It’s a little town near Gent which today was the centre of the cycling universe.  I went.

Cyclocross is all about mud – uphill and downhill.  I wasn’t going to miss it. 

***

As I sat waiting for my second bus this morning, I decided to do a variation of loving the people I see.  I simply looked straight ahead and wished well everyone who came into my field of vision.

I could drink in pedestrians on the far side of the street.  People in cars over there were just momentary shapes, while close to me were blurred vehicles, each no doubt containing human beings.  I loved them all … because it’s a nice thing to do.

***

A strange house blew by me on the bus.  I saw the front wall and a side one.  The only windows were long horizontal slits, no more than 30 centimetres high.  What kind of world view does that give you?  Not much, I’d say.  I hoped that the other two sides of the building were open to the world … so the residents could have some mental health.

***

As I approached Gavere, I realized that my cell phone would soon be on life support.  Google Maps kindly showed me that there weren’t any restaurants or pubs (cafés in Belgium) near the bus stop by the cyclocross course.  So I got off earlier, in the town centre.  Now to find an outlet for charging.

The café was already jam packed with cycling fans at 11:30 – two hours before the first race.  I checked the walls, and there in the far corner I spied a lonely power bar.  We were about to become friends.

I sat at a table with my beloved cappuccino and watched the display of humanity … all cyclocross fans, I guessed – 90% men, all ages, even a sprinkling of kids:

Almost everyone had a Jupiler in hand, sometimes one in each hand.  It’s an “ordinary” Belgian beer, 5.2% alcohol, with a weaker taste than spectacular brews such as Westmalle Tripel.  But Jupiler accounts for 40% of beer sales in this country.

I simply watched the friendships, the joy of about to be watching cyclocross, and the number of empty bottles that sat on tables.  I was happy sipping my cappuccino.

***

Did I mention mud?  At the admission gate, I checked out people’s footwear.  Maybe a third of the folks wore high rubber boots.  They’d been down this road before.

Lying on the grass to form a less oozy path were 3-metre long slabs of metal.  Often I was slip-slidin’-away on them, and on the soaked grass.

No matter.  I was there to see riders’ kits almost unrecognizable with the brown splatters.  And any exposed skin was dotted with wet dirt.  Plus the faces were studies in filth and exhaustion.  The human determination to finish the race, to push a little harder, to pass the rider just ahead … was on display.

Here’s a pic of the men’s race beginning.  At this point I’d moved from the world of ooze to the civility of reasonable sand:

***

Gosh it was fun!

Even though my legs tightened up with all the standing

There are bigger things in life