The morning of the race was once again very misty and cold – and once again I was glad to have my winter coat and even put on my woolly hat before going for a walk.

Just down the hill below us was the beautiful town of Russeignies – I walked most of the way down before turning back. The small road was actually pretty steep and I was glad I wasn’t going to have to ride a bike up it – twice.

The farmers around here have also fertilized their fields, although the smell had started to dissipate a bit – not quite so pungent anymore. Our dutch neighbour had been busy last evening – he’d painted the name of his favourite rider every thirty feet or so up and down the road – Matje van der Poel.

Just above us around a couple of bends was a very deja-vu experience for me. I walked up – stopping along the way to chat with a local – and after rounding the bend, turning right and along a straight bit, then another right I wondered if I was if I was in the twilight zone.

I passed a cafe, then chose to get off the road and behind the barriers towards a VIP setup. As I approached I heard them testing the speaker system by reading the menu for the day – stuffed potatoes, chilli-con-carne, something with aubergines. And then a guy on a moto stopped and asked me if I knew where the kitchen was.

That was whenI looked across the road and saw a beautiful brick house with thatched roof and thought ‘wow – that looks a lot like the one I saw and took a photo of last Friday – what are the chances of having a cafe next to a VIP tent across the road from a thatched-roof brick house?’. Of course it was the same place we’d been to last week for E3 BinkcBank, but we’d gone down so many small winding roads and gotten completely turned around and hadn’t realized we were that close.

By the time I returned to the campervan there were another two cars parked in front and behind us, and more people walking up from the village below – it’s a popular hill.

The women’s race was late arriving – apparently there’d been a huge crash early on and they actually had to halt the men’s race to prevent them from overtaking the ladies.

I chose what I thought was the perfect spot on an inside corner, but the cars came so close to me as they rounded the corner that I was in danger of getting run over, even though I was on the grass and not the pavement.

I crossed the road for the second pass and felt slightly safer, although still put a lot of faith in the drivers staying on the road.

Once the men had passed for the second time we retreated into the campervan to watch the end of the race on tv.

The dutch man’s road writing must have worked – the breakaway did not get caught and van der Poel won in a thrilling sprint to the finish. Big smiles and thumbs-up from our neighbours. The photo I took of him shows the eventual winner as he had just ridden over his name on the road.

We drove the other day over to Brussels so Colin could take one of his cameras to the Nikon office to get an issue taken care of. He had to leave it with them and we’ll return in a week or so to collect it.

The drive there started out on very small roads, including a rather long cobbled part, but ended up on the large motorway, skirting the actual city to reach the Nikon place on the northeast edge. Coming back to the campground we tried to take a smaller highway but it became frustrating after awhile – the two GPS’s were giving conflicting instructions so we gave up and went back to the motorway.

The campground is letting us come and go every couple of days, although we won’t be able to stay there on Friday – she’s been fully booked for weeks because the Tour of Flanders on Sunday passes right by. We’ll just have to find a spot on the road and stay there two nights instead of just one.

The farmer in the field next to the campground was busy on his tractor spreading fertilizer – to be more specific, he was spreading cow shit. The smell was so strong it almost made the eyes water and breathing through the mouth wasn’t that much more pleasant than breathing through the nose – you could still smell it, and almost taste it too. Well, at least it wasn’t a bunch of toxic chemicals.

There was some rain during the late afternoon but we were snug inside the campervan – had a lovely steak, mushroom, onion and smashed potatoes dinner. I remarked about how well we were ‘roughing it’ – ha ha ha. I’m so glad I’m not in the tent eating bread and cheese and freezing at night.

There was more rain during the night and the next morning was grey and very chilly, although the sun did try to peep out. The fluffy white cat came for a visit while we were filling the campervan’s water tank. It’s name is Ice and it’s actually not deaf, but is a bit naughty – it lounges on the counter in the office and tries to drink out of the ladies’ tea cups. There’s also a beautiful black cat – not sure what it’s name is, or if it is also naughty.

We left the campground around 2:00 and headed a bit south to pick a spot for the next race. We followed part of the route and settled on a narrow, steep hill that the racers will climb twice. There was a dutch campervan already parked in a nice wide spot so we pulled in behind them.

The fellow came out and chatted a bit as we got settled – he and his wife had been at this same spot last year and they know it’ll be ok and we won’t get asked to leave. The farmers here have also recently fertilized their fields, although the smell has dissipated just a bit.

The resident rooster brazenly led his harem of hens along and across the road, apparently unconcerned with the passing cars.

Race morning was misty and chilly, with a very brisk wind. Took another walk to Underhill Farm cemetery/memorial, but this time did it without the tears. Once again I’m very glad I brought my winter coat – despite the cold conditions I was toasty-cozy.

I was about to take Mo for a walk when I saw some official vehicles go by and realized that one of the races was already coming. At about the same time I saw that Mo’s halter wasn’t on properly and she was in danger of slipping out. Since I didn’t have time to secure her I scooped her up in my left hand and pointed my camera up the road with my right and just started clicking. It turns out I got mostly clear in-focus shots with no blurry ones so Mo must bring good luck! The group was the under-23 men and they seem to be in teams based on country rather than sponsor.

About an hour and a half later we were putting up our flags – just the Lion of Flanders, my Maple Leaf, and a Union Jack in honour of where we are and what happened here. As we secured the pole I noticed two police walking towards us – a woman as well as a man with a dog. The dog was beautiful – a german shepherd with black markings.

We were very politely told that we’d have to move the campervan as it was too dangerous for the riders (it hadn’t seemed to bother the first group….). We could already hear the heli’s coming so we all agreed we should re-locate after the ladies race had passed.

We asked about the dog, trying to find out if it was a sniffer-dog for drugs or explosives. He told us no – he’s an attack dog, and is with him all the time, not just during work hours – luckily he seemed to like us. After the race had passed we hopped in the campervan and drove a few hundred metres past the barricade at the corner where the racers make a sharp right turn.

We got re-parked and setup the flags – it was so windy I wondered if the pole was going to snap. We had time for a bite to eat, then walked to the corner to catch the next race about another hour and a half later. This group were professionals but not the elite ones we really came to see.

Another 90 minutes passed and then the ones we were waiting for arrived – led by none other than Peter Sagan. There’s a fly on his right shoulder in my photo, but it’s not our pet campervan fly – that one is still buzzing around inside.

We stuck around long enough to watch the end of the race on tv, took down the flags and headed back to the campground in Zwalm.

After another night at the campground in Zwalm we left for West Flanders to find a spot for tomorrow’s race. We got to the right general area and stopped at a bar in Ploesgstreet to get our bearings – and oh, maybe a glass of red wine for me.

We asked the bartender how to get to Hill 63 and followed his directions – bad decision. There was a sportif on, and the very small side road we’d been told to follow was part of the route – the riders were not happy we were on the road and we ended up stopping and turning around after only 50 metres or so.

Once we were back on slightly wider roads we went a bit further up to the town of Messines where we stopped and parked so we could have a bite to eat. There were several other campervans already parked near a church, but as soon as we pulled in a lady came out of the one on the left and told us we were too close – she couldn’t get her bike out. So Colin pulled out and over a bit, only to be told we’d nudged the other neighbour’s bike that was on the sidewalk behind us (where it shouldn’t have been) although we hadn’t actually knocked it over. We decided we didn’t want to stay there any longer than needed, although I did take a walk through the church.

It was open, and fairly large, cold and empty of people and had some quite nice stained glass windows, all of which were totally rebuilt after WW1. There were photos on a plaque outside showing the destroyed building after the war, and was very typical of this whole area – complete destruction followed by fabulous rebuilding.

We continued on towards Hill 63, but were again hampered by the sportif riders. We finally just parked it near a ‘feeding station’ for the sportif and I got out and walked. I passed through the feeding area and continued on to a war memorial that was right on the main road.

OK – I like to think I’m rather cold and not very emotional most of the time, but – don’t tell anyone – I’m really a bit of a marshmallow inside. I walked down the ramp under the glass pyramid and into the interpretive centre and couldn’t get more than three words out to the guy at reception before I started crying. I immediately ran to the washroom and sobbed my eyes out – great heaving, gulping sobs. It was several minutes before I could pull myself together and dry my tears, blowing my nose and fixing my lipstick (of course!) and returning to the reception area.

The fellow was very nice and gave me a couple of brochures – there are many important sites within walking distance, including the ‘christmas truce’ field and the catacombs.

The memorial itself was really nice – as seems usual here in Belgium it was immaculately kept – grass neatly trimmed and edged, flower beds without weeds – everything obviously well tended. I remembered that when I visited this general area in 1985 – Hill 62, Sanctuary Wood, Ypres, etc – I got the same impression. A lot of care is still being given to the resting places of the allies that helped liberate the people of this area over 100 years ago and they’ve never forgotten.

As I slowly walked around the place I thought about the reasons for wars – is there ever a good one? I’ve been to the place that ‘started’ the first world war – the bridge in Sarajevo where the archduke Ferdinand was shot – but so what if he was shot. Is that a reason to start a war that kills millions and millions of innocent people? Why are governments and politicians so powerful – or so utterly incompetent and stupid – that they can order their armies to go and invade a country and kill folks? Is that what ‘civilization’ is??

Then as I walked around I saw a small orange cat sunning itself on the edge of the neatly cut grass and compared it in my mind to the statue of the smiling lion in front of the memorial – both cats, both lounging, both untroubled by the stupidity of men. Not that saving Belgium or anyplace else was stupid, but rather that the conflicts caused by politicians should be solved by politicians, not by armies and bombs. Maybe if the politicians were the ones doing the actual fighting they would find a way to work things out instead – or maybe they’d just claim they have bone spurs or something equally ridiculous and send others out to die in their place.

On my return to the campervan I passed thru the feeding area again – one of the tables had a very cute little fluffy white dog on it – her name was Lula and she loved my attention.

After the sportif had quieted down a bit – the fellow at the memorial had told me there were over 5,000 participants!! – we continued on looking for a place to park it until tomorrow. We drove up the Kemmelberg, which is fairly steep and cobbly, and down the other side – it would be an awesome place to watch from but was already all barricaded off and there was nowhere to park.

We did find a possible place just down the other side, but my bike on the back of the campervan stuck out a little too far so we moved on. We settled on a spot on a small side road – about 100 metres from yet another cemetery. This one was on ‘Underhill Farm’ and was pretty small – only one Canadian but lots of Brits, and even a bunch of Egyptians.

In the morning I took Mo for a nice long walk, first down the road we were on, then turning up a side road where we saw some local folks that told me which roads the race would actually be on. It will pass fairly close by on the ‘main’ road, then do a large loop and come back up the road behind us.

A little later Colin and I walked Mo down the road in the other direction – there is a fabulous looking house of brick with a thatched roof, across the road from another VIP-type event place with over eighty tables, right next to a local pub/taverna. We went to the pub and ordered coffee, which we had to carry to our outside table ourselves because they were ‘going to be very busy later’. There was a very cool old car outside that was going to act as a ‘beer wagon’.

We drank our coffee in the sun – we hadn’t bothered ordering a cappuccino, but the coffee with milk was pretty good. The ‘main’ road was marked every 8 metres or so with the year and name of the racer that had won the Tour of Flanders.

Afterwards we walked all the way down past where we were parked and along the route backwards to find a spot to sit and watch from.

There was one nice spot that had a wide bit on each side of the road and was near the top of a fairly long climb – no parking allowed so no other folks were there yet. Having decided that’s where we wanted to be we went back to the campervan, packed up some food, grabbed the lawn chairs and went down to claim our spot.

We were alone for quite a while, then slowly but surely other folks joined us. At one point a female photographer stopped and we chatted a bit – she was very interesting and had done personal photo shoots with quite a few famous racers.

We waited until the last racer had passed then quickly packed up our bags and chairs and hoofed it up the hill so we could watch the end of the race on the jumbo-tron tv they’d setup for the ‘VIPs’. We dropped the chairs at the campervan on the way and saw that the whole road we were on was lined with VIP buses – over 40 of them.

As we were not the only ones to do this the road was completely blocked, yet even as the race was still on some of the VIP buses thought they should be able to bull-doze their way through. A couple of motos tried to clear a path beeping and whistling, but they weren’t police and they crowd refused to get off the road for them – they eventually gave up and parked it until the race was over and we were all ready to disperse. That was actually a pretty sweet moment – refusing to move and all the VIPs forced to just sit there – ha!!

Had a fairly leisurely morning starting with a nice hot shower followed by breakfast. I saw a fluffy white cat that didn’t respond when I tried to get it’s attention – I think it’s deaf, but it seemed totally unafraid. It was beautiful with one green eye and one blue.

We left the campground after Colin made arrangements for us to return a couple of times over the next week. There are so many races happening in this area that it’s called ‘Holy Week’ and it’s got nothing to do with Easter – to many Belgians and other cycling fans the Spring Classics are Holy.

We picked a place to head to that wasn’t very far away, and at one point we followed what will be part of tomorrow’s course. It was a famous cobbled section called the Kamelberg and I don’t envy the racers. We passed a large area that will be a VIP viewing section right on the cobbly bit, but we couldn’t figure out where everyone will park – the roads are very narrow and there are ‘no parking’ signs everywhere.

We only drove another mile or two before we took a side road and found a perfect place to park the campervan. There was one other van there already and we pulled in right beside it.

As usual Mo wanted out for a little walk and right after I left the campervan with her the driver of the other campervan got out and started talking with me. At the beginning he confused me a bit because he said ‘I see you next year at the Tour de France’, so I said ‘hopefully’, without understanding what he meant, which was actually ‘I saw you last year….’. As soon as Colin joined us he figured it out – the fellow had saved a spot for us at last year’s TDF ITT near Sourdial in southern France – the small world of cycling fans!

A little after we arrived our Dutch neighbour came over with some bottles – apparently team Sky had been by earlier and their support car had left several bidons – he gave us one each.

Our chosen parking area is across the road from two large houses, each having been turned into art/sculpture galleries. They both have large yards with outside sculptures as well.

Had a nice little chat with one of the Belgian ladies as Colin was getting the campervan ready to go. There are two couples, each with a large campervan pulling an identical little black and white smart car, and they go down to Spain each September and return home to Belgium each March.

We got on the motorway at a decent time and headed north/northwest past Reims – saw a truck carrying several Maserati, each in it’s own protective cover.

A little later we were passed by a beautiful black car – a McLaren. OK, so not ALL of the most beautiful cars are from Italy.

As usual there are signs along the motorway showing local sites to visit, etc – many in this area, of course, have to do with one of the Wars.

As we approached Lille we had both of the GPS’s going, and I had two map books open at all times. We didn’t like the drive around Lille so turned east a little earlier than planned just to get away from the maze of highways that make up the ring-road around the city.

Most of the round-a-bouts in every place we’ve been have decorations or some sort – flowers, shrubbery, statues, etc. One of them we passed had a large cube with huge ants swarming all over it – kind of creepy.

We found a really nice campground near the town of Zwalm and settled in for a day of rest. They really like roosters here – the one in front of the office is about five feet tall – it’s big enough that it could make a nice meal out of the ants on the round-a-bout.

Bye-bye Italy (sob sob) for now. Got away from the Poggio right around 9:00, heading west along the riviera – as soon as we crossed the ‘border’ into France we noticed that the roads were better and that gas was more expensive.

We passed three separate convoys of official vehicles – the first two were 9 or 10 police vans with lights flashing and the last one looked more like ambulances or something. There had been a large police presence at each of the toll-booths we’d gone through, and at one of them the traffic was backed up in the other direction for about 1 km. We wondered if there was an incident of some sort happening, or perhaps a protest by the gilet jaunes (yellow vests).

We pulled into a rest stop at one point – I noticed a young boy taking photos of a yellow car – it was very space-age looking, likely a kit-car. The sink in the washroom of the rest stop was a puzzle – it took me several minutes to figure out how to get the water to flow to rinse the soap off my hands. The faucet comes out and turns into a trident, with two of the ends blowing hot air for drying, and somewhere in the middle the water comes out for washing, but finding the exact spot to get water instead of air was a challenge.

Not long after we’d left the rest stop the yellow car blew past us. We drove quite far west before turning north – passed some interesting countryside.

At one place I noticed something yellow painted on a rock on the hillside above us – after I took the photo we could tell it was a Tour de France yellow jersey.

We went as far as the campsite in the town of Bedoin, which is where we stayed two years ago when we were here in July for the memorial service for the 50th anniversary of the death of cyclist Tom Simpson on nearby Mont Ventoux.

The next day was another long drive – still heading north. We passed two lots of gilet jaunes protesters along the motorway, although they were pretty quiet at the time and weren’t stopping traffic or anything.

We passed through part of Lyon, where the Saone river meets the Rhone – the Saone was very muddy looking while the Rhone was a brilliant aqua-blue, and at the point where they met they didn’t seem to merge much at all – two very distinct colours. We saw more than one large river cruiser – they’re quite popular on the Rhone.

We left the motorway just after passing Dijon and went to a campground that was supposed to be open but wasn’t, so looked up another one that wasn’t far away. It was a nice little place not far off our route, and had a couple of British campervans as well as some from Belgium.

Got up nice and early to yet another beautiful day. Had the usual cup of tea in the campervan, then headed to the cafe for a cappuccino. The view from our outside table was incredible – sparkling blue water with San Remo in the distance.

We walked around the town a bit, finding a small store for some bread and tomatoes. At one point I saw a cat lying on a bench – I actually watched for a few moments to make sure it was breathing and I hadn’t just taken a photo of a dead cat.

As the day progressed more and more cyclists were coming up the hill and the town was getting more and more crowded. The Poggio is a super important place in a super important race – the climb to the town isn’t very steep or long, although it is all switchbacks – the issue is that it’s the longest one-day race of the year and by the time they get to the top the racers have already covered over 300 km.

I popped into the wine store (the one where they have hoses coming out of the walls to fill your bottles from) and was asked if I wanted to try some. Did I say No? Ok – trick question – of course I didn’t. I expected to get a small sample of 3 or 4 wines, but was poured a whole glass of one, then sat down at the table with two italian gentlemen who chatted with me.

The store had put up a display of cycling memorabilia and one of the fellows was in several of the photos signed by famous Italian racers. He was a masseuse to many of the racers from twenty and thirty years ago, and it was very interesting talking with them.

Just below the cafe there’s a scallop-shell marking for the Camino di Santiago – boy old saint James sure got around!

We got a spectacular spot to watch from – just around the very sharp corner at the top of the climb, and were they ever moving fast.

As usual I didn’t really know who was passing until I looked at my photos later – turns out that Sagan was in second place at that time, followed shortly by Valverde and Alaphillipe.

As soon as they’d all passed masses of us rushed into the cafe to watch the final few km on tv – we were very pleased to see Alaphillipe victorious, with Sagan coming fourth.

As usual folks starting leaving within seconds – we went back to the campervan for a bit, before Colin headed back to the cafe to get some take-out lasagne. No luck – they’d been so busy they were out of food so we had to make do with scrambled eggs and ham.

I could hear some music playing at the other cafe/bar so walked up there to see what was happening – turns out not much. There was a DJ, but the crowd was mostly families with kids, etc. Also he didn’t have a CD player so couldn’t even listen to the Locos CD I’d brought with me – oh well, worldwide stardom will have to wait.

Took it kind of easy the last couple of days – had a fierce wind storm one day that blew some of the laundry off the fence where it was drying, despite the fact that it was well pegged down.

The full moon was pretty spectacular (although my photos of it were not), and Spring has finally arrived. Colin and I both got our hair cut at the local shop in Papiano – same nice fellow. I think I came away with shorter hair than Colin did, but at least it’ll be easy to take care of.

We got away on Friday morning nice and early, and it was a good thing. We hit a lot of road works – which is great, because the roads really need help – and witnessed the usual crazy drivers. I don’t know why I’m still surprised when I see a bone-headed move, or when we pass a car – or large truck – that’s been driving eratically and see that they’re on their phone, or worse yet texting.

As we were passed at one point by a Ferrari I had the thought that Italy is the land of the best coffee, the most beautiful cars, and the worst roads and drivers. As we neared Genova we realized we might have a problem with the GPS – the campervan’s system isn’t quite up-to-date and didn’t know about the overpass that collapsed and it was the one we were meant to be on. There were pitifully few signs about what road to follow instead, and we ended up using the other GPS on Colin’s phone as well – although it was up-to-date about roads, etc, it didn’t know how large the campervan was and led us down some pretty narrow roads in our effort to get on the correct highway. In the end we made it, after taking the ‘scenic’ route through the city, which actually was quite nice.

We arrived on the Poggio just after 5, and were surprised by the number of cars and campervans already in the parking area at the top. Colin needed the guidance of two very helpful Italian fellows to negotiate a way through the tightly-packed crowd of vehicles to a space. I was no help at all – I jumped out and watched the maneuvering from afar.

Once we were settled we walked just down and over to the cafe, where we had a drink (or two) and ate free nibblies.