice fell from the sky and bounced off the suffering riders as they passed. One of our new friends, Crazy Eddie, proved his moniker well-deserved as he leapt out in front of the pre-race caravan vehicles and showed us a thing or two about jumping out of the way at the last minute that came in handy when we had to run up the hill back to the coach among the following team and press cars.
Our last stop for Flanders was Geraardsbergen. I wandered up the steepest part of the Kappelmuur just to see what I'd missed on Saturday, but the steep banks were already very crowded so I opted to watch the race lower down the climb, at the bottom of the town square where they'd set up a giant TV screen. We watched Stijn Devolder's attack on the screen, and then swung around to see him ride past, off the front in the Belgian Champion's jersey, his gritted teeth bared through a mud plaster mask of determination. Screaming fans further up the hill accompanied the televised images and then we all stood transfixed and silent as Devolder stayed away, now only 9 seconds, now 17, and won it solo 15 seconds clear of Nick Nuyens who'd out-sprinted his chase partner, Flecha, on the line.
Later in the week, we spent a night in the same hotel as the Cofidis team and our guide, Dave, congratulated Nick Nuyens on his excellent ride. "It was good, but not good enough," Nuyens replied. If only Flecha had waited a little for him, he continued, so that they could've begun to work together sooner, he was sure they would've caught Devolder.
Good result, bad result; it's all relative, eh? I dream of some day having have such a disappointing race!
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