This week’s issue
A November cyclocross in the mud, and the best forty minutes of the week
Nobody counts cyclocross as a proper race until they stand in a field in Flanders and watch a hundred people carry their bikes up a wet bank.
The course was a farm, a sandpit and a dyke. The favourite fell twice, got up twice and won by eleven seconds, and the winner’s mother had a flask of soup ready before he crossed the line.
This week I go through the race lap by lap, talk to the man who mows the course every autumn, and explain why the sandpit is the most unfair and the most loved corner in the sport.
Plus: your letters about the new gear rules, a note on my muddiest notebook, and one short climb I would like you to ride before spring.
Read: A November cyclocross in the mud, and the best forty minutes of the week