Drawing back the curtains of the hotel in Ghent, Belgium, following a rather boozy and adrenalin fuelled night watching the Six Day racers, my eyes are greeted by a sombre black and white picture, a thick layer of dark pregnant cloud hugging the bleak industrial skyline. Rain is pitter-pattering against the glass; tall skinny trees are being hustled around in the swirling gusty wind. Typical Belgium weather, it would seem.

The clothing decision is therefore easy – full winter attire. Leg warmers go on, a Rapha Lightweight Softshell goes on over two layers, and a Merino hat is pulled low over my ears. Thick gloves and sturdy overshoes are pulled out of the kitbag. I attach my Crud Roadracer mudguards to my Colnago Ace. With bottles filled, we roll out of the hotel car park into the weather.

We, like many hundreds of British cycling fans, have made the short trip to Belgium to take in the World Cup cyclo-cross race at Koksijde, which uses a course that weaves around and up and down the windswept sand dunes flanking the coast, to be followed later that same day by the penultimate evening of the Ghent six-day track racing action.

It’s a regular pilgrimage for thousands of European cyclists. Koksijde draws a staggeringly large crowd, despite the near freezing conditions and biting wind. Favoured riders are cheered on by ardent supporters, the smell of hot dogs waft in the air. The cold slowly creeps through your extremities, in my case my hands, and slips its icy claws deep into your body. Only the locals, it seems, know how to properly dress for this.

Having watched a staggering display of speed and outright ability at riding the large sandpits and negotiating the many steep banks, we jump back in the car and head for Ghent. After a meal of steak, frites and some beer, it’s onwards to the local velodrome. It’s packed to the rafters; I’ve never seen anything like it before. The alcohol is flowing, the action on the track is immensely memorable, the display of speed and precision, particularly during the Madison, is mind-blowing.

Sunday morning. Five hours sleep. We’ve decided to throw in a ride to round off the weekend nicely, before the drive back to England. We start from the unglamorous Holiday Inn car park, with local resident, and also Team Rapha Condor’s mechanic, Andy Verrall, and the organiser of this gathering, Rouleur’s Jon Cannings, leading the way.

Our route follows the river towpath which carves through farmland and some industrial areas in the direction of Oudenaarde. It’s flat all the way. Picturesque it may not be but with its own beauty that appeals to any cyclist fond of the spring classics. There are about ten cyclists on this ride. It’s really raining now, the roads soaked with puddles. Spray is monumental from the wheels in front, so we try to ride either side in the hope of avoiding such a face full of muddy, gritty water. We huddle together in close formation in two orderly lines.

It’s cold too. We came prepared for such conditions, this is Belgium in November after all, but most of us are experiencing some weakness in our clothing. It’s infiltrating apparent flaws in mine, the cold reaching the very core of my hands and my feet, though covered in overshoes, are feeling damp.

The continuous rhythm is soon broken. We’ve a treat in store. We turn of the road we’ve been following for nearly 45 minutes and roll onto a flat section of cobbles. This immediately wakes us up; the cobbles glistening in the wet. Riding wet cobbles needs a delicate touch and full alert to the bike shimmying around underneath. I steer for the middle of the road, clasp the flats and clatter across them. The section of pave lasts probably about 500 metres, and by the end we’ve all got huge smiles plastered across our mud splattered faces. That was fun. More please, we all agree.

Our wishes are duly delivered. 2 km later we turn of the main road we’ve been following for a short while and onto a climb I vaguely recognise. “Bloody hell,” we’re about to ride up the Molenberg. In November. In the rain. I really wasn’t expecting this. The cobbles here are sopping wet but there’s surprisingly good traction. It’s a shortish climb, just 500m long but it’s steep; 9.8% on average and with a 14% ramp halfway up. It is far from an easy climb and the best way up is full gas. Tyres skitter across the cobbles, looking for grip, body shaken about all over the place, the saddle bumping against the bum. Most alarming is the noise, there’s a rattle from somewhere and a clatter from elsewhere, an eye-opening backdrop to the brutality of riding a lightweight racing bicycle across cobbles.

The Molenberg has significance in two of the early season classics, the Tour of Flanders and the Omloop Het Nieuwsblad (formally known as the Het Volk). While it comes too early to be decisive in the former race, it’s the last climb of the latter and for that reason it’s a critical point in the race. Steep, slippery and its difficulty compounded by its narrowness, it’s a brutal climb.

It is quite something to combine so much quality cycling into one weekend, and the ride, including the cobbles, is the icing on the cake. We could have done more, no hesitation, but the Channel Tunnel awaits. Once changed and back in the car and heading for home, we are warm through with an energy and buzz from what we have just done. Belgium, wind, rain, cobbles, great company – all boxes ticked for an epic ride. How many people can say they had the same pleasure?

Same again next year, for sure. If you get the chance, don’t say no – or you will regret it.

These photos have been reproduced with the kind permission of Kristof Ramon. You can see more of his stunning photos at www.flickr.com/photos/kristoframon