Forward Momentum

For the most part, Belgium is what the British call, a bit of a slog.  The clouds are thicker than you’ve ever seen.  The rain, well it’s a daily event.  Everyone just ignores it though – no umbrellas no raincoats, why? Cause in 10 minutes it’s blown away and the sun is shining.  Meteorology can’t be a serious profession here.  No one believes in a forecast that’s only good for about 20 minutes.  They could replay the same tape on TV everyday; “lead-thick clouds early today leading to dreary dark and dank conditions intermittent periods of serious rain with taunting sunshine sporadically throughout.”

It never really gets cold here, but it never really gets hot either.  And the countryside is way flat. I’ve heard the same thing said about the people.  Nice, decent, polite but somewhat subdued, flat.  I’ve yet to have one person in Brussels acknowledge me eye-to-eye on the sidewalk, much less say, ‘bonjour’ – and I’ve been here for 3 years!  You know what I’ve observed? They put their heads down and maintain their forward momentum. Maybe that’s why they’re such good bikers.  They don’t complain, they just calmly keep moving forward regardless of conditions.  Johan Bruyneel is from Belgium.

This otherwise unheralded little slice of the planet has produced some amazing cycling talents.  Maybe something in the water.  They’re just a little tougher than the rest of us.  You don’t think so?  Find a month or so, get on a plane, bring your bike and ride some of Belgium’s bike trails.  I don’t mean the perfectly groomed 4 trillion miles of bright orange lanes dotting the countryside.  I mean the ugly routes they put the pros on in some of the big classics.  The Tour of Flanders – mere mortals aren’t allowed.  Gent-Wevelgem – I think they’d stop your Hummer and make sure you had tire chains!  The race organizers actually go out of their way to make the routes tougher!  News coverage every year shows them scraping off perfectly smooth asphalt on trails so they can uncover their beloved cobbles days before a race.

I have a good friend that road the ‘paves’ of Flanders, and his seat fell off.  Well, it came loose.  The vibrations loosened the clamp and rendered it just about useless for several kilometers at the end.  He finished the ride though.  Kinda half standing.  Why?  He’d been in Belgium long enough to know that’s what you do here.  You don’t complain, you work with what you have, and you don’t call home to mama.  Cause if she’s from Belgium she’d probably say;  “The kid I raised used to put their head down and keep their forward momentum.”

You know, Johan wasn’t always a calm, cool, intelligent cycling director.  He used to be a calm, cool, intelligent rider.   Very competent, very accomplished, very respected.  He’s worn the yellow jersey; he’s won stages in the grand tours and races.  Lots of talent, lots of brains.   If you want to know more about the man or simply want a good read, pick up his book ‘We Might as Well Win.’   But of all his attributes the 2 things that stick with me most about him are his calm demeanor and his toughness.  The story of his crash in the 1996 Tour de France is now cycling legend and it sums him up rather nicely I think.  Descending at break-neck speed he missed a turn and flies off the road into a ravine right in front of a camera crew.   Everyone must have been thinking med-evac, ambulance, hospital, long recovery, hope he makes it back some day – God forbid anything worse.  Now anyone else once they landed and realized they were still in one piece, would have probably milked it for a bit.  I mean come on, the guy flew off a cliff; defied death!  Well, he’s from Belgium.   They don’t showboat, they don’t brag, and they don’t want pity.  He just kinda dusted himself off, clawed his way up out of the ravine, got on his bike, put his head down and regained his forward momentum, to the astonishment of those watching.

For those who have had the pleasure of seeing him in action in the chase car one can only walk away dumbfounded with his eerie calmness.  Here’s a typical 10-second moment in the team car; Johan’s on the phone being interviewed by a major media outlet; at the same time he’s on the radio with the riders giving direction and taking feedback; he’s watching the TV monitor in the car to see what’s happening; he listens to another radio to get another perspective; he’s conferring with the mechanic in the back seat to choreograph that next tire change; he hands a gazillion water bottles and wisdom to a rider precariously balanced a millimeter away from his mirror (oh did I mention they’re going 55 kilometers an hour); Johan checks with the sponsor official in the passenger seat to make sure they’re having a good time, he says hello to various riders and team managers passing by cause he knows everybody, maneuvering a hurtling automobile through a sea of absolute chaos, and doing all this at the same time in 5 different languages!  That’s 10 seconds worth.  He would do this for 5 to 6 hours.  You’d get worn out just watching.

But the one thing you notice, he never raises his voice, he never breaks a sweat, he’s perpetually studying the situation, and he’s gunslinger calm.  G-U-N-S-L-I-N-G-E-R CALM.  He makes you somehow calmer too.  While the car careens around corners, other bikers, and crazy people trying to get themselves run over by pinching off a mountain pass and you’re holding on for dear life, you look over and Johan looks like he could take a nap!  Faking that?  Nope.  He’s Belgium.  They’re real, they’re tough, they’re quietly competent.  They keep their heads down and maintain their forward momentum.  I’m real glad he’s on our side.

By George Hurst, staff writer