Dis hoe dit was vir my om van die bekendste klimme in Vlaandere te kon fiets.
‘n Handvol Vlaamse vriende – ten spyte van my teëstribbelings – het maande gelede begin uitnooi, aanmoedig… mettertyd begin saamsweer, en later gedreig: jy ry saam!
Just a Sunday ride, they said. A little “sneukeltochtje”, they said. Meaning a leisurely ride with stops for lovely local snacks.
Het iemand vooraf iets genoem van -1°C aanvoelbaar? Nee.
Of die Aardense noordwester wat gaan waai? Nee.
Het iemand iets gesê van 73km?
Of dat selfs die grote Eddy Merckx destyds by van hierdie klimme opgeSTAP het?
Nee. En nee!
So there I was: dressed as best I could in my Capetonian winter cycling kit against the foreign cold, and with my ego snugly tucked away out of sight beneath 5 layers of clothing: I’ve always been a hopelessly poor climber, and I was about to face 10 (yes, ten) of De Ronde van Vlaanderen’s legendary hills.
Yes. It was terrible.
The utter shock – and physical headache – when trying to ride at some speed over the traditional cobbles (“kasseien”)… I’d thought some of our gravel roads in SA were bad!
The dreadful feeling in the stomach when turning a bend in the road and being confronted – again – with what looks like a sheer vertical wall built with cobblestones looming ahead.
Riding over the names of cycling heroes written in white on the pavé at the foot of a climb, with a sign that says “max 22%”…
Dis ‘n anderse swaarkry hierdie, mense!
Disappearing into the lonely world of suffering… not looking at the speed or heart rate any more – it doesn’t matter… what matters is that I’m on the lowest “granny gear”, the lungs are bursting, legs have long ago exploded, the bike is bouncing uncontrollably over the cobbles, wheels slip on patches of super-slippery mud from rain the day before, and I’m struggling to stay upright… while people on their Sunday walks saunter casually at the roadside alongside me at the same speed.
And then for the umpteenth time a young Flemish lad comes flying past towards the summit… slightly built, lean, but strong… darting up the incline on his weekend “easy ride”.
Oeefff! These Flemish!
Sal ek ooit my “vriende” vergewe? Nee!
Sal ek hierdie fietsrit ooit vergeet? Nee!
Maar ek kan darem nou sê dat ek legendes soos die Paterberg, Kanarieberg, Koppenberg en die mitiese Oude Kwaremont gedoen het… al was dit semi-gedwonge.
It was (and is) on these climbs where magnificent moments in cycling sport has happened… commemorated with stories and pictures in museums, books, newspaper clippings and monuments throughout Belgium.
(I could get a little picture taken on the Taaienberg – where the statue of Tom Boonen’s legs stands. Boonen had been a superstar cyclist during the 2000-2010’s, and was famous for his terrific attacks on the Taaienberg during De Rondes.)
So – would I do this again?!
Yes! If life permits! What a privilege! A magnificent adventure. A dream! (But maybe not with a borrowed bike again)
Am I embarrassed that I had to walk up the Paterberg?
Yeah.. for sure… the poor ego, yes? 🤷🏻♀️ Slip-sliding away on cycling shoes.
Am I ashamed of that?
Hell no! Even this monster had to:
And these guys earlier this year:
Het dit my verander?
- Yup! Ek sal nou met hernieude bewondering na die TV-skerm staar wanneer die wêreld se top-renners met bo-menslike inspanning mekaar die handskoen neergooi.
- Ek’t geleer dat 16% tien keer moeiliker is as Bothmaskloof se 8%.
- En yup: Vlaamse appeltaart en koffiekoeken halfpad smaak spektakulêr in die Vlaamse lente-buitelug (het ek gesê “lente”?)
Maar tog nie so spektakuler soos die Trappist agterna op Oudenaarde se markplein nie!
Santé!
Fred Roux
April 2024
Flanders
