I watched my first two cyclocross races on TV today – women and men.  O my God!  This is not the Tour de France, not on the roads and in the villages, not vista after vista appearing.

Some devilish minds took a piece of rolling land and created a circuit that’s repeated several times.  Think grass, mud, sand, asphalt, narrow trails, jumps, tight turns, straight up hills, dizzy descents.

Some of the slopes are so steep, or so oozy, that the cyclists leap off their bikes and carry them on their shoulders:

Even on sunny days, there’s mud.  And when it rains!  You can barely make out the faces:

A typical race is an hour, and the exhaustion builds.  Fine cycling technique goes out the window.  Trying to pass someone on a trail requires more than the rider usually has.  Control on the handlebars can be a lost cause.

It was so exciting!  And guess what?  Today’s race was in Hulst, a city of 30,000 in the Netherlands. That’s 39 kilometres from Ghent.  I can go!

The riders inspired me today.  They gave everything.  One guy fell in the first two hundred metres.  His gears were wrecked.  His team (and a replacement bike) couldn’t get to where he was on the course.  So he shouldered the wounded bicycle and ran up, down and sideways for several minutes to the team area. Tom Pidcock – thank you.

Here’s a final photo. Of course no smile. But this man is doing what he’s meant to do. May the same be true for you and me.