Its hard to write about races when
they don't go to plan, which makes the European road champs pretty difficult to
blog about!
The sun was shining and the Dutch
had provided a pretty interesting course with a long stretch along the sea and
some very narrow and twisty roads. The field, the biggest international level
bunch of the season so far, was one hundred and sixty strong. With little wind
on the day of the race, the odds where on for a big bunch sprint and Team GB
where more than ready.
Sam Lowe and I hovered around the
top fifteen of the bunch, trying to stay out of trouble and sniff out any
dangerous moves. Whilst it was relatively easy for moves to slip of the front
on the narrow lanes, the long straight along the sea combined with the accompanying
tail wind, ensured the bunch swallowed up all the early moves.
With about two of the twenty two
kilometer laps under our belts I found myself of the front with an Italian
rider on said section, bridging across to a small three man move. I tried to do
as little work as possible, wary of the kilometers we still had to cover, whilst
also eager to make a move that could save the legs of my teammates behind. This
small amount of effort came to nothing and with each and every break struggling
to stay away on the faster sections of the course, it was looking increasingly
likely to be a bunch sprint.
With three of the six laps to go,
the peloton had started to get very nervy, with a few big crashes splintering
the bunch on a few of the wider roads. A fast section initially calmed affairs,
however we soon turned into a narrow lane, with the resulting minimal reduction
in speed causing a dramatic bunching up of the still hundred or more strong
group. Before I knew it three riders where lay on the tarmac infront of me, I
had no time to react and slammed into the riders, careering over my handlebars
and into the ditch alongside the road. I opened my eyes and lifted my bike from
ontop of me, scrambling up the grass verge as I tried to asses my body. I had
slammed my knee’s into the top tube of my bike as I fell, however alongside two
bent shifters I had come of relatively unscathed, mainly thanks to the grass!
The advantage of crashing in the front twenty of the bunch meant that there
where plenty of riders chasing onto the bunch by the time I had got up and got
my chain on. After a six km full gas chase, with the bunch pretty lined out
infront, I resumed my place in the front half of the bunch.
As I pulled up alongside Sam I
looked down at the handlebars for the first time since my frantic adrenaline
fuelled chase, the Garmin mount was empty! It seemed the ditch had claimed more
than I had first realised, my beloved Garmin 800 that was kindly supplied by
Condor Cycles.
The race progressed in much of the
same manor, lots of crashes and fighting for positions. With just over a lap to
go a crash claimed Sam and Germain, I narrowly avoided it, however with the
whole team having now hit the deck, I knew I was the only Brit left in the
bunch.
Barely a few kilometers later it was
my turn again, the Frenchman right infornt of me deciding to throw himself on
the floor. The bike was game over, with the rear mech hanger so bent the chain
could not sit on the cassette to even try and limp around the last twenty
kilometers. I was pretty devastated, in the knowledge I had good legs to try do
something on that last lap and that Sam would most definitely have been up
there in the sprint that crowned the new champion, it was a day almost entirely
lost. The process of the race was there, however the end result didn't quiet
materialise, some days are just out of your hands…
Only picture I have of the race (ish) so far - thanks to my Grandmother for this one!
