Okay, well, here I am, sitting in Girona, home away from home for the next three days. I have competed in the biggest races this year, and had some of the craziest experiences that I have ever had. Two years ago, I was a first year pro, and three years ago, I was at Penn State, dating some chick who told me to get a real job. Funny, how life works out, because never in a million years would I have thought I’d be here at this moment. Just returned from the Tour of Flanders, battered and bruised. It was a true brothel of a race and an epic race the way i’ve always read about and pictured in my head. I saw more than four seasons in one day. Warm sun, warm rain, cold rain, snow, sleet, snow/rain, hail, wind, tail wind, cross wind, etc. I took a rightful crash up and over the bars, after some idiot in front of me hit a photographer. When I came to too and was searching for my bike in the tangle that used to be high class race machines (both bodies, and bikes) I couldn’t find it. I looked up the road, and then down, and lying about 50 feet down the road was my steed. After a quick yell into the radio, “Meatball Down, in need of bike”, I did a quick trot to find my wrecked piece lying miserably in a heap. A spectator was there immediately to ask me for my bottles, “Biddon sil vou plais”. I just looked at him in awe, and just handed him the bottles that had been ripped off my bike. I couldn’t believe it, although, I will say it was hailing terrible weather, and yet he  was still there in support. What else could I do. Got the new bike, and joined with Lampre to take up Ballan to the group again. I was pretty dazed though. I had an instant headache, and a very sore neck. It was almost immediately, but I couldn’t stop, even though I knew it was the smart thing to do. It’s Flanders, I can’t wuss out. We chased, got back on, and I wasn’t the same. I got back to the front, but was in and out. I felt good, and then bad, and then good, and then really bad. My head was throbbing, as if I had a terrible hangover, and I couldn’t barely hold my head up due to my neck. This the second time I’ve been really hurt in a crash. The first was at the Six Day in Burnaby where I hurt my wrist/hand that still hurts, but that’s another story. I didn’t slide in this crash. I just went over the bars, sent the bike airmail down the road, and smashed the pavement with my head. I drank a lot of milk as a kid, and still do. Does the body good. Love the milkstache I get. Leave it there all day.  The crowds were amazing. Belgium is well, one of my new favorite places to race. Everyone there was so supportive. I was crawling alone, and off the back of the bunch up the Kwaremont, and back on before the koppenburg and then off again until I pulled into the 2nd feed for the car. Everyone yelled for me, “Meatball GO GO GO, AHHAHH SLIPSTREAM MEATBALL!”  Funny, and amazing. Truly, truly amazing. BELGIAN FANS I LOVE YOU, I PROMISE I’LL BE BACK IN FORCE! Zabel is an ass. I was on the white line on the left side of the road, and this Milram rider just came over on me, and cut me off, nearly crashing me. I yelled some foul words, swung to the right, and punched the jerk in the arse. He turned, at which point I saw who it was, (doesn’t matter to me), and he tell me, “Don’t Be An A hole”. I was dumbstruck. I couldn’t even respond because he was so stupid for saying such a dumb remark, when clearly he was the A Hole! Eh, that’s racing.As big G says, “It’s Flanders Meatball, everyone is in everyones way”. Aight time for bed my friends, Sorry it took so long to update, been on the road getting my head kicked in.