Something strange is happening. Cycling-related posts in my social media feeds used to dry up during the off-season – save for the odd snippet of transfer gossip or picture of pros training in Australia.
But now I’m being bombarded with images of mud-caked figures running around fields with bikes slung over their shoulders, more often than not tripping over a tree root or strategically placed fence, while drunken spectators point, clap, shout and hurl insults.
It’s called cyclocross, I’m informed, and its USP – at least from a fan’s perspective – seems to be its marriage of convenience with the drinking of beer. In particular, Belgian beer.
‘Duvel, Leffe, Hoegaarden, Maredsous, Kwak, Grimbergen, Westmalle, Brigand, Brugge, St Stefanus, Affligem, Karmeliet, Jupiler.’ This is the reply of cycling writer Chris Sidwells…
