Septemberitis? Not worried about it. Not even in October. Cycling is fun, and in competition, I enjoy it even more. Every year, on the Day of German Unity, Münster hosts a gran fondo: the cycling festival that is the Münsterland Giro.
Sold out. All 6,000 entry tickets, across three distances, were gone. Luckily, I secured one in time. So for the sixth time, I headed to the university town of Münster to ride a lap through the Tecklenburgerland region. The course is mostly flat, with a few tricky climbs in the middle. Although the weather was rough in the days leading up to the event, race day brought perfect conditions. About twelve degrees, a bit chilly perhaps, but dry and sunny—ideal for racing. I started with arm and leg warmers on.
The race begins with 'Deutsche Gründlichkeit,' right on schedule: 8:45 sharp. From the front row, I enjoy the neutralized start. While many cyclists find the early jostling stressful, I actually enjoy it. As soon as the pace picks up, I’m quick to follow, and for a brief moment, my wheel leads the race.
A large group of young riders in orange from a well-known German 'Jedermann team' immediately set the pace. I had noticed them gathered before the start, looking well-prepared. Now I understand the presence of that pro-team-worthy bus parked at the event. But where are these young guys going in the medio fondo? I ponder this while keeping pace with the orange train. Though it feels like cruising, my Garmin frequently shows speeds around fifty kilometers per hour. At that speed, you’re much better off at the front of the pack than somewhere at the back.
The first stretch of false flat is tackled at a decent pace, and soon the peloton prepares for the first climb. Just before the Steverburg, the group swerves, and a rider behind me clips my rear derailleur. I quickly assess the damage: the derailleur hanger is bent, but luckily, I can continue. However, I now have to be cautious when shifting, making sure the rear derailleur cage doesn’t hit the wheel. This means I’m forced to use a higher gear, which doesn't help my already limited climbing abilities. I lose ground rapidly, and by the time I reach the top, I’ve missed the connection with the last riders of the peloton.
One-quarter into the race, and my chances are done. But I still have to make my way back to Münster. So, I continue at a slower pace, carefully considering each shift. What normally comes instinctively now requires deliberate thought. As a result, another automatic action (eating) also becomes challenging. Thankfully, I’ve packed enough carbohydrates in my sports drink to keep that issue at bay.
One problem this didn’t solve was my fellow riders’ lack of course awareness in the "group of the dropped." With the wind coming from the left, where should you ride? According to the Germans, it’s on the far right. So, I played the teacher and explained it’s much better to ride on the left and form echelons. A few quick learners immediately form the echelon, but it breaks at position fifteen, leaving me behind the gap. The rest of the group is much slower, either refusing to take over from second position or going too fast when they do. My comment, “You’re cycling like they do on TV,” gets a laugh, but nothing really improves. Arguing doesn’t help either, so I abandon my attempts to offer advice. Luckily, some in the group seem to treat cycling as a game of “let’s see how long I can ride fast,” so they’ll get us to the finish line.
A final acceleration under the red flag puts me back at the front of the group, and a sprint in the big ring brings me across the finish line first in our bunch.
With a participant medal around my neck and a plate of pasta bolognese —my sixth one from this event— in front of me, I reflect on a successful day. The Germans really know how to organize these events. The roads are fully closed, hundreds of volunteers line the route, and from what I could see, very little security was needed. That must be a German thing. It’s definitely something we, as a cycling nation, can learn from.
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