Fahrtwind Paris

First task at hand: Getting out of Belgium! Second task: Following the route as exact as possible in order not to miss the distinct quality with which it was put together and in order to visit Roubaix!! This day navigating through Belgium was somehow easier – I think I was just very lucky. Once I was in France everything went smoothly! All the villages on my road book were pointed out on signs and soon after crossing the boarder I was able to just follow the promising “Roubaix”-signs. I am not a great connoisseur of road cycling or any other sport in particular, but to visit a historic place like Roubaix was amazing. It didn’t take me long to find the velodrome since it is well pointed out by a lot of signs saying “Parc Sportif” or something like that. As I arrived I peaked through the fences behind the stands, feeling a deep sense of history, it was great! As I went on along the fence with the hope to get a better view of things, I came to the entrance of the “Parc Sportif Municipal” with a warning sign telling me not to ride my bike in the park or something like that. I consulted two boys standing on the other side of the fence, and I was still skeptical when they told me that everyone was allowed to ride the velodrome. But there I was, one minute later. I was scared by the steep curves. There were strong winds, too, and the concrete slabs aren’t in perfect condition. I was riding a couple of rounds and tried a track stand on top of the curve. My front wheel slit a little bit downwards – that was the end of my “Stehversuch” (German for track stand). The speed one can get from rushing down from the curve top all the way down to the “Cote d’Azur” is crazy fun! I had a blast!

I went into the club house of the friends of Paris-Roubaix afterwards. Four old men stood at the counter, drinking beer. They nodded friendly as a reply to my “Bonjour” and then went back to their conversations. Over the counter a couple of dates were written: Longest spread between first and second: Eddy Merckx came over 5 minutes earlier than the second. Shortest spread between first and second: 1 cm. Youngest rider ever to win the race: Eddy Merckx, aged 23. Most times won Paris-Roubaix: Eddy Merckx… On the other side the winners were written in chronological order. What a nice place!

After that I found a lovely Boulangerie, where I started my “Pain au Chocolat”-and-”Tartlette”-frenzy which didn’t stop for as long as I was in France. France, je t’aime BIEN!

Shortly after that though, France showed its ugly side. One boy and one young man were chasing another young man. Once they got to him they started kicking and beating him. The victim screamed and cried in a high and endless desperate voice asking what he had done to deserve that. I was shocked and terrified by the scene and the tone of his voice in particular. I thought that i can not do anything, sacred of my own well-being and my personal belongings (of which I was very embarrassed). I asked a bold end-of-his-fifties man, who was idly walking by, for the number of the police. He replied calmly: “17″, but they won’t come anyway. As I was in safe distance, I found an abandoned police station (the great holidays, I suppose). So I called “17″. After a female voice taught me what I am about to do, that my number was already in the records for future reference, and about the consequences misuse might have and so on I was in the waiting loop… Apart from the stupid music, that came out of my phone’s speaker, that seemed so ridiculously out of place, a strange silence surrounded me. After a felt minute or two I hung up. Afraid, ashamed, still shocked and scared. That was the only time during the whole tour I deeply regretedriding alone…

I was very happy as I was back with my friends.

Late on our rest day the Parallel Reality Crew arrived. They definitely missed one of their goals: To have more time on the North Sea shore. Instead of two days they had one night. But they had loads of fun by then and they definitely had a big adventure. The first night of their adventure they went in circles and slept after a couple of hours in a pit in the forest, not far from the camp-site. They regenerated there, in the midst of wild-hog-scent, until 11am, so it must have been pretty comfortable – or they were pretty tired. The second day (when the rest of us were on our way to the coast) they continued their odyssey, seeing and experiencing a lot of Belgium. Including this episode: Basti had a flat. Neither him nor Charlotte nor André had a pump, so they had to call Philip to come back, which must have pissed him off big time. Usually Philip was the one hanging back all the time… as Philip arrived on the scene and they started to pump the tyre, horror was at hand! The pump lost a rubber ring, thus being useless! I am pretty sure that they laughed their asses off over that, of course after a brief phase of shock. Just to make their situation clear. They were in the middle of nowhere in Belgium, at around 2am and in desperate need of a pump! As the situation required, Charlotte set sail to the next village with the wheel in her hand. After a while she saw someone on a balcony whom she asked for a pump. He had a pump! They pumped up the tyre and the good Samaritan invited Charlotte to come back, if she might need the pump again, although she would have to ring the door bell  and wake his parents. Once back with the rest of her gang they had to realize that the tyre came off  of the rim… so she went back. This time also meeting the parents. She was offered a beer (the pump-lender’s house was in the Brewer’s Street), then pumped the tyre.  This time all went well and they could continue.

All events are told from second hand. I wasn’t there. If you were there feel free to correct the reported events.

On the long distance stage my mind was occupied with annoyance over Belgium, happiness about the friend I made and racing through the cold rain. So it was not until arrived at my destination that we started to fantasize about the wheres, whats and whens of the split group. I called Charlotte at around 12am. According to their plan they were supposed to be there for quite some time already. She seemed in extraordinary good mood. She asked me if I was already in Oostende (about 50 km away from the day’s place to be). That, in return, made me laugh, since I was at the camp-site for quite some time by then. I told her about the train from Oostende to De Panne (where the camp-site was). Charlotte’s answer to that piece of information was hilarious: They were still 90 km away from Oostende, and they’d set up camp somewhere around there…