Roche’s Wiki page mentions his smooth pedaling style which I took the opportunity to study during the few days we rode together, not only smooth but distinct as well, almost as if in the circle described by each pedal, unlike all other riders, the upward movement is the driving force, rather than the downward movement. The legs playfully bobbing, the slightest little jerk on the up, and again I never saw any other rider do this before, his hands (for hours on end it seemed) placed on top of the handlebar, the two thumbs parallel to the bar and pointing inward.

Even though Roche was undoubtedly somewhat slimmer throughout his career than he is now, his physique clearly is the physique of a strong all-rounder rather than that of a climber pur sang (Tour de France winners are polyvalent riders with steely minds and strong backs). The physique of a Paris-Roubaix winner even I thought, and I learned only afterward (at home) that as an espoir he had indeed done so.

I wasn’t able to stay with Mr. Roche when he surged on Coll d’es Torts, but at least when cruising along the banks of the mighty river Schelde I’m applying the Roche Grip (see picture below) now too.

(At the bar in the hotel I asked Stephen Roche which rider had impressed him the most during his career. The answer: Jean-François Bernard. Although he made it clear that Fignon, Lemond, and Kelly had been incredibly strong as well.)

Alice Leccese Powers: Spain in Mind (373p.)

Alice Leccese Powers’ Spain in Mind is an anthology of forty English and American writers having written about Spain, with each writer being represented by a choice cut, a choice extract from the corresponding works of poetry, fiction, or non-fiction. As such, it is an invaluable starting point for those wanting to read up on this great country. In the same series, anthologies have been compiled for Cuba, France, India, Ireland, Italy, Mexico, Paris, and Tuscany.

Not all pieces are equally good of course. Gerald Brenan, George Orwell, and Ernest Hemingway are ahead of the others (I’m very familiar with all three of them); I furthermore liked the pieces by Eric Newby (from On the Shores of the Mediterranean), Jan Morris (from Spain), Mary Lee Settle (from Spanish Recognitions), Robert Hughes (from Barcelona the Great Enchantress), Lucia Graves (from A Woman Unknown), and Rose Macaulay (from Catalonian Shore).

Between cycling trips, city trips, and family visits, I have already travelled over twenty times to Spain myself, hence my interest in the matter: Islas Canarias (9x), Islas Baleares (3x), Andalusia (5x), Catalonia (2x), Madrid, a crossing by car heading for Cadiz, a crossing by car heading for Coimbra, Portugal.

(The Pyrenees are one of the great boundaries in Europe, separating Spain from the rest of western Europe, a separation that began during the Renaissance, which spread from Italy but never flourished in Spain’s culture, hence the medieval taste of the country still, brutish in a brute landscape, and hence the excitement of travelling thereto. To cross the Pyrenees is to travel in time.)

Here’s what to do for a brilliant AAA-grade non-stop 10 kilometers-long singletrack drop: just before the top of the Ventoux, at the last hairpin, hop on the singletrack that veers off to the left, that passes by the Chapelle Ste Croix, and that brings you a few kilometers down to the Jas des Pèlerins. At the Jas des Pèlerins, continue straight ahead, and aim for the Combe Fiole and the Combe d’Ansis. When you hit the GR91 (not the GR91B), follow it until you’re back down in Bédoin again.

The top section is rocky and loose (the defining characteristic of mountain biking here in the Provence – ‘des cailloux partout’), the bottom section somewhat more wooded. All is perfectly rideable. A great classic run. (Might go again tomorrow.)

I didn’t ride for six full days after getting home from Mallorca (for lack of time – I would have gone out for a few spins ideally), then a day of travel Saturday with one hour a la moulinette (as the French say) in the evening, another hour a la moulinette yesterday, all in trying to get ready for the big push up the Mont Ventoux this morning, from the hardest side, the Bédoin side. Time: 1h 32.

Picture taken from the garden of the gite we’re staying in (Bédoin) - our first trip just the three of us.   

Miroslav Krleza: Op de Rand van het Verstand (204p.)

Miroslav Krleza (supposedly the greatest Croatian writer of the 20th century) published his proto-existentialist classic The Return of Philip Latinowicz in 1932, six years before Sartre wrote La Nausée, and a classic it is, hence why I now followed up with Op de Rand van het Verstand (‘On the Edge of Reason’ in English), written in 1938, his second of four novels in total. Great title too, especially in Dutch.

The problem with Op de Rand van het Verstand is that after 20 pages there’s nothing new anymore and the reader has understood what this book is about: a tireless (but brilliant) anti-conformist rant, fun for a while, but only a rant in the end, too lopsided to carry the reader through 200 pages of it. Please proceed with The Return of Philip Latinowicz.

My current bike shop (I always patronize one bike shop only) does Specialized, and so I looked at their gamma first. I fairly quickly settled on the 2012 Tarmac SL3 Expert, as it ticked all my boxes: full-carbon, timeless black color scheme, low weight (7.5kg without pedals), Shimano Ultegra groupset, and importantly, a mid-compact crankset, 52/36, which is a little more benign than 53/39. I consider 53/39 to be passé: you almost have to be a pro to push 53 on the flats or to push 39 in the mountains (for instance in combination with a 25 in the back). As it’s important to keep the Q-factor as low as possible, I wouldn’t consider a triple crank either.  

This spring a lot of classics were won (both Omega Pharma-Quikstep and Astana are riding Specialized) on the SL4, the successor to the SL3, and with it only being 90g lighter and 19% stiffer (laterally) than the SL3, I opted for not paying the premium to ride the same steed as the pros. I’m nevertheless riding the same bike as Alberto Contador when he won/didn’t win the 2010 Tour de France.

My new bike is a little over 1kg lighter than my previous one, which is huge. 1kg on the bike equals 10kg on the body! (Mallorca, here I come.)

I did have a chat with the affable Stephen Roche two years ago. I asked him about his 1987 triple crown whereas (his words) most Belgians typically talk to him about his heart-wrenching loss in the 1987 Liège-Bastogne-Liège, when him and Claude Criquielion dithered in the final kilometer only to let the much faster Moreno Argentin come back from behind and win it in the sprint. He sincerely regretted having botched a rare chance at winning this prestigious monument.

Picture of hotel Ponent Mar, taken from the internet. Looking forward, a well-deserved break after a few months of daddy day care.

Mohammed Mrabet: The Lemon (181p.)

In the shadow of Ghent University’s famous book tower (its library really) Oxfam Belgium (part of Oxfam International, an international North-South NGO focusing on alleviating poverty and injustice) is operating a most pleasant bookstore, a visit to which I certainly recommend to anyone happening to be in the neighborhood. All books for sale have been arrived at through donations, and yet time and time again I’m impressed by the quality of their stock, which is on par with any of the other (commercial) outlets for used books scattered throughout Ghent (Belgium).

Long-time visitors to the Mountaintop will remember my infatuation with the great American existentialist Paul Bowles, who aptly titled his autobiography Without Stopping (haven’t read it yet but own a copy). Among the many things Bowles accomplished are a series of translations of oral stories told by Mohammed Mrabet (a painter too) in the Moghrebi language (Morocco), and guess what I found last weekend at the abovementioned Oxfam bookstore, Mohammed Mrabet’s The Lemon, in English (not one of Belgium’s three official languages), hardcover, the 1969 true first edition first print, Synchronicity Jung would have said, Synchronicity The Police would have sung, and I just smiled at the idea of this little gem making it all the way through the donation process to end up in my hands, the hands of a Bowles fan, and the likelihood of it doing so.

As can be expected, given this is a translation of an oral story, The Lemon proceeds at a fast clip, the story being more important than the language. It peters out somewhat unexpectedly at the end, and lastly it reminded me a bit of Paul Bowles’ own (and magnificent) Let It Come Down, man colliding with his (kif-induced) fate.