Eugène Dillon, known for his love of Shimano Skil gear, has been sighted more and more often in his Orwell club colours, having the banter. Last weekend he completed an epic double on the continent, the Sean Kelly Classic in Belgium and the Ardennentrip in the Netherlands. His report is below, but be warned - we might have a challenge for Billy Parker's most verbose title!
The Loneliness of the Long Distance Cyclist
Eugène Dillon
During sportives, I often create caricatures of the people I'm cycling with, people I don't know, may never know or ever see again but in this moment, over a given amount of time, we may be bonded through our mutual quest to overcome the challenge. As the years have passed I am striking up conversations with them more often than not and quicker, but it's often the caricature and the name I've given them that I remember. It's particularly the case when I do a sportive on my own, which in the pre-Orwell era, was all the time. Doing a sportive on your own ends up being a state of sheer concentration, tranquility and peace within a mass of cyclists/characters. So when I headed out to do a double-weekend in a non-English speaking country, I completely expected such a lone experience, but I hoped to meet as many characters as I could along the way. The Sean Kelly Classic was on the Saturday starting in the heart of the Ardennes in Belgium and this was followed by the Ardennentrip on the Sunday which started in Limburg, the Netherlands, taking in the hills of Limburg of the Amstel Gold Race before crossing the border into Belgium and into another part of the Ardennes.
I registered in the morning at the ski slope of the Baraque de Fraiture for the Sean Kelly and rolled out and onto an immediate descent on wide roads through hills densely populated with dark forests. Our group of three caught another isolated motley crew ahead and on a right corner onto a small side road, we were overtaken by a girl on a Zannata bike, or Zannata girl. Pushing the pace, she strung out the group. It was only 6km in and my heart was racing and against Peter Grealis' advice, I took a turn on the front. Shortly after the carbon wheels of a train whirled by us on a surprisingly difficult drag, the day would be characterized by a constant ontslaught of such terrain, I hopped on the back but my mind wasn't fully made up to keep at it. I peeled off to an easier group led by a pair of guys wearing ‘Boels-Dolmans' gear. I decided to leave the shelter of the Boels-Dolmans dudes for whatever train or person would come by. Zannata girl appeared so I joined in and we had a chat in English until the route split. I took the 160 option right into a town and was quickly overhauled by a group of iron strong ole lads just as the warm temperatures kicked in. We had a few climbs and I was more aggressive on them.
The first feed arrived at Wanne, I quickly took off, joining a pair of guys in very distinctive blue, red and white ZLM.nl gear which were a great pair on the descent of the Cote de Wanne from the green fields to the windy roads in the presence of dense dark forests again as we dropped to Trois Ponts, curling over a bridge by a typical rustic Ardennes rail station, immediately we were climbing the Cote de Brume. The group I climbed with including the ZLM dudes stopped at the top so I took the descent alone. The roads were straight or the corners were defined, the road surface was fine too so it became a mission for me to bridge to a group in the far distance. I gained ground on them but it wasn't until the road temporarily leveled in the Lienne river valley that I finally made contact, just as the road started to climb for the Cote de Habiemont. It was here I noticed how hot my head was with the cycling cap on.
Descending immediately I appeared to have a companion behind who I motioned to about the various holes and gravel. The descent concluded with a very tight corner after which we rejoined a major road along the twisting and wide Ambleve river. It was the first chance of respite for quite some time but with a companion behind, I took the initiative to bridge up to several groups. I pulled in behind a group before my companion winked and took to the front, immediately leaving the group. I caught up with him again and we held our pace high overtaking another two groups. With a nod I did another turn, before my companion recommended in Flemish to watch it and pace myself! We chatted a bit and he said ‘chapeau' for doing it on my touring bike. What was very interesting was that he was in fact French, but spoke Flemish with a perfect accent. I was really impressed and named him Flemish French guy. We caught a group and eased off, greeted upon entering the following town of Remouchamps with a massive picture of Philippe Gilbert above a café and a sign saying it was his fan club's place. We had a feedstop there and the Flemish French guy warned me about the La Redoute climb that would come up in 5 kilometres. I regret not asking him his name but the focus to overcome the following obstacle resulted in limited banter as I rolled off.
At this stage my gears had been really annoying me. I was having difficulty going into my granny cog and when in it, the chain often slipped from the biggest four cogs on the rear cassette. After a short steep prelude near a dual carriageway, La Redoute appeared through the work of Gilbert's fan club having painted his name PHIL across the road stretching up ahead as the gradient rose. I was in my granny cog and held my shifter to stop the rear cassette slipping and I was happy with my climbing on the steepest climax.
I was also beginning to feel the strain of my aggressive efforts on the previous climbs and in the valley. Immediately after the La Redoute descent, we started the steep Cote de Chambralle. I held my shifter again to stop any irregular movements of the chain and followed a guy with mostly black gear that had a retro-esque multicoloured vertical strips at the back which reminded me of one of the designs of the Ritte van Vlaanderen gear so I sorta named him Ritte dude in my head. Ritte dude was probably tormented by my presence as a rattling rear derailleur that followed him up. The climb twisted up through what appeared a tiny village, concluding with a torturous narrow bend of 18%. I took the bend on the apex and passed out Ritte dude, attacking my own self to rid myself of the climb and the constant strain on my right hand to hold the shifter in place.
On the descent Ritte dude pushed ahead while I joined a fairly big group of cyclists with a purple and white Flexipont jersey. Nestled within the Flexipont train, we ploughed up a drag until the strongest man of the group wearing a sleeveless jersey looked around and realized that apart from me and one of his men, the rest had dropped off. Smiling at me, he said ‘ietsje te hard'. We then had a chat in English and it turned out he was sixty and had ran the marathon in Dublin ages ago before taking up cycling. At the bottom of the next climb he put in a dig that I followed before easing off and saying he'd wait for his crew. I continued ahead and found a pair of guys in green jerseys (the points guys) and we climbed and descended together, catching Ritte dude. The third and final feedstop was upon us and I immediately went to the Shimano tent who very kindly fixed my gears.
The feedstop was followed by a long drag up a river valley through a vibrant green forest. The bright green was illuminated beautifully in the summer weather. I cycled with a man who put in some accelerations before proclaiming he was seventy. I caught a train for the final section of the climb, but the descent afterwards was only a pause in the climbing. A sign read 5km to the end and I felt I was just crawling it. Bodies were strewn all along the poor road surfaces lined by dark forests or patchy pieces of land where trees had recently been cleared. I managed to hold on to a pair of guys for the final undulating drag to the ski slope and the free Etixx recovery drinks.
After an 18km cycle to collect my bags and put my back carrier and panniers on, I went to the train station and found another cyclist who had just completed the Sean Kelly. I had a great banter with Peter who had also cycled the Tour de Namur that I did in May. After a two hour train journey and a chat with a Dutch girl who was in livid humour as she pointed over to the rear flat on her racer for her reason for being on the train, I got a bite to eat in Vise and cycled with the heavy panniers a good 45km to Kerkrade in Limburg. The B&B was in a maze of a vast residential area so it was dark when I finally arrived.
The next morning I hadn't quite recovered from all the exertions so I opted for the 120km distance. I got lost finding the sports centre until I saw a pair of cyclists coming the opposite direction. It was a guy in Belkin gear cycling with a girl. I stopped them and asked if they were doing the Ardennentrip. They seemed nice and pointed the way to the registration so I said hopefully I'd see them again. I knew this was a much smaller event and with the start time spread across two hours, it could easily turn out to be a lonely affair. I found the sports centre and registered.
I wasted no time hanging around and quickly rejoined the road I came from which curled alongside Dutch style housing estates and blocks of flats. The yellow arrow painted at key junctions on the cycle lane directed me to a cycle lane along a ring road and I saw a group of cyclists ahead. Nearing them I noticed they too were wearing the yellow strip on their wrists from the event. I chatted with a man in Caisse d'Epargne gear. As the road inclined and a club of cyclists turned onto the cycle lane from a side road on the right and I joined them as we edged out of Heerlen. The club disappeared down a left tour in a different direction while I went on straight by myself. After a small village, I took a turn into familiar green Limburg hills that I knew from both the Volta Limburg and the Amstel Gold Race this year. In a tiny town called Slenaken, the arrow directly me right up onto a very narrow road darkened by trees on both sides that abruptly climbed a hill beside the town. I huffed and puffed my way up as the gradient eased when a green clearing appeared to the right. The road rose again to its climax as it cut a forest and I rolled along the top by a classic small Limburg road with a tiny catholic chappel at a crossroads.
I continued through the farmland and turned left onto a busier road. Again on the opposite side of the road I saw a club of cyclists out on a spin and I wondered if I was bound to complete much of this sportive alone. It was around this time I crossed the border into Belgium, going straight to Wallonne. Soon after a whirl of a small train of carbon wheels overtook me, none with yellow wrist strips, before a long straight ahead revealed several more groups. I made an effort to get on the wheel of a lone gunner, who accelerated over many of the groups. Finally I saw cyclists with yellow strips doing the Ardennentrip and in the distance I saw the couple I had spoken with earlier. Delighted to see familiar faces, I took to the front and ensured my companion was in my wheel as I buried myself to bridge the windswept gap to them. The exposed stretch was just before an American memorial cemetery and finally I was on the wheel of the guys.
They gave me a thumbs-up for making it back and we had a little chat. The guy, Rolf, had a good cycling gear style with the latest Belkin kit with matching socks and an earring in his left ear. He seemed to be full of power and was good banter (Belkin styler). The girl was Lin and she was very friendly. We continued through Wallone towns until the arrow directed us to a densely wooded forest, and onto a paved path through a forest. Lin mentioned that a climb was coming in ten kilometres, yet this path reached gradients of 12%. We came off the forest path and onto a small narrow road whose' surface was so broken up I thought I was back in Roubaix as I choose my lines or either opted for the grass at the side. Just as we came to a junction with a road that stretched up in the distance at a gentle 3% gradient or so, we met two Dutch women who were fixing a puncture. We exchanged some banter with them and headed on. A two manned food stop appeared and we clarified that we were heading toward the climb called the Baraque Michel but we were already on the old Baraque Michel. The girls with the puncture arrived, we refilled our bottles and we moved on. The narrow road through the woods joined a wider busier road and the gradient increased, continuing to climb for another six kilometres, until we reached a wide junction in the road and we turned right.
A long descent stretched out in the distance and a pair of orange jerseys could be just about glimpsed. I decided to try to bridge our group to the orange jerseys and pushed as hard as I could as we descended on the cycle lane. I kept an eye over my shoulder and noticed Lin expertly staying in my wheel, while the Belkin styler descended at ease, moving between the cycle lane and the road. After a solid five kilometres, our progress was halted by an abrupt incline into the town of Jalhay. I aggressively tackled the climb in the big ring and my crew was temporarily dropped. We regrouped just as the descent started again. The long smooth wide road was perfect for descending at speed and as the descent eased to a slight slope in the Vesdre river valley, we made contact with the pair of orange jerseys. As a group of five we rolled along the long straight Avenue Victor of the Wallonne town of Limbourg until we stopped at the traffic lights. Momentarily our numbers swelled to six as the light turned green and I led to a small right turn beyond the crossroads.
The road rose again in a typical abrupt fashion and when my gears wouldn't shift to the inner ring I was forced to tackle the climb aggressively in a larger ring. Our group of myself, Belkin styler and Lin regrouped and the yellow arrow directed us onto a small windy road with a brutal surface. Again care had to be taken to choose the right line, to avoid gravel and on the ruts by the bends. Passing over another stretch of these obstacles, we met two cyclists fixing a puncture. After momentarily stopping, we were passed out by two cyclists – one wearing Assos gear, the other a 2009 Garmin jersey which, combined with his stance on the bike, reminded me of Bradley Wiggins – while in the distance a black and blue train came approached or was op komst. I said to Lin and Belkin styler that we should try to catch the train. Lin and I got ready to go while Belkin styler said he'd be there in a minute.
The group of three guys in mainly black gear with a blue horizontal panel on the front and back came by and I immediately jumped on the back with Lin in tow. We rolled over the rough terrain and I became immersed in the group. I slotted in to the front, only to be passed by the main man, as the arrow directed us onto a small side road on the left, up a steep climb. We caught Bradley Wiggins and his mate and the main man sprinted up the hill, dropping myself and his two men. I looked over my shoulder and Lin was dropped behind us but that Belkin styler were sprinting up the hill so I presumed they would be back with us very quickly. The black and blue train reassembled at the top and rotated. I did my turn on a descent and onto another incline. Again the boss of the train passed with a devastating injection of pace at my most vulnerable moment. Initially I followed but soon waned, his right hand man followed for longer but let a gap form and luckily for me, his other man was behind me. The road curled by the tiny village of Henri Chapelle with a junction that delayed each of us, one by one, equally. The crew regrouped and hammered it along the stretch that followed, passing the American cemetery of earlier, until they missed a yellow arrow directing us right. I was behind and stopped at the turn, shouting ‘hey jongens!' and waving with my hand. They never looked back.
Isolated I planned on waiting for Lin and Belkin styler to reappear and looked behind. It was several minutes until Bradley Wiggins and his Assos friend appeared. I pointed the side road to them and asked ‘this way?' before the Assos guy said ‘deze kant.' I then witnessed the pair of them curl from the cycle lane around the corner onto the side road in perfect unison. I hopped on the bike and headed after them, descending the windy narrow road down the green Limburg fields, meeting a tractor along the way. I caught their wheels and we continued together until a tight bend before a town. This time the Assos guy eagerly led the way but Wiggins was right on his tail. The corner was really tight but the pair took the perfect line. Their cornering was exquisite. I just couldn't come up with the same line behind and they took some time on me. I caught up again and we started a climb through a forest. The Assos guy disappeared up the road while I had a chat with Wiggins. Later on I went for it on the apex of a tight corner over a desperately rough surface. Reaching the top we crossed the border into the Netherlands and the road surface was perfect again. I rolled ahead of the guys and started to recognize the terrain from where I was cycling the night before, except this time it wasn't in the panic of twilight or with the hardship of heavy panniers.
The guys were no longer with me as we went through Wittem to Eys where the yellow arrow directed me left to a narrow but well paved climb called the Eyserbosweg. I had taken this climb twice over the past two years in the Amstel Gold Race but did not place it immediately. Immediately there was a cyclist climbing ahead of me, in a Swiss jersey a bit like Rodney's, and bodies were scattered up ahead on the climb. We were overtaken by two guys just as the gradient reached 18%. I stayed with the second of these, a really tall and really skinny guy in plain black kit on a white Cervelo bike. He held a meagre gap panting as we climbed the steepest section among the trees. As the gradient eased, a line in the road signalled 100m left of the climb and Cervelo guy used as a clue to launch out of his saddle to sprint to the guy he was with and another few up ahead.
I reached the top and passed by a couple while watching the group of three or four disappear riding alongside a field of tall corn that lined the road like a wall. I toiled along the top noticing I was running low on water. I took a few bites of my wraps and found a new resolve. The landscape that unfurled before me was a delight and could have been planned and painted by cyclists for cyclists. It was an idyllic hilly panorama of fields with clusters of woods well placed, and within the middle to far background an urban area of multi-storey buildings was at a comfortable distance. The clarity of the light made the colours of the countryside beautiful. A narrow road, for cyclists and walkers only, separated two grass fields that differed in their shade of green, a rich light green to the right with a dark, colder green to the left.
The road called; a space of light beyond a cluster of trees was followed by a brief descent and I was back on the edge of the urban area again. The memories of the two days went through my mind and before I knew it I was back at the sports complex. I chatted to a guy who was finished an hour and waiting for his friends, I got something to eat, thanked the volunteers and had a quick banter with Belkin styler and Lin when they arrived.
This double weekend was a big objective all through the summer for me, recounting my passion for the Ardennes and experiencing how our great classics hardman Kelly is remembered or celebrated in the country he was really embraced in. In preparation for it I did several double weekends. However it was unexpected logistics of the b&b being 18km away from the start that compromised the operation. It was quite exhausting and the fact that the Ardennentrip is my 20th sportive this season (14 qualify for inclusion in the points system along with 2 social events), I feel a need for some rest now so that I can enjoy the few of the sportives that are still to come.
