It was during my first year at university, six years ago. It wasn't actually about Leuven as such, but rather about the 24 hour bike race in Louvain-La-Neuve. It was during a lecture on transgression, festival, and jouissance. And naturally, I was immediately interested. My professor told the class about the moment when the self control and restraint of the participants dissolves and the party as a whole takes on a will of its own. He told us about how the town closed off all the roads, leaving access only for the numerous emergency vehicles standing by. "People die almost every year!", he said. He told us about drinking rituals involving regurgitated libations and the complete disregard for the usual repulsion one feels for human excrement of all sorts.
Naturally, he was exaggerating.
And yet, his descriptions weren't so far from the reality--or hyper-reality--that I experienced at the 24h Velo. By the end of the night I had rode drunk through the circuit inside a giant papier maché model of Aladdin's Genie. I had started a mosh pit with some Belgian punks. I had shielded a complete stranger as she stooped beside me to relieve herself in the street. And, most notably, I had rubbed the smooth head of a bald girl (also a stranger), as if it were the lamp of a wish-granter.
But wait, back up... I'm getting ahead of myself.
We arrived at Louvain-La-Neuve at noon, so that we could witness the beginning of the race at 1pm. In the mean time, my friend Gabriel gave me a brief tour of his home university and town. Already there were many people on the street, but he told me that by night fall every street would be as crowded as a dancehall. We walked down the large lake where students went to relax and enjoy BBQ on the banks. As we looked over the placid water Gabriel remarked on the relative silence of the moment, asking me if we had the expression "the calm before the storm" in English. I knew exactly what he meant.
I ordered my first of many drinks just after 2. At this time, the scene was still pretty tame, with activities being held for kids. Student groups had to hold some sort of children's activity, and in return they were allowed to have their own bar for a couple of hours later on. I met several of Gabriel's friends in a wine-tasting club, whose children's activity was something like a mix between wine-tasting and the Pepsi-Coke challenge. Deciding whether a drink was regular or diet doesn't seem quite as fun as the pie-throwing activity run by his other friends!
After meeting his friends in the childrens' area, we headed over to the area geared towards our own age group: the university parking lot. This lot was converted into a festival center, with a grandstand and bars set up all around the perimeter, each representing a particular province of Belgium and offering a unique drink from that place. The idea, I was told, is to do a grand tour, taking a drink from each of the 20 or so booths. I think I made it to about 10 before heading to a different part of town. As we tried some local drinks, we watched a pudding-eating contest on the bandstand. This was nearly enough to make me return all my drinks in the most ungracious manner... if you get my drift. Competitors had a row of pudding cups, and on the mark they had to gulp down each cup. The pros were swallowing each cup in one single gulp. Quarter-finalists only had to worry about six cups each... but the finalists, one big guy and one not-so-big girl... had to swallow back 12 cups each. The whole process only took them about 90 seconds, and involved a well-used barf-bag. In the end it was in fact the girl who had won. Slight disgust turned to slight intrigue as someone exclaimed, "it is amazing, all the things a French woman can do with her mouth..."
Shortly after the pudding fiasco, Gabriel and I decided we were drunk enough to ride a lap of the circuit. We waited our turns and then climbed under the giant papier maché Genie, and mounted our two attached bikes. Already we knew that it would be a long ride... his gear change clanked at every rotation and one of my pedal shafts was hopelessly bent out of shape, so that one leg bowed out every time the pedal made a turn. Still we were very determined, and even more intoxicated. Aside from running into a barricade or two, we were superb. We even passed some other bikes! We finished the circuit in about 25 minutes, a full 5 minutes quicker than the two who went before us.
Later on we went to a rock concert and eventually to an electronica/house concert. At the rock concert I saw some guys who were lightly jumping and bumping, and so I decided to show them how we mosh in Canada. Within seconds a group of 6-8 guys were skanking away, bodies slamming and fists flying. It was absolutely wonderful.
During the concert I went away to relieve myself behind a beer tent. Note: this is not in any way out of the general view of the crowds, just slightly less visible than most other places. As I was going, this girl walks up to me and stares at me. I say, jokingly, "care to join?" and without saying a word she comes right up beside me, drops her pants, and squats. What did I do, you might ask? Well, being the gentleman that I am, I finished up and turned my back to her, shielding her from the crowd until she got up. "Merci!" And off she went.
Try to imagine an entire town closed off for a party with about 20-30 thousand students... and NO public toilets in sight. Needless to say, she wasn't the only one we saw squatting in the street!
At around 3 am, we moved on to the electronica stage. The music was bumping and the crowd was going mad. It was in this crowd that I had my most precious moment of the night. Let me first explain something. In a crowd with so many people, the key to making encounters of any sort is to set yourself apart from everyone else somehow, whether it be by wearing rave sticks or flashy clothes or dying your hair a wild colour. Well, everyone has hair, right? So it is no surprise that the first person to catch my attention was an attractive young girl with absolutely no hair on her head. I knew at once my mission: I MUST PET THAT GIRL'S HEAD... if it's the last thing I do.
So, I went up to the girl and told her that nothing would make me happier than to, if only just once, pet her head. And naturally, she refused. I continued to entreat her and she continued to turn me down, though by this point I could tell I had caught her interest. When I saw that she was starting to enjoy this little game, I excused myself and found my friends for a drink. After a little while I returned to the girl, and explained to her that my friends were eager to leave and that if she didn't grant me my single wish, then my whole night would be just a little bit spoiled. She grabbed my hand and rubbed it against the back of her head... at last! What a happy moment. With that I told her she had made my day and wished her a good night.
As I lay in some dorm room couch that night/morning, nursing my throbbing brain, I thought to myself, I made it. After six years I finally experienced the jouissance of the 24h Velo. Without another thought I slipped away into unconsciousness.
Posts
