In the beginning we were going to go to
Eindhoven, and there was Great Rejoicing. Then someone pulled the plug
on the whole thing, and there was considerable anguish, particularly amongst
the Tweddle Tribe, who had already forked out large amounts of Money for
ferries, accommodation etc. But Hurrah! Mariëlle Bakker and Sacha
Knoop step into the breach, re-locate the event to Lelystad, principal
town of the Province of Flevoland and allegedly one of the windiest places
in Holland, and put together a nine day programme of Stuff. Here is some
of the Stuff, mainly without race results coz I didn't write them down,
and if Mariëlle did send gNick a full set, I haven't seen them
yet. Sorry, Ian.
| Lelystad hav a very interesting history, if you are interested in hist. which few boys are. If you had gone there in 1965, you would have seen a board with the word "Lelystad" on it, surrounded by a sea of Mud. Before this, it was part of the IJsselmeer. As a result of this, the place closely resembles Milton Keynes. Outside the railway station is a piece of Modern Art, a stainless steel thing some twenty-five feet tall. The top of this represents sea level. |
Early Days
On the Friday, Saturday and Sunday there were assorted events for water bikes. Due to being either in the wrong country or else in the right one but asleep, I didn't manage to witness any of these, but Steve Donaldson has some pictures of Floating Things and apparently at one point Arch-Organisationer Mariëlle Bakker was observed standing in a canal hunting for some lost keys and asking plaintively "Doesn't anyone have a magnet?".
Sunday August 20th
Well, we arrived early on the Sunday morning after an overnight trip via Ramsgate, Dunquerque and some of Belgium. You can always tell when you've crossed into Belgium by car, even if you blink and miss seeing the border, because the road suddenly goes all nasty. In my view, they should just put up an "uneven road surface" sign at all border crossings and leave it at that. You know that stuff that JK always says about providing good maps for persons locating events? Well, they didn't. Lelystad at 6 a.m. on a Sunday is as lively as a very dead thing, and we are unable to locate the camp site. But Lo! A recumbent approaches! However, its rider (hereinafter referred to as "The Idiot") is an idiot, and is unable to provide any useful information whatsoever. By dint of running away from The Idiot as fast as possible, and using Tina's solar-powered navigation, we visit interesting parts of Lelystad and finally reach our goal. Assemble the tent, meet some helpful Scottish Tribesmen (the Donaldson brothers and Dave "The Dentist" Fyfe) and go to sleep.
Loud noises in the afternoon - it can only
be one thing... Yes, the Big Boys have come out to play: Jonathan Woolrich,
Steve Slade, Miles & John Kingsbury, Pat Kinch and Dave Cormie with
various cars and bicycles, while at assorted intervals Paul Craig, Malcolm
Squires, Ian Sheen, "American Dave" Moreno (I won't tell you what the spelling
checker turns that into...) and José (whose surname I wot
not of) appear having ridden from wherever. Dave has an enormous
pile of luggage on the back of a Velocita, while José & Speedy
appear to be carrying nothing at all. Ian is swearing (natch) as the Fietspads
have caused the inner wheel arches of the faired Speedy to neatly shave
a flat band on the top of his front tyres, but is cheered up with a case
of beer. Wander off to register; run into Chairman Mike, Nigel Sleigh,
Ian Chattington & Susan Laughton, who have ridden over on their M5
tandem, and Murray Dowling & Sherri Prisk from Oz, on another European
Tour. Hit the bar. Awakened in the night by Something raiding the dustbin
bag outside the tent. A rabbit? Lots of them around, so could be, but probably
not interested in empty beer cans. A wolf? Unlikely. A cat? Possibly. The
Famous Flevoland Fag-End-Eating Fox? We think so. It is told to "go away"
in several languages, and does so.
| Hey Wow!! A rear steering machine that actually works! This is a single speed trike built by Meindert Valenteyn (sp?) for Small Son, who tears around the camp site at a: ankle level and b: about Mach 1. Why didn't they have stuff like that when I was a kid? |
Monday August 21st
Make our way to the sprints, after concocting a very silly message for young gNick Green and attaching same to the main entrance to the camp site. It's still there when we leave the following Sunday. The course is a closed road, dead straight, dead flat and Dead Boring. First a safety check. Unfaired bikes must have a guard over the chainset, so as not to puncture anything or anyone. Do they mean us?? No, they don't, as it turns out: "We only made this rule at the end of last week, so if you're not Dutch you don't have to do it." Sadly, José doesn't get this far, when he discovers that turning the Speedy's joystick has little effect on the front wheels - a great cry of "Michael!!! It's broken!!!" ensues. As Giant's European HQ is at the far end of the course, repairs are made. Malcolm doesn't get this far either; pleading the demise of various bits of his anatomy, he stays in bed. Clever boy.
Two runs each, with a choice of 600 or
1400 metre run-up. FTD goes to Jurg Birkenstock (Switzerland), 84 km/h
(N.B. this article was written
after Britain officially Went Metric...)
in a new and groovy front-driver [actually it wasn't front drive - Ed.],
with lots of interesting String Technology for operating its "bomb doors".
It's a sort of cheesy yellow colour, and had it been mine, I'd have painted
fake holes on the sides to make it look like a piece of Swiss Cheese, but
they didn't. The route back to the start is along the Fietspad parallel
to the road - no turnings in any direction. This, however, does not deter
The Idiot, who is observed asking passers-by for directions. gNick cunningly
arrives in time to miss everything except the hanging around in the sports
club bar waiting for the results, with added beer.
| Just what is that strange white thing? A linear-drive fully faired bike with a very pronounced beaky nose, making it look more or less like a dolphin. For this reason it is known as "The Penguin". It bears evidence of some sort of involvement from Mercedes-Benz, who ought to know better. |
Tuesday August 22nd
Assorted time trials, in the vicinity of the airport. Getting there is no problem, just follow the Fietspad east. Snag. There isn't one. Head north on the Fietspad From Hell - a cross between a canal towpath and the Walworth Road. So this is the one that Mike Burrows told us not to use! At the end of this is another Fietspad and a bunch of bemused Germans, who tell us the Fietspad doesn't go anywhere. They're right, it ends in the middle of a field. Undeterred, we ride across the field, climb over the Armco, dig a tunnel under the central reservation and find the right route. Lelystad airport is located in the middle of a fog bank. Much rider briefing - the start is here, when you've finished, go there etc. etc. So we all ride to the start of the first event, a standing-start one mile (Metrication?). Ah, they've moved it. Ride some more, until the Organisationers decide that they've found a suitable spot. By now the fog has lifted, and it is once again hotter than eating a King Prawn Vindaloo in a sauna. The carefully-scripted timetable falls apart ("Oh what the hell, who wants to go next?" - just like the BHPC really) and we all do the mile, then sit around in the blazing sun for agesandagesandages, until various officials arrive to set us off on the 4 km version. This takes us nicely back to the airport for lunch, sitting in the sun fending off wasps (the ones with six legs, a sting and an attitude problem, not those with two wheels, a seat and a transmission problem heh-heh-heh).
The afternoon sees the 25 km time trial.
This is run over a 14 km roughly rectangular course, so nearly two laps
of sweating and swearing. gNick is finishing his first lap, sitting close
behind someone. Sadly the "someone" turns out to be The Idiot, who reaches
the start line, goes through the lane for riders starting their second
lap and stops dead. Phenomenal avoidance ensues. Then! Suddenly!! The event
is firstly postponed and then cancelled for reasons apparently connected
with either safety or the long arm of the local Law. Dutch policemen carry
guns. Take a very long detour on the way home, and learn the truth about
the absence of Walter Zorn and his Socks (see the cover of Issue 35); returning
from the German Championships his trailer tried to overtake his car to
the misfortune of the bikes carried thereupon. Ouch! Had a second visit
from The Famous Flevoland Fag-End-Eating Fox.
| The EDS Portaprompt Award For Front Wheel Drive Innovation (which I've just made up), goes to the Belgian, who has incorporated a CV joint into his front hub, allowing the chain line to remain straight while the front wheel turns. Not much lock, but at least the chain stays on... |
Wednesday August 23rd
Another ferociously hot day. Most people do one of three things:
| Nikolai, Simon and their other mate Miro reckon that Jonathan's Velocino is "the coolest bike in the whole place, man!". So it probably wasn't them who parked it ten feet up a tree in the car park. |
Thursday August 24th
Time for the real racing - round in circles in the company of Other People. This is held on a circuit of bike paths around a school somewhere in town, and the Organisationers emphasise that it is Very Dangerous, that we should all keep left unless overtaking, that we should not crash into the canal, that it is Even More Dangerous and so on. A swift inspection reveals that it is rather less hairy than, for example, the Darlington Town Centre circuit, but so what. Hello to Richards Ballantine and Brooks, who have just arrived. The race is run on a heats, semi-finals & final basis, with the first six or so from each heat to go through. Bomber Burrows carefully contrives to finish just outside the qualification places, due to not liking one of the corners. Ian doesn't like it either, demonstrating some spectacular cornering lines, usually with all three wheels on the grass, but still makes it through into the semis, wherein, having no chance to progress further, plays to the crowd something rotten. José's Speedy broke again; this time the bottom bracket casting came unstuck. At last, a fast machine from the other side of the Atlantic - Robert Lafleur's fully faired bike appears from Canada. Meanwhile, Bram and Simon turn out to be right about the weather, leading to some interesting crashes, steamed-up machines and Pat throwing his sunglasses at me in the middle of the race. Slash has an off-course excursion which leaves his nose in the canal, while Richard has a phenomenal avoidance:
[sorry - the diagram went missing, but Richard overshot a corner and managed to negotiate the narrow gap between a nasty hard bridge support made of nasty hard concrete and a horrible green stagnant canal full of horrible green stagnant water. I'll try to resurrect it.]
Meanwhile, with the Organisationers having carefully explained to everyone which heat they should be in, The Idiot lines himself up for Heat 1 regardless.
Later that same day, Mr Burrows returns
from The Office with yet another different bicycle, this one a fully-suspended
downhill racing ATB, which he refers to as an "Unmountain Bike". American
Dave is soon spotted riding it down a flight of steps. In the late evening,
The Famous Flevoland Fag-End-Eating Fox pays another visit to the dustbin.
This time Tina investigates with a torch and finds the visitor to be a
hedgehog.
| Pat and Ian have spent the week pretending to be Beavis and Butthead. Perhaps this is why a notice appears on Pat's tent announcing it to be "Mr Knobby's House Of Fun". |
Friday August 25th.
More rain, which coincides with the HPV
Open Day at the school mentioned above, and the crit final. The latter
provides momentary excitement, especially for the Hairy McScots, when a
Kingcycle-handed Dave Fyfe takes an early lead, but sadly he is overhauled
by a powerful Danish rider on the only remaining un-bendt Bendtsen. Pat
finishes fourth, the first unfaired machine home. Thence into the school,
for various prize-givings and Guus van der Beek (Mr Editor of "Fiets" magazine)
auctioning off a Russian straightliner. This eventually goes for about
2000 guilders. In the evening is an IHPVA meeting (I think this was the
day), which develops into a shouting match between certain loud-mouthed
Brits and the Rest Of The World. Decisions were reached concerning helmet
regulations and altitude for record attempts, but most of us stayed in
the other bar, which was not full of people being rude about
the IHPVA.
| Sale Of The Century Part 2 - Walter Ising has decided to retire from racing. Asks a Swiss chap "Do you want to sell your bike?", this being a tasty long-tailed carbon low bike. Walter decides that he does want to sell it. "How much?" asks the Swiss gent. "Ten thousand guilders" says Walter, naming the first figure that came into his head. "Done", says the Swiss, reaching for his wallet. "You certainly have been", muttered others present... |
Saturday August 26th
Well, we all thought that the hour was going to be a race, but then it decided to be yet another time-trial. As it was cold, wet, windy and miserable, Tina and I decided not to bother with it, but went to watch, telling the man on the gate that we had brought "essential equipment" from the camp site, so as not to have to park half a mile down the road. This was sort of true, as we'd brought some beer... Various masochists elected to do the six-hour event instead, finally getting to use the electronic timing gear which had spent most of the week sitting in a Customs shed at Schipol airport. Mr Burrows packs it in after about four hours - "I'm getting too old for this sort of thing", but Sergei Someone-Or-Other, piloting Kuban Sun (pictured on p.39 of Issue 41) has been practising, and apparently sets a new world record. Sergei and co. have come from a spot in what used to be the USSR just beyond the Crimea, taking five days to drive to Lelystad, which probably explains why they spent the first half of the week apparently giving their Lada a complete engine rebuild. He is fuelled with what appeared to be a two-pound jar of Hunny taped to his handlebars. The feeding behaviour of the competitors is interesting to behold; instead of running alongside the rider and handing him the bottle / sandwich / two pork pies and a strawberry yoghurt / copy of "Cycling Weekly", like wot sensible Dave Cormie was doing, most trackside helpers just stand there and drop / throw the item at the rider. This caused one German chap to fall over and nearly collect Pat; I think the German learned some interesting new English words.
And just how long is the track.
Estimates vary from 2.1 km (Guus van der Beek) to 3.2 km (an Organisationer),
but Bram says 2.8 km, and he should know, this being where he set the hour
record. Based on this, the Miles Kingsbury Self-Adjusting Speed Chart is
constructed, so we can inform Messrs Donaldson, Slade, Sheen and Fyfe how
fast they are going. Slash is riding the Beano for the second time (having
used it in the sprints). "Hang on", I hear you ask, "wasn't that supposed
to be built for Pat?" Well, yes, it was, but due to what can only be described
as a slight technical hitch, Pat can't get inside it. Moreover, Slash can't
get inside the Bambeano either. Christine, we've got a streamliner for
you... What else happened on Saturday? Well, the chap who won [actually,
he came second - Ed.] the drags had a nasty prang when his forks snapped
off just below the headset, and assorted riders were disqualified for drafting,
on the grounds that 15 m is too close to the guy in front. What the Organisationers
failed to see from their position was a Certain Competitor in the six-hour
event riding alongside Another Competitor (who just happened to be his
girlfriend), in order to shelter her from the evil wind round the back
of the circuit, chiz.
| Someone, who shall remain nameless, bought some beer. Later he was heard to ask what "Alcohol Fridge" meant. Puzzled, the bottles were inspected by a panel of highly-qualified linguistic experts and Ian Sheen. Writ large upon the label were the words "Alcohol Vrij". Oh how we laughed! |
Sunday August 27th
Back to the track for the "fun" events. First off is the Devil-Take-The-Hindmost, complete with realistic Devils - horns, tridents etc. - on motorcycles. Even taking out several riders per lap at the start, this goes on for more than an hour, and there are several near misses when the pace motorbike slows down to let the unfaired riders catch up again. In the end, Laurent Chapuis in Raymond Brichet's Nilgo III wins, with Pat second in the faired Wasp. I think the Swiss Cheese was third, but anyway, Brits were second, fourth (Ian), sixth (Steve D) and eighth (Jonathan), although I may have got Ian and Steve the wrong way round. After this there was supposed to be a sort of International Team Race, with a mixture of faired, unfaired, female and arm-powered competitors, but whether this actually happened or not I don't know, as after the Devil we decided to clear off because we were cold and hungry. Anyway, Leicester next year, so everyone has to come along and show these Johnny Foreigner types how we do it Over Here.
Summary
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Monster, monster appreciation to Mariëlle Bakker, Sacha Knoop and the rest of the Organisationers for taking over the event at short notice, to Con van Roden for lending us his foot pump, to the bar staff for being nice and to Eric Hall for the loan of his book of clichés.
* - being a name
Erroneously applied to the town of Lelystad by my (then) future father-in-law...
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