Mobjack Bicycling

So maybe you wondered why our guys chose the Carrefour De L’Arbre to watch the race.  Rest easy, Cycling News provides the answer:

“The Carrefour de l’Arbre is the fourth-to-last cobble stone sector in Paris-Roubaix and with 17 kilometres to go one of the most important ones. There are quite a few spectators placed along the 2.1 kilometres of pavé, but it is also becoming a place for hooligans to hang out.”

http://www.cyclingnews.com/news/hooligans-rule-the-carrefour-de-larbre

If you read the article you’ll recognize immediately that it isn’t describing our guys and in fact doesn’t represent them at all, but who could resist the first paragraph? Now you know the rest of the story!

With regard to the cobbles in and around “Carrefour de l’Arbre”, which Jim tells me translates to “the intersection of or around the tree”, I think it important to note the French are a sneaky lot.  They left no one at the border with Belgium and appeared defenseless as we cycled onward.  Then, they gave us two kilometers of absolute hell to bounce over.  Those cobbles are indescribable.  What my bicycle seat did to me is not fit for general audiences.   Furthermore, I want the record to reflect consent was never given.  Perhaps in France this is a minor consideration.  I don’t know.  But in America, laws would have been broken!

If I happen to see Jacques or Pierre tonight I’m gonna fill them in on what a paved road looks like.  While we’re at it, maybe they can pass a flame under my tater soup.  They serve that stuff cold you know.

We were only in France for a few kilometers and a short time.  We found a restaurant, which was of course closed.  Just as we were leaving, a woman opened the front door to a building at the rear of the lot.  “Bon jour.”  She hollered to us.  Her building was next to a couple of man-made ponds (each the size of a large municipal swimming pool) with several men fishing from the shore.  Her building is now remembered as the bait shop.  We enjoyed a drink, toasted our victory over the cobbles (we survived, ergo, we won) and then limped back to Tournai.

As for a tree supposedly at the aforementioned intersection, I believe the better translation for Carrefour de l’Arbre is: Bring a comfortable car that seats at least four, and come look at our tree.  Of course, I’m not the linguist in the group, so I may be off just a bit.

Two days ago, we did a scouting trip to the section of pave’ where we hope to watch Paris-Roubaix, between Camphin-en-Pe’vele and Carrefour de l’arbre.  We rode the 2 kilometer segment to and from the restaurant at its end.  Oh, the indescribable jolting that racked us from top to bottom, especially the bottom.  I rode out of the saddle a good bit of the way to avoid the all too intimate connection between the pave’ and certain tender parts.  In this race, the professional racers ride about 150 to 160 miles, with about 30 miles of pave’.  We three agreed that our great admiration for the professional bicycle racers has increased immensely.  We can only wonder how their wives and girlfriends view the matter.

Following the river south, we wound our way eventually to Tournai, arriving at 6:30PM.  Had we been 30 minutes later, we may have been homeless for the evening.

On the way we stopped to see the the Flanders Bicycling Museum.  This, and stops for re-hydration and lunch, put us right up to the limit of our allotted time.  When you sit down to have a beer, your waiter or waitress gives you a menu then leaves,  A few minutes later he or she returns to take your order.  A few minutes later he or she returns with your beer.  Then you may never see him or her again.  If you want another beer, you work to make eye contact and hope it works.  If you want to pay your bill, a similar tactic is employed.  However, you then ask for permission to pay.

“Kan ik betalen u alstublieft?”

Only, whatever you say, don’t say THAT… HERE in Tournai.

Here, you say, “Puis-je payer ? S’il vous plaît.”

This too, takes a bit of time.  If you order coffee anywhere in Belgium following a meal, you may want to unroll a sleeping bag.  You’re gonna be here awhile.  It’s not coffee, it’s coffee and a small treat.  The coffee here is very good, but also strong.  You take your time.

Anyway, this all added up during our trek to Tournai.  Finally, with still about 35 kilometers to go, Jim put the hammer down and turned a big wheel all the way in.  Dale and Rod hung on and “pushed” all the way in.

We’ve put about 500 kilometers on the bikes thus far.  None have been bad, but those last 35 weren’t necessarily the most fun either.  They were the closet thing to work we’ve experienced in over a week.

Directly in front of our hotel is a large Catholic Church (that may be redundant) and a bell tower with a huge yellow jersey hanging from the steeple advertizing the fact that in 88 days the Tour De France will be coming through this area.

Is this the ugly American we have heard about?

The more that I have looked at the photos our intrepid travelers have posted online the more I have been drawn to one in particular.  I was compelled today to strip it down to its bare essentials and to further ponder the question, “Do the Mathews Freewheelers need an official mascot?”

I’m leaning in that direction and perhaps this version of the photo will compel others to consider the question, as well.

Thursday morning, April 5th we we’re about to ride south to Tournai.  First however, Rod and Dale stopped back at the Duchesse, a  lace - tapestry -souvenir shop in the heart of the old town.  We’d met the owners a couple of days earlier and enjoyed listening to this couple’s perspective on life, as well as their ability to converse in any number of languages.  An item was purchased, as well as several other trinkets gifted to us by the owners.  We invited them to review our blog and follow their new American friends during the remainder of our journey.

Wednesday, April 4th, we struck out to find the Museum of Ghent.  No sooner had we hopped on the saddle did it begin to rain.  Cobbles get very slippery when wet.  We were dancing among the cobbles on our thin tires while young women with umbrellas in one hand simply pedded past us without so much as a second glance.

Tuesday we ventured off once again for Brugge.  Curiously, once we arrived, we were ready to leave.  Very touristy.  Agreed we would continue to ride and possibly find a coffee house somewhere along the way home.  As luck would have it, we found ourselves once again within striking distance of our friend from a couple days earlier.  We arrived at De Lork (restaurant and tavern owned by Luc and Rita) and partook in one Grimbergen, each.  I believe he was as delighted to see us as we were him.  We discussed the recent race, Tom Boonen’s successes and failures, and an assorted number of other topics.  We then ordered coffee.  I remembered the treat he served that, “Only my wife makes.  You have never tasted this.”  unfortunately, the coffee came without the treat.  Imagine my disappointment.  Then moments later, out came some kind of chocolate heaven in the form of mousse I believe.  When Luc left momentarily, his wife and I chatted.  I told her how much I loved her desserts, and she responded they can make you large.  I nodded, and offered I peddle the bike to keep the weight at bay.  She smiled, pointed to her own stomach, then to Luc (still out of ear shot) and said something to the effect of “Yes, but not so much with him.  He comes back to the kitchen and eats this all day.”  I understand his dilemma.  Not every battle can be won.

These are extremely nice people who caused us not only to enjoy our first visit, but did so enough, that we returned.  If I ever return to Ghent, I will certainly return to De Lork.

So ends the story of our crusade to Brugge.  We may not have found the Holy Grail where we were looking, but our travels led us to something greater and we are better for the effort.

On Saturday, we rode out of Gent and along the Schelde River toward the cobblestoned hill where we hoped to watch the Ronde.  It is amazing how widespread is the system of bike paths along the canals and rivers in this country.  Off the waterways, there are numerous bike routes marked by little signs with intersection numbers that correspond to points set out on cycle route maps that can be bought in book stores.  Sometimes certain points along the way are confusing, but it s generally easy to find your way.

So, we did find The Molenberg without much trouble.  The trouble began when we tried to go up the hill.   The jolting roughness of the cobbled surface has to be felt to be believed; the steepness adds greatly to the pain.  Nevertheless, the two youngsters made it to the top, although with their tongues hanging out.  Alas, the old man was required to cry in his beer later, even after two tries.

 Speaking of beer, we found a friendly bar in a nearby village and performed the required rehydration ritual.  We were told that the bar would be open on race day, with the race on the TV.   Good news.

After hydration, we headed back to Gent in a strong, cold, gusting headwind, with a low cover of heavy gray clouds.  Welcome to Belgium.

 The next day dawned sunny and crisp.  We retraced our route to the Molenberg at a good clip, now that we knew the way.  We arrived about two hours early, got a place along the side of the road watched while the hill filled with spectators.  It was a carnival atmosphere, with some good-natured humor addressed to the mathews freewheelers, who strangely wore mirrors on their glasses.  People wondered if we thought that the mirrors would help us see the race.

As it turned out, we needed mirrors, telescopes or super-slo-mo, as the racers tore up the hill quicky beyond belief.  It was all over in mere moments.  The only consolation was quick view of the suffering on their faces.  It hurt them, too.

After the racers passed, the crowd dispersed.  We hopped on our bikes and made good speed to the local bar.  There we spent several hours rehydrating with some local folks and a busload of Dutch, who were down for the race and the Belgian beer.  It was a blast.  Go Tom Boonen!

Having well nourished our bodies and souls, we climbed back on our bikes for the 33 km trip back to our hotel.  Fortunately, the weather was benign and the bike path was wide.  I can happily report that no one rode into the river.