La Vie Velominatus: The Holy Land

No pavé is smooth, and to ride them well the rider must enter them à bloc and keep pushing until one of two things happen: the secteur ends or the lights go out. The thing about cobbles is that each stone beats back the wheels like a boxer punching a speed bag, robbing the unit of speed with every stone it crosses. To maintain momentum demands maximum power in order to overcome this sapping effect; to accelerate demands maximum power, plus two.

At speed, the bicycle skips over the cobbles a bit like a flat stone across a pond; the faster the bicycle moves, the smoother the ride over the cobbles becomes. The bicycle bounds beneath the rider as each of the wheels cascades off the irregular cobbles beneath. This, truly, is Rider and Machine as one.

Even the best cobbles demand the most from the rider. Abattoirs saw Marko snap off his seatpost during the 2012 Keepers Tour; in relative terms it is a hard but fast stretch. Mons en Pavéle is my personal favorite and defines itself by its length and undulating nature. George Hincapie snapped his fork steerer here, ending his quest for the top step in Roubaix. It was an aluminum steerer – not carbon – a reminder that the type of stuff used is not the limiting factor in Roubaix; it is strength that matters. The analog for the rider is obvious enough.

The Forest of Arenberg is unlike any other secteur of pavé. It is long, it is straight. It runs slightly downhill before settling into a long, faux plat to the far end where it spills back onto the smooth tarmac of the main autoroute. It’s only redeeming quality is that it is mercifully sheltered from the wind which, in this part of Northern Europe, seems to eternally blow opposite of whatever direction you happen to be riding.

What the Carrefour de l’Arbe has in common with the Trouée is that they are both awful secteurs. The cobbles on both were dropped off the back of a wagon some centuries ago, and have been beaten into the earth by horses, wagons, tractors, and cars. There is no “rideable” path through them; there is no crown, there is no gutter. Only (slightly controlled) chaos as the bicycle is caught more than it is ridden from one avoided crash to another, like a toddler learning to walk by stopping their fall one step at a time.

This is the Holy Land: the thrill of riding from smooth tarmac onto crazy cobbles, and back off again. Both transitions met with the same welcome. Dichotomy is truth on the cobbles.

frank

The founder of Velominati and curator of The Rules, Frank was born in the Dutch colonies of Minnesota. His boundless physical talents are carefully canceled out by his equally boundless enthusiasm for drinking. Coffee, beer, wine, if it’s in a container, he will enjoy it, a lot of it. He currently lives in Seattle. He loves riding in the rain and scheduling visits with the Man with the Hammer just to be reminded of the privilege it is to feel completely depleted. He holds down a technology job the description of which no-one really understands and his interests outside of Cycling and drinking are Cycling and drinking. As devoted aesthete, the only thing more important to him than riding a bike well is looking good doing it. Frank is co-author along with the other Keepers of the Cog of the popular book, The Rules, The Way of the Cycling Disciple and also writes a monthly column for the magazine, Cyclist. He is also currently working on the first follow-up to The Rules, tentatively entitled The Hardmen. Email him directly at rouleur@velominati.com.

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  • @Teocalli

    “At speed, the bicycle skips over the cobbles a bit like a flat stone across a pond; the faster the bicycle moves, the smoother the ride over the cobbles becomes.”   Geraint Thomas demonstrated that on our trip and made it look sooo smooth and easy.

    Museeuw is the same way; he rides a bike with an magical tarmac-laying machine at the front and an magical tarmac-removing machine at the back.

    I don't know how it works, but he looks like he's riding tarmac the whole way.

    “The bicycle bounds beneath the rider as each of the wheels cascades off the irregular cobbles beneath. ”  This was the rest of us!  It’s surprising that you feel you could go faster but you just don’t have the power to overcome the pounding.  It would have been interesting to know what sort of speed I could maintain but the bars were such a blur I could not read the digits on the odo.

    Seriously, have you learned nothing? Were you really worried about your fucking speed?

    I can tell you all the numbers that matter, without having been there:

    Your speed was V. So was your power. And your cadence.

    The only thing that wasn't V was your wondering about your speed!

  • @tessar

    The old Romans were arseholes. That’s my take, after spending a weekend on the “pavé”, if you could call it that, that they left in my country. Black basalt stones, seemingly half of them with the flat part perpendicular to the road, and 10-15cm gaps between stones more the norm than the exception. Nowhere to hide.

    I bet they have some quality fucked up ancient roads down your neck of the woods!

  • @Rob

    Ri         g th        bble           t be fu             pe to               t som               !

    din         e co        s mus           n. I ho                 do I              e day

    That's the most impressive mastery of the computer I've seen you string together yet! Strong work; if nothing else, Velominati has motivated you to learn how to use the electric typewriter!

  • @Rob

    @Mikael Liddy

    Couldn’t resist… Really more than any other fantasy it was always Paris Roubaix. If I was dreaming a la Walter Mitty in a cycling world then I was not a tour candidate but the one day cobbled classic had my name. It did not help, post racing, that a former amateur, who’s wheel I could never hold went on to get second by a half centimeter long after I had hung up the wheels. Steve Bauer, the nicest, toughest guy, in my mind has the best PR finish ever!

    You really have to get round to telling more of those stories on these pages sometime, Robbie! And that might be the best finish, but what about Gibus and Franco?

  • @Chris

    @frank

    I was a little bit sick in my mouth at the end of the Arenberg and very close to letting go completely. No matter how hard I ride generally can’t do that on a bike. After a massive effort on the last interval on the turbo, yes. But on a bike, no.

    Poor Mickey actually did leave his breakfast at the exit of the Arenberg on ride two. Said something about gels or gluten, but we know it was the cobbles.

  • @frank

    Seriously, have you learned nothing? Were you really worried about your fucking speed?

    I can tell you all the numbers that matter, without having been there:

    Your speed was V. So was your power. And your cadence.

    The only thing that wasn’t V was your wondering about your speed!

    I stand corrected (of course).

  • @frank

    @tessar

    The old Romans were arseholes. That’s my take, after spending a weekend on the “pavé”, if you could call it that, that they left in my country. Black basalt stones, seemingly half of them with the flat part perpendicular to the road, and 10-15cm gaps between stones more the norm than the exception. Nowhere to hide.

    I bet they have some quality fucked up ancient roads down your neck of the woods!

    Aye, I could barely walk over them with my hiking bag. Next time I'll take a few pictures and a bike - might be easier to go faster over them.

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