Hello my faithful readers. I’m back and prepared to bring a rather serious topic to the table. A topic few cyclists ever speak out about and most know little to nothing about. It’s an uncomfortable situation most cyclists will face sometime in their career. A topic that would make my non-cyclist friends eye’s widen and minds fill with awful thoughts. Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, I introduce to you: The Kleedkamers. Yes friends, I’m prepared to speak out about them and give you a glimpse of what it’s all about. In Dutch, “kleedkamer” more or less translates to “changing room”. It’s cycling’s equivalent of the locker room. The kleedkamer is basically a few rooms with group showers and small uncomfortable wooden benches to sit on. The rooms are normally equipped with a nice hygienic layer of water, dirt and filth on the ground and the fine smell of stink, sweat and cologne in the air.

In the kleedkamers, the Euro’s love cologne. Most notably is the Axe Body Spray. You’re not super mega cool unless you sport a faux-hawk and a can of Axe Body Spray. So in an attempt to fit in, most guys on our team pack a can of it with them at all times. To not be out done by our Belgian competitors, we constantly “Axe-it-Up” after races in typical overdone American fashion. At Ronde van Overijsel, I got us on the board with enough Axe to simulate a mild form of tear gas, complete with watery eyes and excessive coughing. It was a sweet performance on my part.

The kleedkamers are used before the race to change from team warm-ups into your race clothing. Then they are used after the race to shower and change back into the team warm-ups. For Europeans there seems to be nothing unusual about showering with a bunch of other men. For Americans there seems to be allot unusual about showering with a bunch of other men. You can always pick us out of the group as we cautiously scurry to the shower, our eyes focused well above the waist line and towels snuggly covering our nether regions. There’s a comfortable 1 meter “buffer zone” always in place between ourselves and the other naked men. The Europeans on the other hand are easy to spot as they casually stroll to the shower naked as the day they were born, talking, chatting, just hanging around, having a great time, comfortable as hell, as if there was nothing unusual about a room full of naked men……..

An American’s first trip to the kleedkamers is a rather uncomfortable occasion. You’re warned about the pace of European cycling, the cobbles and the rough Belgian weather but there’s never any warning about showering with a bunch of naked dudes. The first race is a bit of a shock to an unwarned adolescent American fresh off the boat. Naked Europeans as far as the eye can see! It’s the makings of a really bad dream. But after a few races, the kleedkamers soon become no big deal. When in Rome, do as the Roman’s do. Right?

But now I got a story to tell. It comes from the tough race Zellik-Galmaarden. It was my worst kleedkamer moment ever and you should feel privileged that I‘m willing to share it with you. It happened earlier this year when another man’s rear end scrapped across my forehead. Yeah, I didn‘t know what to say either. All I know is I was sitting on a wooden bench, leaning over opening my bag when another rider tried to squeeze by me on his way to the shower. As his bum wiped itself across my forehead, I froze and muttered, “oh my fu@#%ing hell”. (Sorry for the choice language, but what would you say if another man’s bare ass touched your forehead?) For the other guy, it was no big deal, no different than breathing in oxygen and converting it to carbon dioxide. For me it was awful, I didn’t know if I should just run for the hills or if I should head after him and smash him in the face. I decided that I’ll only run if a big dog is chasing me and that the only thing worse than another man’s hind end touching me would be to then have a round of naked fighting with him. So after drawing these conclusions, I curled my poor traumatized little body up into the fetal position in the corner of the room and withered away in my own self agony, tormented by thoughts that I literally had just become a butt face. After summoning the strength to proceed to the shower, I scrubbed the first 7 layers of skin off my entire head to rid myself of the memories of the Belgian man‘s hinny.

Editors Note: Austin has since fully recovered and come back stronger than ever from his head on collision (pun intended) and currently suffers no post traumatic kleedkamer side effects.

Well there you have it. The secret untold world of the mythical kleedkamers of Europe. And to all the young guys considering giving Belgium a try, keep your heads high, your eyes higher and consider yourself warned…….

Categories: Austin King's Chronicles From Across The Pond.