So yesterday we rode to Kortrijk. I'm sure there is a new reader out there who hasn't discovered the wonders that Kortrijk can provide and the ease of our access to it.
Kortrijk is a mere 20 minutes away by bicycle and holds a plethora of coffee shops, retail outlets and a Pizza Hut... so, if you haven't actually read about what Kortrijk has in store for us riders fortunate enough to spend time in the magical Izegem riders' house, I would highly suggest that you navigate that mouse of yours to the archive button and take a look back in time at the 20 or so previous Kortrijk write ups.
If you did notice the fact that I described the house as magical, then you should read on, as I'm sure that only prolonged the literary thirst that you desire. The magic certainly burns throughout the entire house but, when the riders go to sleep and the activity dwindles, it can still be seen smoldering in a few special places.
For me, the epicentre of the magic can be found in room 'x'. When one climbs their way up the creaky stairs and turns the corner they are quickly greeted by a closed door concealing an unlit hallway, continuing down the hall they are transported to another world. Instantly, a calming wave encapsulates the body thanks to the matte gray paint that graces the hallway. As the door shuts, the feeling is deepened even more as the chatter of surrounding rooms is erased.
Fumbling for the door handle at the end of the passage the relaxation is replaced by anticipation. What could be on the other side of the final door? As the smooth cold handle turns and the clicking of the latch and thrust of the door reveals light surging through the dual windows illuminating every corner of the room. Who knew Belgium could provide so much light?
The experience continues in the morning as dawn approaches the house. Riders awake at unheard of hours such as five and six in the morning when their bodies cannot handle the time change and loudly stumble their way down the stairs, awaking those around them in their hope to secure one of the few yogurts in the fridge.
Their obnoxious clamour doesn't reach every corner of the house, however. Thankfully, the fortress that is room 'x' is guarded by two grey robust wooden planks. When turning in for the evening the riders feel the same effect as they are graced by a silence that is hardly rivaled by any other room in the house.
The noise of traffic is erased thanks to the towering height of the second floor and the ambient noise that creeps through the house, forcing its way though every nook and cranny in its path is virtually erased. That is where the magic comes from. That and the magic beanstalk that grows outside the window.