Words and photos by Epic Rider Adam Glendinning





Riders freewheel up and down the road, waiting in anxious anticipation for the race soon to commence. The final race of the afternoon and the small, but appreciative crowd of spectators in the town square, children, and adults alike are gathering to watch the riders off. They leave behind the amusement park rides, and beer gardens that have been keeping them entertained during breaks in the racing.


A loudspeaker crackles to life, but before the announcer can speak, there is a loud roar of applause from the crowd. Two men stand up, and they need no introduction here. Joop Zootemelk, and Michel Boogard both icons of Dutch cycling, are the guests of honor for the afternoon, and will soon be sending the riders on their way.



Joop Zootemelk


I am at the start line for the Ronde van Katendrecht in downtown Rotterdam, holding onto the guardrail, clipped into my pedals, waiting. Joop Zootemelk, ‘how old is he now?’ I think to myself. I can remember when I started racing in the 1980’s, Joop was in the twilight of his career, but still riding and winning at Le Tour at 40, defying the ages.


Lost in a trip down memory lane, I am thrust back to the present. Michel Boogard is about to raise the starters pistol, when the event organizer rushes over to me. “Where is your timing chip?” he exclaims. “Do you not have a timing chip?” Sheepishly, I shake my head. Anticipating my answer, he has already produced the offending device from his pocket, and two tie wraps. The other riders turn towards me, “the foreigner”. I’d hoped to keep a low profile, but no chance of that now. Boogard says a few words to keep the crowd entertained, while the chip is attached to my bikes fork. This is my first race in Holland, and I am nervous enough, without this distraction, and attention. It is a tight parcours in downtown Rotterdam, but I count my blessings at is being run on tarmac, and not cobbles.


The chip attached, no time to trim the tie wrap. Done! Michel Boogard flashes that trademark toothy smile, raises the pistol, and with a loud crack, we are off.


No waiting, it’s a scramble into the first corner. The road is tight, and we have to go single file, left, and then immediately right, a short 200 meter straight. Hard! I’m giving it full gas, then a touch of the brakes, and a tight, 120 degree left turn onto the back straight. GO, GO, GO, full gas, out of the saddle, up through the gears. I look down at my computer. 62 kph! I lean forward on the saddle, ‘on the rivet’. The peloton is strung out in a long single file, and my entire world is concentrating on the wheel in front of me. ‘Don’t let a gap open’, I tell myself. ‘Please don’t let me get dropped!’ My lungs feel like they are going to burst. Tap the brakes, another tight left onto the start finish straight. Out of the saddle, I can hear music blaring as we approach the square and the finish line, the crowd leans over the barrier, cheering as we stream by. 1 lap done, 36 to go.


After we pass, the crowd has time to go back to their beer, and conversation, and the kids climb back on the fair rides, till we pass by again.



Nice afternoon for taking in a bike race


We can’t keep this pace up, surely…!? Slowly, after a few laps, the pace moderates, and I find my rhythm, and catch my breath. Its still full gas out of the tight corners, but on the long back straight, I have time to freewheel and grab a quick drink from my bidon. I settle in, feeling more comfortable, and I can feel my heart rate coming down, if only a little.


I lean into the corner on yet another lap, looking through the corner up the road, lift out of the saddle, following the rider in front. He eases away. A gap opens. I’m in too big a gear. Darn it, I forgot to shift down coming into the corner, and I am struggling to turn the big gear. The gap between us slowly increases, one bike length, two, three. I peg the gap, getting on top of the gear, but am using a lot of energy. The rider behind me is yelling something in Dutch. I don’t know what he is saying, but it doesn’t matter. The inflection in his voice is universal.


I crouch low over the bars, trying to get as low as possible. It takes 200 meters, but the gap closes. ‘Don’t let that happen again’, I remind myself. Silly mistake, and I’ll need the energy later in the race. Have to concentrate.





Riders are constantly being dropped, and there is a continual squabble for position. The rider in front begins to freewheel. Too early on the back straight… He sits up. Something is wrong. He’s blown, and is letting a gap open. It’s several bike lengths already. I swear, dart around him, and jump out of the saddle, closing the gap, towing the riders behind me. We are all suffering now.


A quick glance over my shoulder. Only one rider behind me, then the commissar’s car. The back of the peloton is not the place to be. I know this. I try to move forward, but the racing is more aggressive that what I am accustomed. Next time down the back straight when the other riders freewheel, I continue pedaling, passing three riders before the next corner. They are yelling something it Dutch. I ignore them as we accelerate down the front straight, past the start / finish line once again. A rider comes up along side, close. Very close! An elbow comes out, followed by a shoulder. I am not expecting in, and am pushed out of line, into the wind. Damit. I look over, but he’s looking up the road, as if nothing happened. I soft pedal, conceeding the three positions again.





20 laps to go. That took too much energy. Need to take a different tack. I decide to wait till 10 laps to go, see how I feel, and if I am feeling good, I’ll find a way to move up. I am beginning to think about the final sprint. Struggling at the start, I am feeling comfortable now. How far is it from the exit of the final corner, to the finish line? I figure it to be 350 meters. Too far to lead it out. 3rd, or 4th wheel ought to be ideal.


10 laps to go. Time to try and move forward. Last turn before the back straight, I dive up the inside, take 2 spots. Riders are yelling, but I ignore them. Smooth through the corner, now out of the saddle. Hard. Harder than before. When the other riders sit up, I press on, down the inside curb. The gap is just big enough as everyone moves across to the left, but I pedal hard, leaning forward, head low. The last corner approaches, and I moderate my effort, turning in 6th wheel. Perfect. Big effort, but I am positioned where I want to be.





Coming past the start finish line a rider comes up to my right shoulder, but I’m ready this time. He eases towards me. It’s a barely perceptible move, but I’m ready, and my elbow edges out. Not aggressive, but he knows I am not going to be intimidated out of line, and he drifts back. The laps count down. 9 to go. 8, 7. The pace is increasing, but I am feeling good. Don’t waste energy. Smooth through the corners, stay tight to the wheel in front. Out of the saddle early, freewheeling when I can. Thinking of the sprint. Beginning to look around. Who will contest it? Who is feeling fresh? Are they playing possum? 6 laps to go, 5… Final hairpin, touch of brake, lean in, half a wheel behind the rider in front. I get ready to jump out of the saddle. The earlier I do, the more momentum I can carry. Through the apex, looking 3 riders ahead, start to pedal.


Crack!! The rear of the bike is in the air. I’ve touched the inside pedal! I struggle with the bike. I lunge right, trying to balance the bike. I don’t fall, but I’m out of control, heading off the road. Over the curb, I just miss a tree, and then lose my balance and fall. Time stands still. I swear, but the race is still on. Riders are still streaming by, so I can still jump back on. I grab the bike. Quick inspection, and everything is in order. I run back onto the road, but something is amiss. I look down… both tires are flat, a result of hitting the curb. Inside 5 laps there is no free lap. My race is over…


So abrupt was my exit from the race, I walk back to the pits, in a daze. Rare is the opportunity I have to race in Europe, and the opportunity was squandered. I’ll just have to wait until next months schedule. Better luck next time…