Keir Plaice

I’m back in Canada and my season of the racing in the Netherlands is complete. Its been a hell of a year and an experience I’m infinitely glad that I jumped into. The racing in Northern Europe is awesome; it is such a great arena for bike racing and I have really fallen in love with the classics. After this season, I am much more confident in my cycling and am heading back next year to build on this season’s progression and turn solid results into great ones.

I thought that Baronie-Breda would be final race of the season and left it on a bitter note, the race blew up into wires early on and I made the front echelon however it soon came back into a swarming nervous mass, I lost position on some small roads and then as we exited the forest it exploded again and I was in the second split. After 120km of chasing we were pulled on the finishing circuits and I thought my season was ended with a DNF.

I was less than diligent the next week, but then heard I had the chance to race the final of the Beloften Competitie this past Sunday. I figured I might as well give it a shot and am glad I did. Suprisingly my legs were strong on the day, again it was fast and windy with several cobble sections. With 80km to go, things split in the cross winds and I bridged to the front wire of 10. I had a team mate, Johim guest riding from Jo Piels Conti., and we were up against 3 continental riders from Van Vliet and couples from a mix of teams. It was pretty full gas and we got up to over a minute advantage but were caught with 20km to go. I was cooked at this point, but did some work to help in the fight for position then blew up with 10km to go and came in with the caravan. Johim and another team mate that normally rides for Piels made the front echelon as the finale exploded and went 1-2 in the sprint. So a much more succesful finale to the season, I leave with a good feeling and am already excited for next year. 

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, leaving Holland is bittersweet. Its nice to be home and see my family and everything, but I will really miss the people and the country I’ve come to know in the Netherlands.

On September 28th I head back to Canada. It is going to be very bittersweet, I’m going to miss some special people and this brilliant country.  Next weekend is likely my last of racing for this season as I compete in the Baronie Breda classic on Sunday; I hope to make it count. Fall is my favourite time in Canada and I am looking forward to seeing my family and friends again. I want to get into a bit of cyclocross this fall, I do love riding on dirt with crisp air and changing leaves.

That was a hell of a weekend.

We left early Saturday morning for Belgium to race at Nieuwkerken Waas. 165km on a circuit, small cobblestone section, windy and warm. I left on the second lap with 14 others and was away for the day. It was hard in the breakaway, the group was not very organized, constantly surging, and with an incessant wind it was hard to stay protected. With 20km to go the attacks started, 3 of the strongest went and I bridged to them. We were away for a few k but then it came back together. In the counterattack I blew up and couldn’t go with the front when the break split. The others I was with were completely done (as was I honestly) and we were shortly caught by the second group (the peloton was in pieces), I hung on to the finish and finished 26th or something. I was pretty shattered at the end after 150km in the front and only an additional bidon from Mavic as the team car was never able to get to me.

Waited around for a bit of prize money, then hopped in the car back to the Netherlands. Quick stop in Bunnick for a bowl of macaroni, then back in the car for another 2 hrs driving north to Dalen. We got there a bit before 11, I was smashed and ready for bed.

715AM wake up call, brekkie and off to a 22km team trial in the cold and pouring rain. Myself and my buddy Martin were on road bikes while the others had TT setups so I could do less than I’d have liked but I was happy to realize that my legs were not so bad.

After the TT, back to the hotel for a little pasta and quick lay down in bed, then again off to the races. A 170km classic in true classic (shit) weather. I shouldn’t complain though, once we get going I like racing in the rain.

Approximately 3km in I had made my way up to the front and punched it a little bit into a wet round about, glanced back and I had a gap. I drove hard assuming a group would try and join me, but when I looked back again I had a couple hundred metres. I thought screw it, let’s take a risk and see where this goes. Crazy things have been known to happen in bike racing and at the very least I’d make a bit of a name for myself. So for the next 50km I was solo and at the most I had nearly 2 minutes advantage. Unfortunately there was a big cobblestone section early in the race which the pack, fighting for position, accelerated towards and shortly before the stones I was caught by a small group . I went over the most bad-ass, gnarly, 3km of mud splattering, farm track kassein at the head of the race and came out in a solid looking group. It all came back together though, and for the next hour I was pretty toast and spent the time trying to hide in wheels and avoid any splits. In the last hour I started to feel good again, and when the shit started to hit the fanwith 30km left I accelerated away in the cross wind. First I was with one other guy however he soon hit the deck right in front of me on a wet turn off a bridge, then a few others came up and soon we were ten with a promising advantage. Unfortunately, there was a good bit of messing around in the break, a few teams had 2 or 3 riders and they were all looking at each other. I was by myself and rolled through but sure wasn’t going to drive it. With 12 km to go we were caught and it all ended in a sprint with what was left of the peloton. So not a textbook race by any means, but “if you don’t take chances, you don’t get the dances” (quote:JamieSparling).

Let me tell you that hot shower felt damn good. Mind you I’m still cleaning the mud and dirt out of my eyes. Cars and trains for a few more hours and I was home by 11. 

I was happy to see my bed.

I had a good weekend of kermesse racing in Belgium. In the finale on Saturday I couldn’t quite go with the best when things blew up on the steeps of a hard little climb and finished in the next group with 22nd place. I had been in a few ill fated breaks earlier in the race however and picked up one of the primes for good measure.

Sunday, I had much better legs. This one was a bigger race with a deeper field, 7km circuit, gently rolling and relatively straightforward. A few kms in and 13 of us split away in the crosswind and formed the breakaway for the day. It was fast and smooth until the last couple laps where some guys started to die and others started to attack. I still felt great and got involved in the aggression, playing off the strongest riders to first split the group in two and then narrow it down again to 4. Coming into the final kilometers we were still 4 and my odds were good but we hesitated a bit and it all came together again. In the group sprint I had the right wheel but with 50m to go tried to go around on the exposed side (mistake) and went backwards to finish 8th. Still, I gave it a good crack so am happy. Belgian racing is the shit.

This weekend there aren’t any races on the team calendar so I am heading to Belgium to race a couple of kermis with a friend. On Saturday, we will do Pecrot, 12x 10km that apparently features a bit of climbing, and Sunday we’ll race Wolvertem which is 17 laps of 7km. I love the racing and atmosphere at a kermesse and am excited for the weekend.

210km, 13 degrees, windy as all hell and an almost unbelievably heavy and incessant rain. That was the Ronde van Midden Nederland. Start to finish, soaked to the bone and chilled to the core.

It was a beautiful race; to be decided “op de kant” and “in de wire”.

I hoped to go early but didn’t find the right attack. Sure enough, it was the first split (14 riders) that made the winner.

After this early chaos of attacks, the competition settled down, simmered slowly then rose to a boil.

In the peloton we raced through the woods and over small hills, the tension rising with each passing kilometer. Onto the dyke; a swarming mass of riders aiming for the front. The peloton continuously consolidates and stretches; in places the string snaps and ends hopes as legs gave way. Up and down from the dyke. Above: there is no shelter from the unforgiving wind. Below: we race in the gutter. Legs burning, we try to stay aware of the maze of traffic furniture that litter each town.

60km to go and I am split from the back, my position in the pack not good enough and, in a bad moment, I am not strong enough to move up. I’m in a group behind and the peloton is riding away. I knew with the others, I had no hope; the commissaire would call a barrage and hope would be lost. So I gave it a last chance dig, and went ahead. It seemed like forever I was time trialling in no mans land and nearly gave up; but then sure enough the cars begin to come up and through towards the pack. I latch onto the caravan and again my race became possible. I could work my way up and through to rejoin the peloton. I made it.

The last hour, I was a diesel motor. I wasn’t suffering, and my head and my heart wanted to attack. However, when I tried to go with the moves I got no where. There was no explosion left in my legs.

In the final kilometres, I no longer had the will. Through the last turns I stayed in the back and, through a torrent of water, watched the peloton sprint for the minor placings.

The race was over.