News Feeds for Echappe Equipment

Another tough day for the EuroCamp guys, but its par for the course. Really.

“And the hits just keep coming:

It was a nightmare stop and go roller coaster before we even got to the race. I couldn’t tell if the surges in traffic were making me more or less nauseous then the radio “Donna” mix of incredibly bad American pop with Belgian techno-esque noise. In either case those of us in the back seat were rapidly reaching terminal sick state accompanied by the desperate need to pee. Great.

Step one after arriving at the venue was to miss the access to our parking zone. Step two was to use the facilities between a team sprinter van and some nice Belgian persons shrubbery. Ahh
After that desperate evacuation of fluid and some much needed fresh air there was the question of this whole race thing we were supposed to be getting ready for. The weather was pretty atrocious
I mean, nice typical Belgian weather. In other words it was 2 degrees Celsius and raining. It doesn’t take a degree in soil science to guess that rain, plus bike racers plus a farmer’s field equals all sort of pasty, peanut-buttery mud. Sweet! Because really, my bike has not had enough beat into it over the last couple of days. Sigh.

Morale in Camp USA was not what you would call “high” upon arrival. There were shivering U23 riders milling around, waiting for their ride home. Unfortunately their race was still being called in the distance. Me and my two other “profs” (Troy and Brian) sat in the warming van after riding our one course recon lap pondering the deeper questions of motivation and purpose in addition to line choice, dismount or ride, and some just general complaining about how hard it was going to suck to slog through a tractor pull of mud for an hour. Our musings did nothing to change the weather or the course however, and soon it was time to ride the trainers and do something of a warm up.

The course at Loenhout is nothing if not a really good example of an inventive use of open featureless space. When I say that a lot of it is just a farm field, I’m not kidding. But through the magic of design and a lot of sponsorship dollars, out of this field rise multiple flyovers, and a pump-track like whoop section (if you think this sounds like fun, go to your local BMX track, put 20lbs of air in the tires of your cross bike and try it out: it’s terrifying at high speed, and I like pump tracks). Once again I was amazed at the crowds at these races. I mean, who wants to come out on a day like this: sane animals are hibernating or migrating right about now. But despite this there were thousands upon thousands of Belgians making their way into the rainy wetness of some random field to watch us accomplish what a tractor and a plow would in about half the time. As I made my way around the course trying not to look like a flailing idiot too much of the time, I rode throug
clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke so thick I could almost taste it. This is racing. This is awesome. I’m riding well. I’m being lapped by Sven Nys. Sigh.

It took forever to figure out how to get back to the car. I was cold, dejected and not wanting to stare into the faces of a public so excited by this sport. “How many fences are there in this place?” “Where the hell am I?” But in reality the people were polite and eventually, after me looking dazed and confused for long enough, gave me directions back to town and the parking lot. It’s amazing how you can ride so many laps around a labyrinthine course without having any understanding of where it actually goes. So now we were back in the van, piling wet muddy clothes into bags to deal with later. Another day in the books and still not much of a result to speak of. Troy managed a pretty solid result riding in with a group containing mountain biking icon Jose Hermidia for 30th. Not too shabby. The rest of us, or at least myself, spent the van ride back thankfully a little less motion sick albeit a little more reflective. As I sit staring out the window at the Belgia
countryside passing by I’m already thinking about the next race, and the bike maintenance I have to try and get done in the next couple of days, and what I’ve learned here that I can take with me into next season and beyond. It’s been a humbling day for a lot of us to be sure, but I know that at least for myself, I’m trying to soak in as much experience as the Belgian mud soaks in the rain
.tomorrow is another day.”

I was traveling when Justin sent in this update. Enjoy!:

“So sorry for the delay in-between updates here. I know a lot of you are anxiously wondering how things are going over here. Especially if you got a chance to look at results and see that I didn’t have a stellar couple of days. Unfortunately the results don’t lie. It’s been a rough couple of days over here in Belgium land. But I’m trying to stay upbeat and look at this all as one big learning expierence..for better or for worse.

Saturday was the world cup in Zolder that is held on the grounds of the Formula One race course. As we rolled into the entrance road to the course it was already obvious that it was a mob scene. There were people walking from a long way out in what was reminiscent of a football game or concert in the states. When we finally got into the infield it was overwhelming the size of the event. There were jumbo trons showing footage from all around the course, people everywhere and team trailers and buses being mobbed by fans in search of an autograph from Nys or Albert or Wellens. Even our humble American outfit was approached for our “cards” and autographs, although it was easy enough to see the disappointment on their faces when we told them that “no, Todd Wells and Ryan Trebon are not in fact here”. In any case, the course was pretty intense, starting and finishing on the straight away of the road circuit, ridiculous run ups and steep descents. Even after a few warm up laps i
was obvious that the racing, especially the first lap was going to be an intense fee-for all. It didn’t disappoint. There were crashes and pushing and I got forcibly pushed through a gap by someone behind me that I was really sure I wasn’t going to fit in. After the bedlam of the first lap I settled into something of a rhythm and was trying to bridge up to a group just in front of me with about four laps to go when disaster struck. In an attempt to make up time before the road section I was pushing the pace into a steep sandy downhill that only had one rut. When my front wheel blew out of the rut it came to an abrupt halt pitching me over the handlebars and down the slope headfirst into the corner post at the bottom. Analysis # 1 about the difference between European cross races from American: The course posts are not the flimsy 1/4″ things we’re uses to. They’re 3″ thick posts that have been augured into the ground. The lesson from all of this is don’t hit them with you
head…it hurts. After I started being able to see straight and hear through the ringing in my ears I rapidly became aware of spectators speaking to me in two different languages, neither of which could I understand even if I hadn’t just given myself a mild concussion. “No, I am not sava bien, and no I can’t get back in the fiet race.” Sigh. As I hobbled my way back to the van, head hung in pain and shame, I was both applauded and made fun of by drunk fans…it was a bit of an emotional roller coaster just to make it to where I could sit down and be alone for a bit.

After that debacle, it was hard to psychologically rally for the next days race in Deigem. I was down, sore, and not entirely sure why the form that was carrying my so well a month ago had seemingly left me in the dust just when I needed it. Trying to put all that aside though, I pulled myself together, packed my kit bag and watched out the window as the rain poured down, all but ensuring that it would be muddy as hell. It was a quiet car ride. As expected, the course was muddy. And had a huge climb through the town streets, and had about a thee-hundred meter running sections, and barriers, and a steep as shit run-up. All of which might make it sound horrible, but instead it was maybe the coolest race I’ve ever done. Which isn’t to say that my results were all that good. As a matter of fact they straight up weren’t. I got lapped shortly before the finish line as Neils Albert came ripping by me in his World Champion stripes. But the atmosphere, and energy of this race wer
incredible. There were so many people, more then Zolder. People lined every inch of the course. The only way I could think to describe it afterward was like an NFL game in the states. It was that kind of rowdy, intense 80% drunk crowd. And in similar numbers. Did I mention that this race was at night, under the lights? Giant stadium lighting cast down on the course as we raced through alleyways, and an incredible amount of power sucking mud. And despite everything, I finally felt like I was racing again. Not strongly but at least I was racing. My fickle form left me a little at odds with the courses long climb through town and the short but difficult uphill grass section, but I felt like I was railing some of the more technical aspects of the course to the accolades of some of the crowd. I focused on riding smoothly and making as few mistakes as possible, and I think, if it hadn’t been for a mid-lap period where I had to pull on my shifter cable to manage any gea
changes at all, I would have finished on the lead lap. So, despite everything, the wishing I was riding better, the never ending 20 questions I play with myself about what I can do to go faster, the wondering where I went wrong in trying to structure the last few weeks of my very long season, despite all if that I do feel like I’m learning a lot. I just wish I could have that extra 5 percent I need right now.

After the race I had to try and make my way through the mealy of the course and the thousands upon thousands of people working their way back to their cars. And then something amazing happened. One person would yell something in Flemish and everyone who was walking would turn around and see me and open up a path. Thousands of people parted themselves so that I could ride through them. It didn’t matter that I had just gotten lapped, or that I wasn’t Belgian at just that moment. And sure, there were some of them who laughed at me and I’m called me a stupid American, but have you heard the drunken people at professional football games? I mean it could be a lot worse. And the amount of respect and adoration they have for this sport, and for those who are out there fighting it out under the lights in atrocious conditions is humbling. They are pragmatic to be sure. They do not think any of us (the US riders) will be the next world cup winner, and they are probably right. Bu
they respect us non-the-less, and appreciate the entertainment and the effort we leave out there on the course. We have a lot to learn as racers from a country that eats, sleeps, and breathes bike racing. And remembering all of this I am just keeping my head as upward (and as far away from posts) as possible and looking at each race as a chance to learn something and maybe have it all come together for the results that I think I’m capable of. Tomorrow is Loenhout
another chance for redemption. Stay tuned.”