But the European version, "Jeux sans Frontieres" with its crackly phone-line commentary, its nighttime timetable, and all the international rivalry that thirty years of European peace could muster. Whether Stuart Hall ever actually said "here come the Belgians" is a moot point, but that's just what happened today at the front of the start line of the Eddy Merckx Gran Fondo, as the great man himself, and he is now a lot greater than he was in his prime, rolled to the start line flanked by his two faithful compatriots, laughing and joking in their native tongue. Not French. Flemish.
Ask anyone who knows nothing about cycling to name a famous cyclist and chances are, if they are under 40 they will mention him, the Voldemort of the peloton. But, if they are over 40, under 73, (my Dad, who is 75, will mention Beryl Burton and Reg Harris) they'll mention Eddy Merckx, undoubtedly the best cyclist of all time. Just look at his palmares if you don't take my word for it, it speaks for itself.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_career_achievements_by_Eddy_Merckx
Apparently the legend had been on top form at the depart village on the Saturday, signing autographs and full of the Flemish equivalent of Bonhomie, which according to an agent for the event that I overheard, is not always the case. But like a true professional he didn't let people down today, and by all accounts rode to Bridport and back, about 40 miles. Which isn't bad given the nature of the terrain, very lumpy.
The event started in the grounds of Cricket St Thomas Hotel, near Chard in south Somerset. We swept down the drive with Eddy in the lead, and the rest of us just behind, all of this being filmed for a DVD which of course I'm going to buy. I had taken the precaution of being at the start line first, so yes, I rode on his wheel for the first 100 yards, when I was being eased gently out of the way by the young Belgians who were naturally very protective.
As we turned onto the proper roads, the gradient pitched sharply upwards to the tune of about 7%, having previously been rolling downwards. Mr Merckx waived his arm and told us we could all go through, as it was going to take him a while to get to the top of the hill.
What is the etiquette in these situations? As I was the first in line, I thanked him for his company, wished him a good day, and started climbing at a normal pace, as instructed. I expected others to follow suit, I mean, he is 66, so I'm sure he doesn't mind. But no, after about 30 seconds I turned around to see that everyone else, I mean everyone, was pedalling up the hill at 3 mph keeping a distance behind him.
Well, I couldn't go back so I kept going, and no-one passed me for 4 miles! Maybe I have less patience, I certainly meant no disrespect, I was honoured to ride with the man. After all, 106 miles is a long way, and having had little sleep last night I knew my energy levels were a bit suspect.
After that the sportive settled down into a regular ride, and very enjoyable it was too. A nice warm day, part of the country I'd barely ridden in, and a nice relaxed vibe to the whole thing. Run by the same people that brought us the Cotswold Classic earlier in the year, it threw in more sharp climbs, long grindy hills, steep descents, amazing views, and the most boring road to cycle in Somerset.
There were a few bits of road I'd traversed before. On Day 1 and 2 of the Tour of Wessex, the Endura ride, and as the northerly bit crossed the route to my parents' house, some of my rides to them too. But for the most part it was all new, especially the lovely cliff-top road from Bridport to Dorchester with an outstanding vista of Chesil beach and Portland Bill, fantastic in the sunshine.
We also went through Poundbury
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poundbury
which was very strange, a bit like being in an over sized set of Trumpton or Camberwick Green. From Dorchester we headed up to Sturminster and Gillingham, and I passed a pub cooking the same food as the last time I passed it on the ToW over a year ago, at the same time of day. Smell is the sense most closely linked to memory so don't argue.
There was a vicious south-easterly wind blowing, which had been a problem on the coast road, but now acted as a tailwind, as I got into a group charging up the valley to Gillingham. I stopped there to take a paracetamol as my neck was a bit sore, and I was solo from there on. But once the 2nd feedstop was out of the way south of Bruton, a strange thing happened. I started to pass people. I think I kept a pretty even tempo for the whole ride, and even out-climbed one or two people on some of the wickedly steep gradients.
From Bruton and Castle Cary we went across that road, dull, dull, dull to Somerton. The wind was now largely a cross wind all the way home, and I thought the route would be fairly flat. But the sting in the tail was a 20% gradient at mile 103. Almost everyone was walking, nothing left in the legs and there was no shame in doing so. Did I? What do you think?
When I arrived back at the village I felt absolutely wasted, dehydrated and a bit stiff and sore. Free hot pasta would have helped but there was only cold tubs of the stuff and a drink so I had my recovery drink. Edy Merckx was long gone, back to Belgium no doubt, although I would just say that his bike and kit are absolutely awesome. And there was plenty of that to admire as I slurped away.
My cycling time had been 6 hours 38 minutes at a creditable 16.0 mph for the 106 mile course. Add in 15 minutes of stops for an official time of 6-53, and about 7000 feet of climbing. Precise figures on the Charlie link below. What was particularly pleasing was that I'd ridden on Saturday and Friday too, and though I'm a bit tired and sore I feel OK, all good preparation for August.
http://ridewithgps.com/trips/336708
As for meeting heroes, well I'm in two minds. I always avoided meeting footballers, Trevor Brooking was so much better on the pitch than he could ever have been in person. And Eddy Merckx has commented that he is not the same person now as he was in the late sixties and early seventies. And yet, and yet, he had enough swagger, enough panache, and enough authority about him to see how he bossed the peloton. And a sportive.
Next time I'll know.
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