Woke up before 7 to the sound of what I thought was another campervan arriving, but it wasn’t – a crew of guys were erecting advertising banners for a sun-glasses company. They were actually very quiet about it, although they did pen in the campervans across the road from us.

A couple of cars had arrived last night and erected a large blue tent at the end of the field we were on, and also towed a port-a-pottie in. We figured it was either a bike-tour or VIP-type place. I made use of the port-a-pottie on my early morning walk.

People started walking along the road around mid-morning, and the young men’s race arrived just after 1:00. They all try to ride on the side of the road if it’s flat – like it is where we are – or else in the very middle of the pave. The pave roads here are very old, and the middle is kind of a hump – the faster you ride on it, the smoother it is, contrary to what you might think.

And the cars all try to have one wheel on one side or the other to cut the bumps in half – not sure it really works but they all do it. Many of the moto cops ride standing up – I guess it shakes them up less, although none of the bike riders do it.

There was a small cavalcade at about 3:00 – several cars throwing out hats, candies, newspapers, etc.

The racers arrived just before 4:00 – there were two in front, followed by one by himself, then a small group led by Sagan (last year’s winner).

It was quite a while before the last racer passed – we’re on pave section 12, which is actually the 18th section because they count down from the first one, which is 29 and the last one right before the finish is number 1. Anyway by the time they got to us they’d ridden about 180 km and been jolted to bits by 17 sections of pave already.

We’d watched the beginning of the race on tv, and of course watched the end as well. Sagan wasn’t able to repeat as winner, but we were very happy when Gilbert, a Belgian, sprinted across the line in first place.

The folks at the end of the field poured out of their large tent and were partying as we went for a walk to the end of our road. Being the sociable person that I am – and always a bit nosy – I invited myself over. The tent was larger than it looked – it was filled with chairs and had a very large tv at one end – also a very good heater or two.

They offered me all the beer I could drink, but had no wine at all. Mo got a sausage, and as usual made a lot of friends. Colin and I stayed for a short while chatting to a group of the folks, who were all very nice and spoke very good english. They are all from Gent, and had paid 33 euros each which included a coach ride, all the beer they could drink and all the BBQ sausages and other food they could eat. It sounded like a pretty good deal to me – the only thing better would be wine instead of beer – we are in France, after all. Oh, and at least a couple of them know almost as much about politics in Canada as I do – I think they’re a bit in love with Justin Trudeau, and told me I must vote for him again in the next election.

The organizers were a Gent bike club, and you had to either belong to the club, or know someone who did, to participate. They tried to round everyone up to get on the bus so we walked back to the campervan. I think trying to round them up was a bit like herding cats – it took more than a little time, but they eventually got away. Not long after the tent was down, the port-a-pottie was towed away and the site was empty.

We were the only ones that were staying another night – we didn’t want to fight with the traffic and were in no real rush.

As I went for my morning shower I noticed that the door to the shower room was open several inches and thought ‘damn – they’re letting the nice warm air out’ as I closed it firmly behind me. While I was in the shower I heard the door open to the main room, but no one else seemed to be showering.

When I exited my shower room I saw the little orange cat, and noticed two dishes on the floor, as well as a cat-bed. I then realized that the kitty used the room to eat and sleep in and I had effectively locked her out – I call it her because its in the ladies room, not the men’s. A short while later the maintenance man had filled up the two dishes – she doesn’t get water, but had a full dish of milk in addition to the full dish of food.

We had a general destination in mind – one of the 29 pave/cobble sections of Sunday’s race, so keyed in the small town of Bersee to the GPS and headed out. We crossed the ‘border’ into France and found the town, but had a heck of a time finding the actual route due to road construction and some of the very tiny roads not being on our fairly detailed map.

After taking the ‘scenic’ route we eventually found a great stretch of pave – section 12 of the race – with a nice place to park so took it. There was one campervan across the road just down from us so we figured it would be ok. More than one of the race teams went by on a re-con run.

After we settled the campervan we went for a walk into the town – it was a fair ways but the cafe we found was worth it. The wine was very good and the server spoke pretty good english. We walked back along another bit of the pave route – there were several campervans parked at a really sharp corner so the racers will be slowed by more than one thing at that point.

The next morning we heard a large vehicle and looked both ways up and down the road but no campervans were in sight. Then we saw the large blue tractor in the farmer’s field across the road – he was spraying his grass (uck!!) but luckily the wind hadn’t picked up yet so there wasn’t much drifting.

The first of the sportif riders got to us at about 9:45, starting out one by one, then slowly more and more coming. As Colin was putting up the flags for the day a local fellow came by and started chatting with him – he lives ‘in the second house from the corner’ just up the way, and had invited us for an apperatif sometime around noon.

I actually got on my bike and rode into the village mid-morning – it’s a good thing I had lots of warm clothing, but even then my face almost froze. I had a nice, very strong coffee at the same cafe as yesterday – they had good wi-fi so I got caught up on a couple of things. I then walked my bike around the corner to what I thought was a grocery store but turned out to be another bar that also sold lottery tickets and tobacco.

It seemed to be a ‘locals’ bar so I thought ‘what the heck’ and sat down and had a nice glass of wine. I finally looked at the time and realized I better get going back or we’d miss out on our invitation for the apperatif. As I neared where we were parked and rode around the corner towards the campervan I had to get off my bike and walk it – so many sportif riders were coming towards me I couldn’t ride in the opposite direction.

Before I got half-way down Colin was walking towards me so I turned around and walked with him back to the nice local fellow’s house. They un-locked their gate and invited us into their beautiful modern house. He and his wife, Michelle, were very warm and welcoming and we enjoyed more than an hour of conversation and a couple of glasses of very good red wine with them. Their grandson, Antoine, arrived just before we left – they were so nice. The husband was born in Italy, and they had worked and lived in many places, including Canada, the US and Australia.

The sportif riders were coming at a great rate, although nothing like last week at the Tour of Flanders. One thing that bothered both of us was two young ladies on horses going in the opposite direction as the riders – the horses, especially the white one – were not comfortable and we thought that the riders were just incredibly stupid to be endangering not only the bicycle riders but also their animals.

The campervan across the road ended up with two others for company – we think the two newcomers are friends as one arrived, spoke with the original guy, then pulled in front of him right next to the road. We commented to each other that he was too close to the pave and would for sure get told to move back before the race arrived, but he had a plan. A little later another campervan and a car pulled up and they all re-arranged themselves in a line well back from the road – no one was too close after all so I didn’t have to stomp over with the new whistle that Colin got for me and demand that they move.

We had a nice dinner of pasta with sauce and a small salad, then as I was doing the dishes afterwards I noticed what I thought was our pet fly on the window in front of me. However as I Iooked closer I realized it was actually a spider that was making its way upwards and before I could react it had climbed behind the upper cupboard. I decided to let it live – it looks like we exchanged our pet fly for a pet spider.

Once again I stayed up way too late reading. I finished the book ‘Arthur’, about an injured stray dog in Ecuador that latches onto a Swedish endurance racer and just keeps following him – it was a great little book and I’d recommend it to anyone, especially if they love animals. I laughed out loud more than once, and also cried – warning/spoiler alert – it has a happy ending.

We got going from the free camp a bit later than usual, but were in no particular rush. We headed southwest, then pretty much straight west to Brugge. The old city is surrounded by a large canal and ring-road, which we followed until we saw a parking area with campervans and buses.

We saw the prices they were charging so promptly backed up and got out onto the ring road again. There is free parking allowed on the ring, and we found an excellent spot not far from the Gentpoortbrug bridge over the canal. I have extremely fond memories of Brugge having been there on my backpacking trip many years ago – my expectations were pretty high.

A short walk after going in under a fortified gate led us to a church – I decided to go in and see what the stained glass windows were like, and they were ok.

But what caught my attention was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in a church – and to me lots of things in churches are funny – there was a giant swing hung from the very top of the high ceiling and there was a fellow on it swinging away – he seemed to be enjoying himself.

Jesus on the bench outside was not enjoying himself so much – I wouldn’t either if I knew how much harm and destruction had been done in the world in my name.

Next to the church was a nice park with a gazebo, pond, fountains and beautiful flower beds.

Further on we came to an inner canal and turned left towards a square full of people. There were a couple of vendors selling artwork, etc, and a lot of people posing for f’ing selfies.

We continued on further to a larger square that was ringed by beautiful buildings, including, of course, a bunch of over-priced cafes and restaurants.

Since we hadn’t gotten the fries we craved the other day in Zwalm we chose a ‘fritteria’ – Colin sat at table outside in the sun while I went in and ordered. It was a busy little place and I was pretty hungry but opted to just get fries – all of the ‘food’ was pre-made and they just threw it in the fryer before serving. I also had to get coffee from a machine – when I told the server that I needed one cup with milk and brown sugar he told me to push the ‘coffee complete’ button. I looked and looked for cups but didn’t find any – he noticed my dilemma and handed a stack of paper cups over the counter to me. The fries were actually pretty good – I got mine with mayo this time instead of ketchup.

After eating we walked around the rest of the square – the middle of it was filled with carnival-type booths as the kids are off school this week and hoards of them, as well as tour groups were everywhere.

There are horse-drawn buggies too, and some of the horses were done up very prettily and ‘strutted’ rather than ‘walked’, as if they were proud of how they looked. I hoped they were well treated – at least they all looked well fed.

On our way back out of the inner town I noticed the corner of a building – there was a niche with a madonna and child on the very corner, and right next to it a painting for a bakery. It almost looked like, in addition to giving it the ‘thumbs up’ he was also giving it the finger – ha ha ha, kind of like how I feel.

Returning to the campervan we chose our next destination close to the french border so we won’t have far to go for Sunday’s race. The campground was right in the town of Tournai, and was quite nice – it seems to have a resident cat that’s light orange and looks quite young. The washrooms and shower area are both heated, which is especially nice considering how cold it stills gets at night.

I must add that my experience today in Brugge was not a disappointment at all, except I was amazed, as I frequently am, at the number of tourists and how they can almost ruin a place. I really don’t consider myself a tourist, but rather a traveller – makes a difference, at least to me!

We got going from our roadside camp and headed back to Zwalm. The next day was rainy and cold – we did some more laundry, then walked into the town planning to get some more of the tasty fries. No luck – fries shop was closed, as was the nice bar, so we picked up a few things from the grocery store.

On the way back to the campervan we passed a store that sold books and toys, and in the window was a vintage game with superstar racer Eddy Merckx, with a ‘no bicycles’ sticker in front of it – it struck me as very funny in cycling-mad Belgium.

The next morning we left before noon back to Brussels so Colin could pick up his camera – now with a complete new shutter assembly courtesy of Nikon. We decided to go north to near Antwerp to see the Scheldeprijs since we were so near.

We were following the Wayz GPS rather than the campervan’s, and it turned out to be fortunate – we were detoured at one point due to roadworks onto a very small side road. We noticed a small group of bicycle riders coming towards us so Colin pulled off as much as possible to let them pass. We were thrilled to see that one of them was van Avermaet in his CCC uni and another was Naesen in his AG2R gear – just out for a nice little ride of likely 150 km or so.

We had keyed a street name into the GPS but were thwarted by closed roads – an early race was happening on the same course. We backtracked a bit to another possible site, and had great luck.

We ended up right on the canal road at the ‘5km to go’ banner, where we parked in the lot of a construction business of some sort – it was perfect. This canal is a major ‘port’ with lots of large tanker-type barges and ferries. Apparently some of the bargemen live on them and travel with their families and everything. Several of them had cars strapped on top- mostly BMW’s – and one even had a playground enclosed by a large cage.

We saw two rounds of an amateur race before the men’s race arrived, also making two passes.

The first time around one of the riders threw a bottle on the road near us – there was a young boy with his mother watching behind the barrier I was at, and I wondered if I could somehow grab it for him but it was soon run over by a team car – it kind of exploded and was totally ruined. After the race had passed the first time we went back to the campervan and Colin asked me to grab one of the many bidons we’d collected from Tirreno-Adriatico and he gave it to the little boy who was just thrilled with it.

Afterwards we headed just a bit north to a campground that turned out to be full – but Colin was told to just park in the parking lot and use the facilities for free. There are some very cute goats, chickens and ducks.

We did go into the bar for a drink, then Colin returned to the campervan. I took my glass outside so I could face-time home without bothering the other customers. After a few minutes I noticed that they were locking up so I downed my wine (which was really very good) and couldn’t get back in to return my glass. Luckily the lady inside noticed and came around the side to collect the glass with a smile. What a nice place!

Race day started with pouring rain just before 7:00 as predicted, although it tapered off to a drizzle and didn’t last long. We had talked about walking up to the Paterberg around 2 or 2:30 as the first pass of the riders wasn’t expected until 3:30 at the earliest, but I changed my mind.

I packed some food and my usual things in my backpack and hiked up alone around 10:30 – I didn’t want to miss a thing. There were already quite a few people there – the race had already started from Antwerp and was on the jumbotron up near the top, and I could see another one down near the bottom of the hill.

There were food and beverage vendors on the large grassy areas on both sides of the road where I was and at least a few groups – mostly young men – were having beer for brunch.

I chose a great spot – tucked up between the barrier and the medical tent. Two men were already there and they welcomed me with a smile. Right across from us there was a tower with three men on top attaching a large camera to a line that goes almost to the bottom of the hill – they got it going and kept it going up and down for the rest of the day.

There were many camera crews walking around and one of them came over and chatted with me a bit before asking if they could film an interview – well, the guy with the mike asked and the guy with the camera said nothing. I was told to ignore the cameraman and not look at him – they made a joke and we all laughed, then the interview started. He asked me why I was there and why I liked cycling, etc – lots of questions and probably some dumb-sounding answers. He liked my bicycle earrings, and thought it was especially nice that I had time-trial ones as well with different back wheels and handlebars. At the end he asked me my name and where I’m from – I debated about which name to use – my real one or my travel one. Where I’m from was easy – I had my usual maple leaf pinned to my backpack, which was visible under the barrier, and I had also pinned another one right onto the barrier where I was standing. He mentioned that he didn’t think there were any Canadians in the race and I agreed – which was stupid of me as Hugo Houle was in the four-man breakaway that they’d shown on the jumbotron.

Several more men joined us behind our barrier as the odd amateur rider came up – at one point there were a couple of kids, working hard and looking very tired. The crowd went nuts for them – cheering, clapping, blowing horns, urging them on – their faces lit up with big smiles – perhaps dreaming of what it might be like to be a pro one day.

Shortly after an amateur race arrived – the ‘La Ronde Fan Ride’ – I was getting pretty good photos and was pleased with the spot I’d chosen.

Then the ladies’ race came – we could see them coming along the road below before they turned sharply for the climb up towards us. Because the medical tent was right next to an access point some people were able to squeeze in front of the barrier and get away with it. One short woman in particular was totally in my way – when the ladies came by many of my shots had the back of short woman’s head in them.

I realized I’d have to move from my excellent spot before the men arrived, so I asked the course marshall nearest me if I could go sit on the grass in front of the barrier just below us where the professional photographers are allowed to go and he said ok. I re-positioned myself and the next nearest marshall called out that I had to move, but I told him the other guy had said it was alright so he smiled and nodded and left me be.

I was sitting between two female photographers who were talking to each other and actually recognized the language – they were Italian.

The cheering started as soon as the men were visible on the road below, and we could tell when they turned the corner and started up the hill – the fans were going crazy.

I crouched down and got some really good shots, although I had to pull back from the road when some of the cars came through – I was surprised they came up at all it’s so narrow and steep.

One of the official cars was belching out clouds of black smoke from underneath – either clutch or brakes I’d guess. I had to stand up before I got the very stinky cloud right in the face.

They weren’t expected to pass the second time for about an hour, so I went back to my first chosen spot – I’d left my backpack there to hold my place, but of course many more people had squished in since I’d left. It wasn’t actually a problem, though, as they were all very nice and when the interview fellow and his camera man came back and called for me by name I was allowed to push through to the front.

My second interview I hope I wasn’t quite as dumb-sounding, and mostly he asked what I’d thought of the first pass of the riders. I told him truthfully it was beyond all of my expectations – and I had pretty high ones. The crowds, the atmosphere, everything was just so exciting it couldn’t be properly imagined from home watching it on tv. I also remembered to mention that there was at least one Cdn in the race and he’d been in the breakaway for a long time.

By the time the racers made it back I had relocated to right in front of the barrier, just beyond where the marshall was holding the ribbon across the access. I did confirm with him first that it was ok, and there was just enough grass that I was off the actual road. I had considered going back to the area below where I’d been for the first pass but there wasn’t one inch of space left – dozens and dozens of professional photographers had converged, some running down the road from above us, and others being dropped off by motos.

Short lady had by then gone and fetched her two tall children to join her – no one was obeying the marshall to keep off the cobbles so they were constantly stepping out and leaning over, again right in my line of sight.

I actually held my tongue and decided not to get upset – I’d been standing there for over five hours and they’d arrived right before the racers and thought it was ok to block my view. But – I was still having a great time and knew I’d already gotten some great photos so I repressed my natural instinct and settled down.

By the time the riders reached the Paterberg for the second time there were only 13.5 km to the finish and they were very tired and strung out. The first to come over the hill was Italian rider Alberto Bettio in the pink jersey of team EF-Drapac.

Short lady’s son kept sticking his arm out encouraging the riders – I have several close ups of his many tattoos.

And there was a second Canadian in the race, Antoine Duchesne, who must be our current national champion as he has the maple leaf on his shoulder as well as his shorts.

Some folks left as soon as the last rider passed, but many stayed to watch the final few km on the jumbotron – also the beer tents hadn’t run dry and were still serving. The Italian in pink held on for the win – the two men that were originally the only ones behind my barrier turned out to be Italian as well so we were all very happy. I had never seen Colin arrive, so rather than stay and drink over-priced rose wine I started walking back to the campervan.

About halfway there I heard my name being shouted from behind – Colin had found me. He’d walked to the cobbles via the lower road and had stayed by the other jumbotron rather than walking up the whole hill – the marshalls were by then preventing pedestrians from using the cobbles so he stayed where he could still get a great view of the race.

It was an incredible day, and I must say that the organizers did a wonderful job – there were clean port-a-potties – with toilet paper!! – lots of garbage bags (although not everyone used them) – the course marshals were good and seemed to know what they were doing (sometimes, sadly, they don’t). Kitty on the way home didn’t care.

The first two riders in the sportif zipped past the campervan at about 9:45, followed by one or two every few minutes. Later on the flow became heavier – there are several different lengths of routes for them, one starting in Antwerp and all ending in Oudenaarde. Colin was told that there were about 16,000 entrants, compared with only 5 or 6,000 at Gent-Wevelgem. The shortest course is 74 km and the longest 230 km.

Colin had just finished a nice cup of coffee when we saw someone walking towards us – it was none other than our dutch friend from E3 BinckBank and last year’s Tour ITT! He chatted with us for awhile – he’s in one of the campervans just up and around the corner from us and he’d seen our flags. Once again we’re only flying the Lion of Flanders, my Maple Leaf and Colin’s Union Jack (which is actually a wind sock, not a flag). Our friend – still don’t know his name (!) – told us there were actually more like 18,000 riders today.

After lunch we walked up to the Paterberg along the top road to watch the amateurs struggle up – and struggle they did. At some points there were more people walking their bikes up the cobbles than there were riding up. It was especially good to see the younger riders going for it, and there was a nice percentage of ladies as well.

The congestion got so bad at times that I was compelled to shout out ‘riders coming! riders coming!’ to get the walkers to move out of their way. It’s difficult enough to lose your momentum when you’re riding uphill, let alone on cobbles. Some of the riders thanked me as they passed, while others cursed the walkers themselves. I’m not sure what nationalities the cursers were but ‘shit’ and ‘fuck’ must be universally understood.

One fellow did a wheelie in front of us and continued to the top – it wasn’t Peter Sagan, but very impressive strength and bike-handling just the same. After about two and a half hours of cheering and clapping we wandered back to the campervan. Along the way Mo made a couple of friends, which was a bit surprising as they were both females – two little jackies that we guessed were mother and daughter.

Back at the campervan we got the chairs out and cheered on the riders as they continued to pass. The flags are visible from quite a distance and we’re the only ones on this stretch of road so everyone noticed them. And they all appreciated our cheers and claps – my hands are going to be sore!

After a nice dinner of pasta and greek salad I was just starting the dishes when there was a knock on the campervan door. I opened it to see a fairly young man in riding gear, and he said something about ‘it’s too bad you won’t be seeing Cancellara tomorrow’ (great swiss rider who retired recently) – he must have seen my red and white flag and mistook it for Switzerland’s.

He told us he owned the land we’re on, and it’s his house that’s being built just below us. He was perfectly happy that we were there and hadn’t come to kick us off. He chatted with us for a bit, then left – very nice fellow.

Had a lazy morning while Colin did some laundry. The campground is starting to fill up, just as the owner had said – all here to see the big race on Sunday. Once the laundry was dry – which was amazingly quick – we went for a walk into the village of Zwalm.

We found a bank, then had a nice drink in a cafe/bar. You couldn’t see much from the outside, and all of the outside tables were empty so we were surprised when we walked in and the place was fairly crowded – all men.

The wine was quite good, the waiter/bartender was very friendly, and there were lots of nice conversations going on. There was a strange pool table in the middle of the floor right in front of the actual bar – it had only two holes, one at each end, with posts on each side and an arrangement of posts in the middle.

After we left there we walked a bit further and smelled french fries – sure enough a nice little snack shop on the corner. The fries were really good – not too greasy – although she put a little too much ketchup on them. We took our fries across the road and sat on a bench in front of a tiny church on the banks of the river Zwalm.

Picked up a few groceries, then found another bar. This one was quite different from the first one – there were several people sitting at tables and we didn’t know which one actually worked there. It looked like it might be an ‘original’ building that survived both of the wars – it had beautiful ceiling tiles and curtains on the windows that might have been real lace.

We chose our own table to sit at, then finally one of the ladies acknowledged us and Colin tried to order – it wasn’t easy. It took a couple of minutes along with hand gestures and pointing for him to be shown a beer bottle, then more gesturing to try to get a glass of wine. I even pulled a bottle out of my grocery bag and said – red wine, like this. She then poured me a glass of white.

As we sat with our drinks one of the other patrons starting talking to us and asking questions about Mo. Despite our best efforts we couldn’t understand much but she got up and kept leaning over me trying to get me to understand by repeating the same things over and over in dutch (or something). She had terrible teeth and a very florid face – we guessed that the two empty beer bottles on her table weren’t the first two of her day, and wouldn’t be the last. We left the moment we finished our drinks.

The next morning we left fairly early to go find our spot for Sunday’s race – stopping for supplies along the way. We want to see a cobble section this time, preferably on a hill, so we drove along part of the course looking for a place. We passed a few campervans that had found wide enough spots – almost all of the roads have ‘no parking’ signs up, and there are very few places wide enough anyway.

After checking out that part of the route more than once we chose a spot next to a house-building site. None of the construction workers came over to tell us to leave so we settled in.

Around noon I went for a walk down the hill to the bottom of the Paterberg – it’s only 400 metres long but very steep and – cobbled! To get on it the racers will have to make a sharp turn, do the horrible climb, then a sharp left turn at the top. They were already erecting barriers – and viewing platforms for the VIP’s.

There was a photo of Bradley Wiggins painted onto the road at the top, and a row of Slovakian flags – for Peter Sagan, I assume.

I took another walk in the later afternoon trying to find a cafe or bar with wi-fi. I kept walking and walking – every time I thought I was nearing a village it turned out to be a farm or just a few houses. I eventually reached the town of Kluisbergen, where a very nice female on a bike stopped and gave me directions to the town centre where I could find a bank, etc.

More walking and I found everything I needed. There were dozens and dozens of campervans parked on a long side road that runs parallel to the main road, and there were cyclists everywhere.

I found a really nice little bar that had many outside tables, and was it ever busy. I hadn’t gone to the bank yet and had no cash at all on me, but I asked if they had wi-fi. The girl that had been washing some glasses asked another worker for the password and keyed it in for me – good signal.

I managed to find a love-seat outside next to the children’s playground and face-timed home – all ok. I stopped at an ATM on my way out of town as the wind picked up even more and the clouds turned dark.

Since I knew the walk back to the campervan was quite long and I was by now very tired, I decided to hitch-hike. Three cars went by before one stopped – she also had passed me, but slammed on the brakes at the last moment. Perhaps she’d noticed the maple leaf on my backpack that I’d taken off and deliberately faced towards the oncoming traffic.

The lady was so nice – she spoke english very well, and told me that her house was ‘right there – the one with the car in front’, but she ended up driving me all the way back to the campervan. Was I ever glad – she knew the roads better than I did and I think if I’d been walking I might have taken a wrong turn and gotten completely lost.

We had another wonderful steak dinner – very tender, once again with mushrooms, onions, smashed potatoes, and the addition of some lovely green beens. Roughing it again.

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.