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the beast, the emperor and the milkman. a bone shaking tour through cycling's flemish heartlands. harry pearson. bloomsbury press hardback. 262pp illus. £18.99

"It looked like a scene painted by the Ghent-born expressionist Albert Servaes [...] thick and murky, black and brown renditions of Flemish pastoral scenes in which bent-backed peasants toil in grey, sucking soil [...] I had always thought they were overwrought, but now I saw that if anything, they were unrealistically uplifting."

the beast, the emperor and the milkman - harry pearson

just over two years ago, my son and i attended a world cup track meet at the chris hoy velodrome in glasgow's east end. though i am a native of glasgow, it is many a long year since i spent any great amount of time around town, thus my knowledge of the city's transport infrastructure is rudimental at best. the perceived easiest way to get from the city-centre to the velodrome is/was by taxi.

en-route to our destination, we came upon a compact group of cyclists, all clad in belgian national colours, heading pretty much in the same direction. surely, we reasoned, this wasn't the belgian national team that we would soon witness tramelling the boards dedicated to sir chris hoy?

that, as it transpired, is precisely who it was, perhaps intent on demonstrating the sort of hard man/woman persona that has informed that nation's cycling obsession for many a long year. it can surely be no accident that, not only does the belgian national kit seem rarely to alter from its iconic, blue and national stripes from year to year, but that it's also one of the better constituted design within the peloton of nations.

it is to my great regret that i have read no other material by harry pearson, though a quick scan of his previous publications would tend to mitigate against my so doing, given that they mostly appear to be concerned with football and cricket. however, one amongst his palmares, originally published in 1999 is entitled, 'a tall man in a low land' and is subtitled 'some time among the belgians'. that would certainly have given a clue as to one of his predilections. mr pearson apparently spent several months living in belgium, a nation reputedly obsessed with the bicycle, perhaps an implied condition of residence.

that being the case, harry pearson has not only taken the flemish way of the velocipede to heart, but absorbed its every twist, turn and hero into the very last fibre of his being. the back page of the dust jacket features a quote from the (almost) legendary, ned boulting, part of which states "To read his words on cycling and Flanders, two of the best things in the world, is a joy." i can only state that i wholeheartedly concur with the sentiments of mr boulting.

for those less well-versed in the intricacies of professional cycling lore, the title ('the beast, the emperor and the milkman) refers to roger, 'the beast of eeklo', de vlaeminck, rik, 'the emperor of herentals' van looy and frans 'the flying milkman' verbeek. those of you who thought nicknames began with 'il pirata', or 'the shark', need only take a quick trip through the book's excellent index to remedy that particular misapprehension.

pearson has one of the most attractive and easy going writing syles it has been my pleasure to read, augmented by an almost encylopaedic knowledge of his subject. it is indeed rare that a defined book on cycling offers a comprehensive lesson on central european political history.

"...within months, only a tiny corner of their small country remained in Belgian hnds - a triangle of West Flanders with a border that ran from the ridgeline south-east of Ypres to the fishing port of Nieuwpoort at the mouth of the river Ijzer."

however, the history lesson forms only a small part of pearson's narrative and only serves to underline his intrinsic knowledge of the origination of belgium's rich bicycle racing heritage. but lest you consider this book to be a dry, factual appreciation of belgium's national sport, nothing could be further from the truth.

"Flemings are northerners. They like ale and chips and complaining (I'm a Yorkshireman, so don't bother writing in)."

the list of contents provides only a cryptic clue as to all that can be found within the depths of the book's pages: 'brick chimneys and iron men', 'holey socks and a cool head', 'pot bellies and barbra streisand'. admit it; you're intrigued. of course, the reality behind the headlines is far more explicable and approachable: the 'sluitingsprijse oostmalle', 'omloop het nieuwsblad', 'dwars door west-vlaanderen' and several other delightfully unpronounceable races that form the bulk of the early season in belgium, or, to be more precise, flanders. thus harry pearson treats us to a specific year of wandering through the races and racing personalities that have apparently encouraged the national track team to ride their bikes to and from the scene of battle. the more anticipatory and perspicacious amongst you will likely have sussed that, in this book at least, all roads lead to the ronde van vlaanderen.

and, lest you think we are being lectured to by a learned professor, whose modus operandi is "do as i say, not as i do", there is no doubting that mr pearson is no different in his flandrien enthusiasm than are we.

"Later, when I had a shower, mud came out of my ears. I'd been soaking wet since midday, frozen stiff and stood by the side of the road for several hours in one of the poorest, ugliest and most deprived parts of northern Europe. There's no doubt about it, it's one of the best, most romantic days I've had in all my years of watching sport."

i've never met harry pearson, but after just over 250 pages, i figure i can visualise the two of us standing on the kappelmuur, him with his ale and chips, and me with a san pellegrino and a cone of frites and mayo, discussing how many shades of grey the weather can adopt in one hour. if this book does not find a place on your bookshelf, you really have no soul at all.

"The barman watched, put down the glass he was polishing, and shrugged, 'You want another one?' The beer I'd been drinking was 9.5 per cent. 'If I have another one you'll have to carry me to the train,' I told him. The barman looked out of the window. 'It's only 100 metres,' he said."

wednesday 1 may 2019

twmp ..........................................................................................................................................................................................................