The Battlefield that is Flanders

Old men drink their Julipers and smoke their cigarettes,

While the women sit in the sun relaxing.

The old pub is filled with the chatter and laughter of regulars.

An orderly queue forms in the corner, for those willing to brave the war.

As the time nears the start, numbers begin to accumulate.

The clink clank of gears being tested and adjusted,

The strong smell of pre-battle rituals, fill the nostrils,

As the heart begins to pump harder, filling the body with adrenaline.

Nervous tension is felt as the Warriors prepare to engage in battle.

Vijf, Vier, Drie, Twee, Een....GO

The click of the pedals, and beep of the computer,

Finally the first attack of the day allows the battle to commence.

White knuckles, breathlessness, agonizing pain.

Relentless attack after attack

Orders come roaring from behind as the next attack splits the field apart,

Although surrounded by scores of men, a foreboding sense of solitude remains ever present.

Intermittent periods of ceasefire, only makes the pain more apparent.

As the end closes in, a mental countdown begins,

Somehow the pain seems more bearable.

After hours of battle and men shed, an injection of energy acts as a revival for those remaining.

One almighty effort from deep within, the final bid for glory.

The fighting position is engaged, soon after comes the explosion.

Grimacing faces, fists clenched, teeth on show, legs screaming.

As fast as it began it ends, overwhelming relief, another battle survived in this endless war.