ADVENTURE: Bordering on Insanity – A Brompton Adventure

Belgium. Brunt of jokes on radio 4 comedy programs, Brewer of brilliant beer, and maker of fine chocolates. It’s often grouped in with The Netherlands and Luxembourg as the low countries. It’s easy to think of Belgium as a polder landscape punctuated with abbeys awash with beer. Tell someone you’re setting out to cycle to the highest point of the country, it doesn’t immediately come across as a particularly big challenge. Point out that the highest point is 694m above sea level, and you start to get some amusing reactions.

In summer 2015 I set out on my Brompton to cycle from Wiltz (Lu) to Aachen(De) via the highest point of all three of the low countries, Kneiff (559.8m), Signal de Botrange (694 m), and Vaalserberg (322.7 m). I made it to the top of Knieff, before aborting due to the heat. I wasn’t happy about aborting, tho I know in my heart that it was the right decision. As soon as I got home I started planning a second attempt. I’d done Knieff, so there was no point trying that bit again. I opened the map of the Hoge Venen, the area in which Signal de Botrange is found, and started to plan.

The borders of Belgium allow for some creative cartography. Exclave and counter exclave in the area of Baarle-Hertog provides an interesting diversion. But as I stared at the map, what caught my eye was a strange border marking through the middle of Germany. I switched from the paper map to opencyclemap. What was marked as a border on my paper map, showed up as a cycle path on OCM. I googled the cycle path.

Opened in 1885, the Vennbahn railway ran from Aachen to Trois-Ponts. In 1919 as part of the Treaty of Versailles, the line was given to Belgium. Creating in the process, exclaves of German territory within Belgium. With the closure of the railway, this line was turned into a cycle route. A cycle route that ran from Aachen to just south of Signal de Botrange, and did so with a maximum gradient of 2%. A plan formed. I could ride from Aachen along the vennrad to Sour Brot, where I could hang a right for the final ascent up to Botrange, then it’s just a simple down hill all the way to the Netherlands, via a bit of Germany and Belgium, and maybe the curiosity that is Moresnet.

And so on a somewhat grey but cool day in October I set of from a youth hostel next to Aachen Hauptbahnhof, and followed my GPS through the city streets of in search of a strip of Belgium.

The first few kilometres of the ride took me through rather unscenic suburbs of Aachen, before eventually I left the industry and houses behind and entered farmland.

The day had started quite chilly, and I had worn both my wind proof and fleece to begin with, but as I got into the groove, I shed the windproof. My body was warm, but my summer shoes with their ample ventilation were making my toes cold.

I pressed onwards and upwards.

I had been led to believe from my research that the railway line had been removed along all of it’s length apart from a short part now used for rail biking. So I was a bit surprised when track started to appear next to the path. I was even more surprised when the cycle route deviated slightly from the railway and when I rejoined it a number of wagons and a loco were parked on the rails.

I pedalled on towards Belgium proper. I knew from my map that the route crossed into Belgium near Botz, before doing a large loop back on itself to exit Belgium, yet remain Belgium surrounded by Germany. Before the turn a disused triebwagen lay in a siding disconnected from the railway, covered in graffiti.

As I pedalled on my feet got colder. By the time I rounded the turn and headed back west towards Belgium-Surrounded-by-Germany, my toes were starting to feel numb.

When I packed for this trip 2 weeks previous (I had tacked it onto the return of a week in Eastern Germany), the forecast had been for relatively warm weather, with night temps of 9°C, and day temps of nearly 20°C. Just days before I was due to start riding the weather had swung towards cold. As my toes got colder, I started to worry that I had the wrong sleeping bag. I’d packed my summer bag hoping for temps in the 7-10°C mark. Much colder than that and night time could be rather miserable.

The kilometres ticked by. As I approached Roetgen my feet had gone from comfortably numb, to painfully so, everything forward of the metatarsels was in numb pain. Reflecting that it was somewhat ironic that on a trip that gave me issues due to excess heat the first time, would cause me issues with cold on the second attempt. I considered my options and decided that I would hang a left into Roetgen in hope of finding a cafe or coffee shop where I could warm up, and as it was around midday, maybe find some lunch.

A speedy descent into Roetgen following the signs for zentrum brought me to a main road, where I saw a bakery and cafe. I screeched to a halt and carefully wheeled my bike in, resting it just behind the door. The staff at the counter looked up, but didn’t say anything about the bike in the building.

“Sprechen sie Englisch?”

“Nein”

Ok, this should be fun, time to see if the previous 260 days of Duo lingo had been of any use.

With much pointing, poor German, smiling, and a lot of hope, I managed to order a hot pizza and a bottle of coke. I plonked down in a comfortable chair, ate my lunch and with each heart beat felt the feeling slowly return to my poor feet. I spent nearly 90 minutes warming up and sampling the German cakes. The time to leave approached, I considered the options for my feet. I didn’t have any over shoes to keep the wind off, nor did I have any plastic bags that might work. I did have a thick pair of wool socks. Would adding those to the socks I already wore provide enough warmth, keep the wind out enough, and above all, fit inside my shoes? I tried the left (and bigger) foot first. It fit. Snug, but it fit. I put the other sock on, and prepared to go out again.

The descent into Roetgen had been fast and fun. But this meant that to get back to the Vennrad would mean going up. Fortunately not too much, and I ground my way up in bottom gear. The relative flatness once I rejoined the route of the railway was most welcome. The double sock solution seemed to be working, not too warm, nor too cold, pretty much just right. Temperature sorted, I started to pay more attention to my surroundings.

Coniferous forest flanked me on either side for several kilometres. Here and there I could see beyond the bracken into the understory, passing dozens of spots that would make great wild camp locations. This filled me with hope for later when I would need to find somewhere to bivvi down. The rough plan in my head being find somewhere just before Kalterherberg, before the route left Germany behind.

Along the route were regular signs with a map of the Vennrad, a blurb about the history of the route, a useful “you are here”, and an even more useful elevation graph.

The elevation graph told me that at Lammersdorf things levelled out a bit and may even descend. This would be most welcome, tho every metre of descent would have to later be paid for with more ascent. But for now I welcomed the ability to coast for a bit.

At Lammersdorf I also found a sign telling me about the locals.

There's Beavers in them thar hills!

There’s Beavers in them thar hills!

In the lead up to this trip I had joked with friends that if I had an accident on this trip I could have the accident in Belgium, land in Germany, and it would be a nightmare on the insurance form. This had also got me thinking about how one might call in such an event. How would they know where I am? As it turns out, every 500m along the route signs gave details of who to call, and where you were. A bit like hecto-metre posts on motorways.

I cycled onwards towards my intended overnight camp. The kilometres went by, the terrain changed subtly. Forest  became higher, and the gradients either side became steeper.

Just beyond the turning for Monschau something in the distance caught my eye. I pulled out my camera and looked through the zoom lens. Yep, it was. Far off in the distance, near the edge of the field, a deer grazed.

I spent a few minutes just watching the deer. I was far enough away that it either couldn’t see me, or didn’t consider me a threat. It was the only mammalian wildlife I’d see other than a couple of red squirrels near Aachen.

A few kilometres further on I passed 50km distance for the day, and started to think about where to stop for the night. Around this point the terrain either side of the track tool a turn for the unhelpful. Large rocky outcrops towered on my right, whilst a steep ravine fell away to my left. This would certainly make finding a spot to camp harder.

I crossed a viaduct over a valley, hoping that the woods I could see on the other side would yield a potential camp spot. No such luck, ravines and boulders. Even if there was a flat spot big enough for my bivvi bag there, I wouldn’t get to it with the bike.

A few hundred metres further on there was a small car park, and a path heading up into the woods. The gradient had lessened. This had potential.

I left the Vennrad behind and pushed the bike along the footpath. I had tried to ride it, but the mud was a bit much for the Brompton, so I pushed. There was a barrier across the path, and to the right there was an area of wood which was flat, if a bit exposed. It would do if I could’t find somewhere better. I followed the path for another couple of hundred metres, There were a few spots that looked plausible, but they were rather exposed, and not really flat enough. I found one spot, at the base of a fir tree, nice clear area, flat, and not obvious from the path. Alas I was not the first to have found the spot and several small piles of decomposing bog roll littered the area round the tree. The same was found near another promising tree. Bah. Why couldn’t they have burned/buried it?

I returned to the path and concluded that I’d have to go with the fall back option. I returned to the first spot, and lent the bike against a tree. I wandered in an increasing circle to find the flattest spot. My circle brought me back to the path. Looking down the other side of the path, I saw a spot that looked ideal. Sure it was several metres down a 45° slope, but it was flat, not a toilet, and concealed from obvious view.

I slid down the forest floor with my Brompton in a controlled descent mostly on 2 feet. Up close the spot was perfect. A slight depression only a few inches deep would conceal my sleeping mat (bright yellow :() from prying eyes on the cycle path, there were no dead branches above to worry about. Yes, this would be perfect.

I sat under a tree and while dinner cooked, sent a friend a message on my inReach asking if they could work out what country I was in. I only had a 1:50k map, and the borders here are somewhat blurry, so wanted someone with zoom on their map to take a closer look. The message came back. Germany. Belgium’s just up by the treeline. Dinner cooked, I rolled out the bivvi bag, and crawled into my sleeping bag. I was still nervous about how cold it would be, some forecasts said 1°C, some 7°C, if the former, there was no way my bag would be upto it, if the later, I may just be ok.

The previous night I had stayed at a youth hostel, which meant that I had with me in my bag my Towel. In true hitchhiker’s fashion, I deployed this as an extra blanket inside my sleeping bag, along with my fleece and a hot water bottle.

It wasn’t enough.

Within an hour of laying there, the cold had seeped in and I conceded that I needed something more. I dug into my bag for my space blanket. The last time I had needed to use it, I had put it between bivvi bag and sleeping bag, and it had caused a lot of condensation problems. As I had another night after this, I didn’t want a soaking wet sleeping bag, so decided this time to try it inside the sleeping bag, between it and the silk liner. This and my base layers should at least dry pretty quickly.

With the space blanket and towel wrapped round me, cocooned in my sleeping bag, I wrapped my feet round the hot water bottle, and drifted off to sleep.

I slept beautifully.

My alarm woke me to a dark 0600. I lay in my bivvi bag comfortably warm, well rested, and surrounded by dark trees. Dawn was the best part of an hour away, so I hit snooze and lay back to enjoy my surroundings. As I lay there, the first drops of rain could be heard on my bivvi bag. I sinched the entrance down tight, leaving just enough space for my mouth and nose, and then rolled onto my side hoping that it wouldn’t start to rain properly if for no other reason than so I didn’t have to pack away wet gear.

Dawn broke, and the rain stopped.

The view from my bivvi bag.

I broke camp and repacked everything onto the bike. Now I  had a decision. Climb up the hill with everything to the path, or slide down the hill to the cycle track. I considered my options, and decided to give down a go.

It wasn’t the right decision.

I slid down the hill on my arse, with the Brompton across my lap side on, landing in a ditch (thankfully not full of water) next to the cycle track. Now I just had to limb the 1.5m up out of the ditch… Eventually I made it, with little dignity, and a very wet arse. I didn’t care, it was a beautiful morning.

Damp, misty, and beautiful.

I detoured into Kalterherberg for a hot chocolate and some breakfast, before leaving Germany and entering Belgium for the last of the Vennrad to Sour Brot.

The terrain started to open out again and at 500m above sea level, took on the appearance characteristic of the High Fenn.

A few kilometres down the line I left the Vennrad for the last time at Sour Brot, and headed North towards the whole purpose of this trip. Signal de Botrange.

Up until now I had had at most a 2% gradient on the vennrad, with occasional steeper bits when I’d left the route in search of food, but here things started to get steeper. Even with the extra low gear I’d added to the Brompton since the last attempt, I still found myself pushing the bike.

The final 200m of ascent over a distance of 2km was largely walked with occasional riding for short bursts before getting off and walking again.

As I neared the peak, the road started to level out and the amount of riding increased,  still interspersed with pushing.

Eventually, just before midday, I arrived at the top of Belgium. Where I found a cafe.

Not exactly the most intrepid of peaks. But they didn’t complain when I wheeled the Brompton inside and collapse into a chair. I’d done it! And in time for lunch. It’s at this point that I discovered the waiter was in fact the only monolingual Belgian, and didn’t understand English, Dutch or German. Eventually, with the help of google, and some pointing, I ordered a steak, followed by ice cream. It was delicious. Made even better by the ride here to get it.

At 694m above sea level, Signal de Botrange is actually little more than the highest point of a large bump, standing in the carpark it would be hard to spot the exact point that’s highest. Fortunately the Belgians have built a 6m tall tower on the highest point, giving you a nice round 700m height. Alas as it was so cloudy and raining, I didn’t bother climbing the tower, just to see a cloud, I could see the same cloud from ground level…

From here on, it should be down hill. All the way to the Netherlands. I put on both jackets, 2 pairs of gloves, and my buff. This descent would be cold.

I eased the Brompton out of the carpark onto the road, and started to pedal down. It was a slow start, the wind wasn’t helping, but eventually gravity kicked in, pulling me down towards the Netherlands. At 50kph, the windchill is substantial and I was rather glad of the extra layers. At 50kph, I descended rather quickly and with every 100m of altitude drop, things got warmer. By the time I turned off the N68 onto the country lanes, things had warmed up enough that I stopped to take some layers off.

The next 20k was largely uneventful, through sleepy Belgian villages. Despite .nl being down hill, it seems my route crossed a couple of valleys, giving me a couple more hills to push the bike up.

A couple of kilometres from Vaalserberg I crossed the border back into Germany into the village of Wald. I hung a left off the main road and started to go Up. I had another 100m to climb in the next k. Bah. Not good. I left wald and crossed back into Belgium and into woods. Here I ground to a halt in a clearing at the base of a 40° incline. I’d already done over 50km today, and energy levels were low. Common sense says I should have sat down, had a mars bar, had a drink, then continued. Alas, common sense isn’t all that common, and with much swearing, I slowly climbed the hill.

As I paused for breath on the climb, two birds of prey caught my eye. They circled the clearing a few times, as I watched, before disappearing into the canopy. The pause gave me enough energy to get to the top of the incline, where things levelled out a bit into a slope which had an element of down to it. Unfortunately the descent was perpendicular to the direction of travel, which made cycling along it slightly more interesting. Fortunately this was short lived, and at node marker 5, I really did reach the top of the final ascent, that allowed me to coast down to the Vaalserberg.

Goal achieved.

Front wheel in Germany, rear wheel in Belgium, bottom bracket in The Netherlands. An international bike.

Front wheel in Germany, rear wheel in Belgium, bottom bracket in The Netherlands. An international bike.

I had originally planned to bivvi somewhere in the woods on the Belgian side, but it was still only 1700, my legs felt good, and Heerlen station was only 22km away. So I decided rather than risk a cold night out, I’d make a break for Heerlen and a train home. It took me a bit over an hour to do, but just after 1830, I arrived at Heerlen station. On the first day I did 50km through 2 countries.  Today I’d ridden 80km, through 3 countries and reaching 694m above sea level. My longest Brompton ride yet, my second longest ride on any bike, and my highest Climb. The total for the trip was 130km.

It had taken two attempts, but I’d finally done it. The High points of the low countries on my Brompton.

ADVENTURE: Getting high in the low countries

There is a sinister Dutchman sitting at this table writing. The pen scratching over the paper as I stare impassively at my phone waiting for twitter to update.

A gust of wind, a thunder clap, the windows shake. We both look up at the windows, rain streaming down them in sheets.

I’m sat in the common room of a Youth Hostel somewhere in the German speaking part of Eastern Belgium. I’m waiting for a friend who’s flying in from Oman to rescue me. I’m not supposed to be here. This isn’t how this adventure was supposed to turn out.

Day 1 – Getting high.

Collectively Luxembourg, Belgium and the Netherlands are known as the low countries. Mention them and people tend to picture the polder landscapes of the west, the beautiful architecture of Ghent, and the strong dark beers of Rochefort. But look at a map, and you notice that it’s not all flat earth. The eastern side of the BeNeLux is marked by an area of hills, The Ardennes. They are predominantly in Belgium and Luxembourg, but stretch into Germany and France. I had to be in Wiltz for the Linux Bier Wanderung, so as I was going to be in the area, decided to turn up a few days early and have a bit of a cycle tour. Looking at the map It occured to me that the highest points of the three countries, Kneiff (560masl), Signal de Botrange (694masl) and Valserberg (322masl) form a neat line 66.4km from north to south. That’s cycling distance. A plan formed.

Starting from where my previous Luxembourg cycle adventure started, in Wiltz, I would cycle north to the three high points of the three BeNeLux countries, then hang a right to Aachen for a train back to Wiltz. I played around with route planners and maps, and eventually I had a rough route plan. 123km total distance, over 3 days with a total ascent of 1719m. This split into 3 sections, Wiltz to Kneiff – 36.6km, Kneiff to Signal de Botrange – 51km, Signal de Botrange to Valserberg – 35.5km. Even better the elevation graph showed that from Signal de Botrange to Valserberg was basically 30km of down hill. I loaded my Brompton with kit for a bivvi, 3 days food, a pile of maps (three for Belgium, 2 for Luxembourg). And left for the Eurostar.

Tuesday was spent travelling via Eurostar and train to Luxembourg city. I spent the evening there, exploring a bit and finding a rather novel cycle path with a spiral stair case on it (I hope sustrans don’t get any ideas…). Then on Wednesday morning I took the train from Luxembourg station North towards Wiltz.

I had tried to find a bike shop in Luxembourg city so I could buy a bike bottle, I’d discovered to my disgust that the bottle I had bought with me had gone a bit manky and wasn’t something I wanted to drink from, even after putting a puritab through it. I texted a friend in Belgium via my inReach asking for UTM coordinates of some bike shops in Luxembourg. Turns out that there are more bike shops in the Canterbury postcode than there are in the whole of Luxembourg… looking at the options it seemed the most accessible would be to get off at Mersch, and do the 5k round trip to the bike shop at Rollingen.

Brief bike shop visit including asking them to pump my tyres up, complete with using fingers to show what pressure, and I returned to the station for the train journey to Wiltz with a nice clean new bottle, as well as a free bottle of water the bike shop insisted on giving me.

Changing trains with a fully loaded Brompton at Kautenbach was a less than pleasant experience. It seems that Luxembourg hasn’t quite realised that the point of a railway platform is to get you upto the height of the train, rather than a small step to get you on the bottom rung of a ladder to climb into the train…

Fully Loaded Brompton

Eventually I arrived in Wiltz, and headed to Camping Kaul where I was staying for the Linux Bier Wanderung, and had arranged to leave the baggage I didn’t need for my cycle trip. I quick bite to eat in their Bistro, and I hit the road.

I needed to pick up some meths for my stove, so I swung by the local supermarket. They sold 1L bottles of the stuff, but were out of stock at the time. I decided I’d try at the next town with a shop… I didn’t realise the that I wouldn’t see another shop until the following day in Sankt Vith.

Leaving the supermarket I headed out of town. It was a beautiful sunny day and Europe basked in a heat wave. I was full of enthusiasm for the ride ahead of me and followed the GPS trace past the local brewery, up the hill.

I knew this hill was here, I was expecting it. It showed as an almost vertical cliff on the elevation graph (due to compression of the X axis). But I wasn’t quite prepared for it. I dropped down the gears to first, and continued to pedal. I managed about 200m of horizontal distance before I had reached the limits of the gearing. I got off and pushed.

Day 1 elevation graph.

Day 1 elevation graph.

One foot in front of the other I plodded up the hill, the sun beating down on me. There was no shade. I stopped after a couple km in the shade of a barn to have a drink and let my temperature drop. I may be cooking, but I was feeling good. Temperature back down to normalish, I continued up the hill to Noertrange. Another water stop in a convenient bus shelter, then back on the bike. The major climb was over and I was on what should be a plateaux. It had taken me 45 minutes to cover just 2.3km. Now I should finally be able to start riding and put distance under my belt.

Leaving Noertrange I entered an area of woodland. The shade was welcome, but the gradient wasn’t. Rather than push, I took a 5 minute break to enjoy the scenery. Before continuing onwards.

Climbing out of Noertrange

Past Derenbach, onwards to Allerborn. In the fields around me various bits of agricultural machinery toiled away reaping the harvest of golden cereal crops that stretched out on all sides. In one field the wind had kicked up the dust and chaff into spinning vortexes.

The route here went down hill slightly, being able to freewheel down the hill was wonderful, but back in my mind I knew that every metre I went down, I would just have to claw back later.

I left the metalled road at Allerborn and followed a track up hill towards Troine Route. On this ascent a ache in my feet progressed into pain and onwards through towards excruciating. I pulled over in the shade of some birch trees at Troine-Route and took my shoes and socks off. There was no obvious signs of what would be causing the pain. Then I touched my feet. Turns out I had just discovered what it feels like to try cooking your own limbs while still attached. Not something I would recommend. I put the socks into my bag, so much for cool in summer…

Letting my feet cool down in the shade of some Birch trees

Cooling down in the shade of the stand of silver birch, I studied the map. Here my planned route was a deviation west towards the Belgian border, before swinging east to Troine. Looking up from the map towards the direction of travel. I looked down on Belgium. Hmmm. I studied the map some more, comparing spot hikes in the area. If I was to stand any chance in this heat I was going to have to adapt. I decided to deviate from my route and head on the main road to Troine. This should cut some ascent as well as maybe shortening my journey by half a k or so.

I didn’t regret the decision, I managed to clear some distance quickly passing Troine I headed North for Belgium.

I crossed the border at about 17km into my trip. 2 hours 42 minutes after I had left Wiltz. There are signs either side of the road marking the border between Luxembourg and Belgium, but you don’t really need them. You can tell that you’ve crossed border by the state of the road. Gone was the beautiful smooth tarmac, replaced by the pot hole slalom towards Buret.

Just over 1km into Belgium I turned right onto a disused railway that has been turned into a cycle path. It’s marked on my map as RAVel. By choosing a disused railway I hoped that it’s relative flatness would allow me to cover some distance. Oh my misguided foolishness.

Yes railways don’t have steep inclines, no they have have long slow laborious gradients. False flat. It looks flat, until you start to ride it. But it was better than the steep hills I had been slogging up so I took the opportunity to get my head down and pedal some. I averaged about 22kph on this section, peaking at over 30kph at one point.

My planned route involved turning off the railway line just outside Limerlé. This is where I found the slight error in my map work. Sure the railway line crossed the road at this point. But not at the same height. This wasn’t a level crossing, this was a bridge. And there was no easy way to get from it to the road. I’d just have to continue on along the railway line until I found a way off. This blunder added about 3km to my journey.

I left the railway and climbed up towards Hautbellair. Somewhere around here I finished the last of the water. It had been over 34°C during the afternoon, and I was starting to get hot. I needed water. A need that was growing in urgency as I went on.

Every field of livestock I passed I looked to see if I could get water from the trough. Not one that I passed had an accessible valve, and quite a few were clearly filled not off a pipe but by the farmer from a bowser. Every stream marked on my map was dried up. The one I did find was next to a field that showed very obvious signs of recently being treated with Glyphosphate.

My map showed a stream in the woods just North of Goedange. Maybe I could fill up from this.

As I headed towards Goedange the climb started, 110m over 2km. The first symptoms of hyperthermia were starting to show. I started to look everywhere for water, eyeing up every puddle, trying to weigh the risk vs reward of trying to filter it.

At the 35k mark my planned route took me off East to join the Vennrad cycle route. But when I got to the turning, it was impassable. I continued North East towards the main road at Knauf. If I didn’t find something to drink soon I was going to be in trouble. In my befuggled mind I tried to run over the options. Could this be grounds to hit the SOS function on my inReach? Was I going to give myself Heat stroke? As I left the woods a few hundred meters before Knauf I saw a building. I would stop there and ask for water, I had to. As I pushed closer the building came into focus. This wasn’t just any building. This was a bar. No wait, a restaurant. WATER!

I pulled up at the restaurant, and hobbled upto the bar a pair of empty water pouches in hand.

“Wasser, Aqua, Water.” Proffering them the pouches to fill. As one bartender filled my pouches I turned to another and asked for a Fanta. He handed me the bottle and the glass. I downed the bottle and asked for another. He gave me a slightly strange look and handed me another bottle. Two full pouches, and a bottle of Fanta in hand, I hobbled over to a table and collapsed into a seat.

Status check. As I sat rehydrating, I ran my mind over my condition. I couldn’t remember the symptoms of hyperthermia, so resorted to googling them. I ran through the symptoms. Heavy sweating. Check. Rapid breathing. Check. Fast weak pulse. I tried to take my radial pulse. Nothing. I switched to the other arm. Nothing. I switched to the carotid. There, something. It’s there. But it’s feint. And it’s fast. I drank some more.

I texted a friend back in the UK updating on my situation. Before I arrived in the bar, I’d drunk over 5L of water. Yet I hadn’t pee’d in over 6 hours. Getting out of the sun and rehydrating, my mind started to clear. I ordered another Fanta and tried to regain my composure. The text exchange with the friend helped me decide that I would rest here until just before sunset (about an hour after arriving), then go find somewhere to bivvi down, then decide on onwards travel in the morning.

Having drunk a over a litre since arriving at the pub, I was finally able visit the loo. This added another confirmation of my dehydration, but reassured me that my body was at least able to process what I was pouring in the top.

Fifteen minutes before sunset and with a 3.8L of water in my pouches/bottles, I hit the bike for the final kilometre to Kneiff.

With the sun below the horizon, in the cool twilight of a summers evening, I arrived at the highest point of Luxembourg. A nondescript concrete marker on the edge of a field. I’d done it. One down two to go. Right, bivvi time.

The plough over Kneiff

I looked around. On one side a field of maize stretched into the distance, next to that an already harvested wheat field. On the other side of the track a large grass pasture and a few hundred yards down the track, woodland.

I cycled over to the woodland hoping it would present a bivvi opportunity. It was a dense plantation of pine trees, hardly ideal bivvi territory. I looked around. On the other side of the grass field there was a small copse. That might do the trick.

I pushed the Brompton across the lush pasture towards the copse. It was a mix of pine and oak 50m from a larger plot of woodland. In it’s lee side there was a slight depression. This would give me shelter from view of anyone on the track. Yes, This is it, this is perfect.

I sat down to drink and listen. As I did I looked up at the sky and watched a light speed across the sky. My first thought was it was the ISS, but that wasn’t right, that wasn’t for another hour. I had printed out the ISS pass times for my trip, and checked them. Yep, an hours time. Wait what time zone are these in. Ah yeah, that was the ISS, these times are UK time, not EU time. Oops. At least I had seen it.

If you look carefully, to the left of centre you can see the trace of a Persied meteor.

I rolled out the bivvi bag, inflated my sleep mat, and lay on top of it staring at the sky. My body temp was normal, my pulse was normal. I was starting to feel good. I nibble on a biscuit. I couldn’t cook the meal I had with me as I hadn’t found any fuel. As I lay there one by one the stars came out. Blazing across the sky the many camp fires of the hunters who go before. As my eyes adjust, more stars become visible. With full darkness I see for the first time with my own naked eye The Milky Way. I let out an audible wow when I realise what it is I am seeing. I then spent the next hour trying to get a photograph of the sky. Not content with the million star view, the persieds joined the party shooting across the sky towards their firey climax in the upper atmosphere. Happy that I had got some shots that almost did justice to the view, I crawled into my bivvi bag and drifted off to sleep watching persieds shooting across the milky way.

The view from my bivvi bag

Day 2 – Bordering on insanity

I woke the next morning hot. Really warm. Too Warm. That wasn’t right. I wasn’t even moving how can this be? I stuck my head out the bivvi bag and was blinded by the sun. Ah, yeah, that would do it. The sun had crested the trees and I was now laying in full sun. I rolled myself and my bed across into the shade of the trees and lay back. The starlit view of the previous night was now a clear blue sky above a lush green pasture flanked by woodland.

The view I woke to.

I spread my bedding out in the sunshine to air, and sat in the shade of a tree eating biscuits and pondering the plan. Yesterday had been just 38km. Todays plan was 51km. Not just further, but also higher. If the heat was the same as yesterday would I be able to do it?

I looked at the map. From here to Sankt Vith is just over 20km, and by the looks of it it should be mostly downhill. I will pay later for each metre of descent. But at least I should be eating up some distance.

I packed the bike, and hit the road. The first couple of km would be descent to join the Vennrad cycle route along a disused railway. Due to particularities of political geography the trackbed of the Vennrad is in Belgium along it’s whole length, but large sections of it run through Germany creating all sorts of exclaves and counter exclaves.

Crossing into Belgium I descended down a long sweeping track, hitting 37kph as I headed for the turn onto the cycle route. The 90° turn. The 90° turn was compounded by a small collection of mamil’s loitering on the corner blocking the only path that would allow any useful speed carry through the corner. I cursed, and hammered the brakes to bring my speed down and coast past the mamils onto the Vennrad with a cheery “Morgan”.

After the open shadeless scenery of the previous day a track through the dappled shade of woodland was a welcome change. The route tended downwards for the first 12km, past idylic farmsteads, pasture and woodland. After a few km I stopped at an information board which had some information of the history of the Venn Bahn. There were some Dutch cyclists there trying to work out where they were and where they were going. They didn’t have a map, so I pulled mine out and helped them work out where they were and where they wanted to go. Between my broken Dutch and their broken English, we chatted about our rides before bidding each other Goede Reis and departing in opposite directions.

The 12km of downhill came to and abrupt end in Germany. Only I didn’t realise it was Germany at first. I stopped in a bus shelter to have a drink and some more biscuits. I was trying to work out where I was when I noticed the design of the postbox opposite. That was most definitely a Deutschepost logo. Quick GPS check, yep I’m in Hemmeres, Germany. Which used to be Belgian before it was returned in 1958.

I crossed back into Belgium and begun the long dragging ascent towards Sankt Vith. Passed beautiful river side meadows, tree covered hillsides and pastures of livestock. Past scout camps, villages and farmsteads. I plodded on. Even in the shade of the trees there was no escaping the heat. It was’t quite as bad as yesterday, but was still enough to leave my body covered in a near constant sheen of sweat. Somewhere short of Sankt Vith I ran out of water again.

Nearing Breitfeld things started to take on a more built up appearance with an elevated motorway. It was near here that I saw a Slow Worm slinking it’s way across the hot tarmac.

Two and a half hours, and 26km after leaving my Bivvi site, I coasted into Sankt Vith. I pulled up at a bar on the site of the old train station. Ordering a brace of drinks and requestion refills of my water pouches, I sat in the shade and pondered my options. It was about 1300, and I was hot and sore. I’d managed about half the days distance, but hadn’t got to the main ascents of the day. Even with every container I had on me I didn’t seem to be able to carry enough water to cycle in this heat, and so far places to refill had been rather few and far between.

I pondered my options. Go on, risk further dehydration and heat exhaustion? If I bailed here what were my options? I pulled out my phone to see where the nearest youth hostel was. Two kilometres away. That sealed it. I booked a bed for the night from my phone, paid my tab, and slowly rode up the hill to the hostel.

Which finds me sat in a Youth hostel, in German speaking Belgium with a Sinister Dutchman scribbling away across the table. I’d set out to cycle 123km, I’d managed 64. I’ve had to bail out due to high temperatures, dehydration and the first stages of Heat Exhaustion. In Belgium. This really is bordering on insanity…

ADVENTURE: Compact country, compact bike – Cycling the Ardennes on a Brompton.

Where does the adventure begin? When you leave the house? When you stop off the train? or when the idea of the adventure enters your mind?

This adventure really begins on a Bridge floating upon the Lac de la Haute-Sûre, Luxembourgs largest lake. It’s October 2014, and I am here with some friends to scout out locations for an event that we are organising in August 2015. Standing looking up at the mountainside covered in vibrant autumnal colours, I knew I would have to come back and spend more time here, to explore it better. Later that day I picked up a 1:20000 map of the local area, and work began on a plan.

I had to be in Wiltz for the weekend in April for some planning meetings for the event in August. A plan started to form to arrive in the country a few days earlier and hike through the beautiful landscape of the Ardenne, to arrive in Wiltz on the Friday, wild camping as I went.

Hours with paper & electronic maps, and bus timetables resulted in a route for a 53km walk from near the border with Belgium to the centre of Wiltz, over about 48 hours. Alas, the first casualty of every engagement is the plan, and this one never even got as far as contact with the enemy. As I lay in agony following my aborted attempt at the North Downs Way, I realised that hiking 53km through the Ardenne was going to have to be put back in the crazy plans folder for a later date.

This still left me with the time booked off work, and the hope of a few days exploring the Ardennes. Walking was out the question. But cycling, that doesn’t cause the same foot pain. The plan reforms.

Day 1
Route: Luxembourg centre to Luxembourg centre
Status: Everything’s beautiful
Distance: 33.18km

April finds me standing outside Luxembourg railway station with a loaded Brompton. I’d got here by a combination of ferry to France, 40km bike ride to Belgium, a train journey, a night on a friends sofa, a lift to Brussels Zuid, and a train to Luxembourg. Just to get to the start line of my adventure.

I’d been expecting that early April in the Ardenne was going to be on the cool side, maybe 5-10°C. I’d dressed accordingly. The sky was blue and the sun beat down. This wasn’t quite what I had expected or dressed for. I had a rummage in my bag for the sun block I knew was in there somewhere. Sun block in April. Something wasn’t right. But dressed all in black lingering here is getting uncomfortably hot, time to hit the road.

What isn’t clear from the maps I had used to plan this leg of the journey, is that Luxembourg City is located around a steep sided valley. The station is around 280masl. The cycle route I had been intending to pick up was located 40m below me. This wasn’t right, I’ve only gone 300m and already the route plan isn’t working. Adapt and overcome. I took the next turning that looked like it was going the right way, following the road down through tight hairpin bends. The roads where cobbled, with eratic camber and in places large wheel eating gaps between the stones. I slalomed between the bemused tourists heading down.

More by luck than judgment I reached the level of the cycle route I was aiming for clattered down the gears, and headed off out the city.

I knew the first 10k or so would be relatively urban and it would take a while to get out the city and into the countryside. Well that’s what I thought. Luxembourg city, whilst a Capital, is smaller than Cambridge. It didn’t take me long to leave the cobble streets behind, and follow the river past market gardens into the countryside.

I had planned for a shorter first day, to ease myself into the journey, and not over do it. Alas, my unintended 40k ride the previous day meant that this was something I was more greatful of than I had expected. I followed the signs along the river and railway line.

The trees along the river were adorned with mistletoe in quantities I had never seen before. In the UK mistletoe is something I associate with old orchards, and had not really consciously seen it else where. Yet, here, along the banks of the Alzette, nearly every tree was covered.

Mistletoe covered tree

Mistletoe covered tree

I continued on in the afternoon sunshine, following the signs for Piste cyclable de l’Alzette. The sun was shining, the sky a brilliant blue. I was enjoying myself. So much so, that I forgot to follow the signs, and took a slight diversion up a farmers driveway. Slightly embarrassed by this 1km detour, I returned to the route and continued on.

I wasn’t alone on the cycleway, many families were out to enjoy the sunshine, as were a seemingly endless number of Lycra clad road cyclists. Each smiling and saying hello (I think that’s what they were saying) as they cycle past.

I had expected the path to be made from hard packed dirt, like many of the traffic free sections of the UK National Cycle Network. What I hadn’t expected was some of the smoothest tarmac, and neatly concreted path I’ve ever cycled on. This meant I could make good progress, and maintain a high speed. For one flat section, I managed to hit 30kph, pedalling flat out. Not bad for a Brompton with Luggage.

I stopped after 15km at a tap, hoping to fill my water bottles up. Alas it hadn’t yet been turned on. I’d have to continue on with the water I already had.

The water tap I found (turned off)

The water tap I found (turned off)

When planning the trip, I had noticed on Open Cycle Map that the Geographic Centre of Luxembourg was marked. It would only add a couple of km to my route to visit it. When I then found out that there was a geocache located here, the detour was on. 24km after leaving Luxembourg I left the cycle route, and headed up hill. I managed about 0.5km of up hill cycling before admitting defeat and getting off to push. I climbed from 215masl to 283masl over just over 1km.

It's going uphill

It’s going uphill

This was the first real up hill I’d done since leaving the UK, at this point I didn’t know how much the up would continue.

Road sign about cavalier cyclists

What about cavalier cyclists?

The sign on the road made me wonder about cavalier cyclists…

As well as the first hill, this was also the point where I entered woodland for the first time. Spring was in full swing, with wood anemones in full bloom. The birds sang. Heaven.

I stopped off at the Centre of Luxembourg, and did a spot of geocaching. The log was soaking wet so I couldn’t sign it. I rehid the cache, and took some photos. 26km after leaving the Centre of Luxembourg, I had arrived in the Centre of Luxembourg…

Geographic centre of Luxembourg

Geographic centre of Luxembourg

Time was marching on, I had just over an hour of daylight left. It was time to start hunting for a bivvi site.

I had planned to bivvi somewhere in this woodland, but as I was feeling still fit and able to cycle, I wanted to eat up a few kilometres from tomorrow’s distance, and maybe camp near the river.

Alas, as I cycled on for a further 7km, it was apparent that somewhere flat and secluded to put up my tarp was going to be hard to find. Eventually with light fading fast, I had to accept the best option that was available, I climbed down a very steep bank by the side of the cycle path, and into a small plantation of pine trees. It wasn’t the ideal position, less than 10m from the cycle path, only a hundred yards or so from the motorway, and a similar distance to the railway line. Beggers can’t be choosers. I folded the bike, and covered it plus all the luggage with my flecktarn poncho, then sat under a tree waiting for sunset. I didn’t want to draw too much attention to my being here, so didn’t want to setup camp while there was light for people to see what I was doing.

After half hour of listening to the birds, I was happy enough that noone would spot my position. I strung up my tarp, inflated my bed, and crawled into my bivvi bag.

Day 2
Route: Luxembourg centre to Lac de la Haute-Sûre
Status: Everything’s uphill… even the down hill bits.
Distance: 45.23km

My camp

My camp the first night

It’s becoming a bit of a running joke in the Kent Bushcraft group that I sleep better outdoors than I do at home. So it’ll come as no surprise to them that I woke up just after 1300. Oops. So much for rise early and get on the road.

I was quite pleased with how tidy my camp was, considering I’d set it up in the dark by touch. It took me far too long to pack it all up.

While packing up, I explored the area where I had camped. It seems that a beaver had taken a liking to one of the pine trees and made an enthusiastic attempt at felling it.

signs of beaver

Signs of beaver?

Camp packed, I returned to the cycle path. Slicing my hand up nicely on the brambles in the progress.

Having overslept, and then dawdled too long in breaking camp, my planned long day leisurely cycling up to the lake would have to be a bit more hurried, with less stopping. I knew the day would involve a fair amount of up, so wanted to make the most of the flat that I had to eat up those miles quickly. But before I could do any of that, I needed to do something about water. I was down to my last few mouthfuls of the 2L I left the train with the previous day. I had hoped to use streams, but with the fields full of tractors spraying gnu only knows what on them, I didn’t trust any of the streams. This was compounded by the maps I was using using the same symbol to mark a spring, as an ornamental fountain. I would have to rely on man made watering holes for this trip. Or as the rest of you call them, bars.

I stopped off at the first open bar I came to, in the village of Colmar-Berg, under 3km from where I camped. I bought a coke and asked the bar maid if she could fill my water bag up. She seemed kinda bemused by the weird Brit with the plastic bag, but filled it up anyway. I sat on the step outside the bar filtering the water into my bottle, sipping my coke, and nibbling on a pack of cookies. In glorious sunshine, in beautiful countryside I was content.

Back in the saddle I followed the cycle route out of the town, and into the countryside. The path would follow either the river or the railway line for much of the day, initially this was close enough to benefit from the relatively flat terrain, but as I passed the 7km point the route turned away from the river to cross a hill before decending to rejoin the river in Boevange-sur-Attert. This would be the first significiant climb of the day, rising 50m over less than 1km. After a few hundred yards of peddling, I got off and pushed. I wanted to make good time, but I also wanted to enjoy the landscape I was travelling through, so didn’t really mind too much as I pushed the bike passed freshly felled and replanted softwood plantations. The lack of shade resulting from the recent felling meant that I was cooking in the spring sunshine. I started to question just how wise my choice of clothing was, given the all black colour scheme seemed to maximise passive solar gain.

Throughout my time in the Ardennes, one thing (of many) that struck me were the plethora of neat stacks of logs. Nearly every house had one, and I passed many yards where multiple stacks of wood lay seasoning. As I reached the crest of this first hill, a neat stack of wood between two trees caught my eye in the sunshine.

Neatly stacked wood

Neat wood stack.

The first hill also gave me the chance at the first descent. I cruised down the hill into Boevange-Sur-Attert.

Leaving Boevange-Sur-Attert I rounded the corner and looked up at a climb. My exclamation was loud, and not really printable. I was about to start in 1st gear on the long slog, when a sign caught my eye, and I realised that the path didn’t go up the hill, but instead returned to following the river. Phew.

The next few kilometres I passed through stunning scenery and sleepy villages. I had hoped to find a village shop somewhere where I could grab a couple of mars bars, or a bakery I could get some bread. As it happens, in my entire time in Luxembourg, I wouldn’t see a single food shop until I reached Wiltz at the end of my journey. On the plus side, if I had wanted to buy decorating supplies, nearly every village had a shop selling those…

I passed through gently undulating terrain, surrounded by fields that seemed greener than those back home. I passed through Useldange where I raided another bar for a diet coke, and a litre of tap water. From here the path maintained it’s upward tendency for the rest of the route. I wouldn’t get any real down hill again until I passed the highest point of the route, 518masl near Rambrouch.

It’s common to lump Luxembourg in with Belgium and the Netherlands, as the low countries, the BeNeLux. As such we think of them as flat, or at least not really a hilly place. Until you try to cycle in Luxembourg that is. I made a final water stop at a bar in Redange before starting the hard slog up over the 5km up onto a what felt like a high plateau. The view from up here was amazing, but the effort of ascending from 208masl where I woke up, to the eventual height of 518masl was a killer. Large sections of the journey were done in first gear at barely 7kph. Slowing grinding away up the hills. In many places I had to get off and push, or simply stop to let my legs recover. The view from the top was worth it.

The view from the plateau

As I reached 495masl just outside the village of Rambrouch, I looked at my planned cycle route, and it’s descent to 474masl before it climbed to 504masl, and looked on the map at the slightly longer road, that maintained a steady gradient, and took my first detour from the plan.

On a route like this I try to keep to a policy of plan your ride and ride your plan. I am on my own typically, and if something happens, the only way that help will arrive is due to a search being triggered by a friend following failure to contact them at set times. If I’m not on the route they think I’m on, then a lot of time could be spent searching where I’ve never even got to. I reasoned that on such a quiet but large road through a village, the risk was worth it.

Passing the highest point of the trip, 518masl I could relax a bit with some downhill, eating up some distance. I flew through Koetschette, and down the country lanes, past some very startled highland cows in one field, at 40+kph. The sun wasn’t far off setting, and the sudden 40kph wind chill coupled with the drop in solar gain, meant I was a bit chilly. I didn’t care. After the climb, the descent was worth it.

Arsdorf took the wind out my sails somewhat by the discovery that I had another 50m of altitude to climb. I dismounted and pushed.

The end of the planned ascent for the day was marked by passing under the N27. From here it was a nice downhill round sweaping curves, cambered hair pins, and long straights. Sure the 51.5kph headwind was chilly, but I didn’t care. The descent was amazing, and terrifying in equal measures. As the speed built up I tried to swear loudly, but only the F came out. For the record, 51.5kph on a Brompton is every bit as terrifying as you think it is.

A thought occurred to me as I hurtled down the hillside – These are the original brake blocks that were fitted when I bought the bike 8 years ago…

I screeched to a halt just before the bridge over Lac de la Haute-Sûre. This was my planned end point for the day. All I had to do was find a quiet flat spot to bivvi, and I would be done. The sun had just gone behind the hills. It was all going to plan.

I took the path along the lake hoping to find a flat spot in the trees that I could roll out my bivvi. What I found were foot prints.

Boar print?

Boar print?

I wasn’t sure if the prints were Boar or not, but their presence, made me not really want to sleep here. As it happens, the only flat land was the path, I would have to come up with a better option. I mounted up and crossed the bridge to the north side of the lake. The map showed potential in the woods on a headland that jutted out into the lake. What I hadn’t quite realised from the map was just how steep the terrain round the lake would be. I had expected there would be a few meters of flat land around the lake, and I would be able to sneak my bivvi in somewhere there. This wasn’t the case.

My following of the road along the lake brought me to a weir and a deadend. The weir had a substantial drop on it, including an overhang. This, along with another weir I found later, would put pay to any thoughts I had of a future trip pootling around on the lake in a canoe… there is no way to portage around this one.

I retreated up the road to another road marked on my map. Reading the map in the twilight, it looked like it was a short hop up the side of the hill to a road at the top. Late in the day, with fading light, hungry and worn out. I made my big error. The path goes up the side of the hill at something approaching a 50° angle. It’s wide enough for a bike, or wide enough for a person, but not really wide enough for a person pushing a bike. The surface of the path started off reasonable, it was a hardpacked ground that allowed me to get the first 10m of height gain relatively easily. It got worse from then on. Rocks, roots and mud made up the path. The articulation of the Brompton started to work against me, upon pushing up against a root or rock, the front wheel wouldn’t pass over it, and the bike would try to fold up. Time and time again this happened. I sat down to catch my breath and admire the view.

It was apparent that I wouldn’t get up this hill with this technique, so detaching the bags from the bike, I shuttled first the bike, than the bags, 10-15m at a time up the slope. In hindsight I probably should have turned back, rock climbing with a loaded Brompton is foolhardy at best, down right stupid at worst. But I by the time this thought entered my head, I was nearer the top than the bottom, and it made sense at the time to continue onwards. To do the 100m of distance to the top of the path, a height gain of over 50m took me an hour. So slow infact my GPS trace doesn’t think I was moving at all.

Uphill path and road

I took the path on the left…

 

Map

The path on the map looks so innocuous…

By the time I reached the top it was 2200 and I was damp with sweat, exhausted, and the land here was no flatter than the land nearer water level. I had to find somewhere, anywhere, to sleep, and do so soon. I turned on my bike light, which seemed to illuminate the whole hillside, and pushed on up along the road.

It’s marked on the map as a road, but in reality it’s a dirt track. Either side of which the hillside rose or fell at 45° angles. I pushed on up another 25m of altitude gain, where the trees gave way to fields, and the land started to level off. The absence of trees was a slight concern, I feel safer bivviing in woodland than in such obviously occupied land. But with little other option, I chose an area of land to the side of the road, where a digger had cleared it relatively recently, but long enough ago that the grass had grown back. There was nothing really to shield my position from view, I had to hope that the lightly used farm track was as lightly used as I thought it was. I made my camp entirely by touch, inflating my bed, setting up the bivvi bag, and brewing a mug of tea. I could see headlights on the other side of the lake, several kilmoteres away. It felt like I was on top of the world.

A friend had texted me to let me know the weather forecast was for a chilly night. Sitting on my bivvi bag on the side of a hill sipping my tea, I could see why. Not a cloud in the sky. I had an amazing view of the stars. I had written down the times of the ISS passes for while I was away in the hope I might see it. Tonight, laying in my bivvi bag, I watched as the ISS drifted across the sky some 300km or so above. It made the hard slog and gruelling climb worth it.

Drifting off to sleep with a sky full of stars is one of the most memorable experiences of the trip.

Day 3
Route: Lac de la Haute-Sûre to Wiltz
Status: Everything’s hurts… and it’s all still up hill…
Distance: 17.77km

I woke in the early hours of the morning to see the sky in the east starting to brighten. I reached out of my bag to pull the hood round, and felt damp. I felt round a bit more. The outside of my sleeping bag was soaking wet. I touched the inside of my bivvi bag. It ran with condensation. I sat up. My bivvi bag crackled as the thin layer of frost that covered it broke up. While I’d slept the dew had settled on everything, and then frosted over. I hadn’t noticed snug and warm in my sleeping bag. I rearranged my pillow and went back to sleep.

I woke to beautiful sunshine, a dry sleeping bag and a dry bivvi bag. The early morning sunshine had dried off the worst of the dew. Just to be on the safe side before packing, I spread most of my kit out to dry in the sunshine, while I finished off a pack of cookies for breakfast. The view from my bivvi was as nice in the daylight as it was in the star light.

HIllside

The view from my bivvi bag.

Packing up this morning was a lot faster than the day before, and it wasn’t long until I was slowly cycling up the hill to join the road. I had a 3 potential plans for todays ride, depending on how I felt and how times worked out, in the end I opted for the shortest, most direct, and least hilly option.

I headed north towards my target destination, Wiltz.

As I cycled through the farmland and woodland twice I saw a large raptor. One was sitting in the top of a tree, and as I approached swooped down to land on the field. Another was flew across through a field as I as cycling along. The beauty of their controlled flight brightened my morning even further.

After a brief climb, I was able enjoy a short descent, alas, I wasn’t able to capitalise on the speed boost as at the bottom the surface turned to loose chippings and went through a 90° bend. Once again I pushed up the other side. This was another brief ascent, and once at the top I had 5km of descent to the Bavigne. This was a straighter road than the descent to the lake the previous night and I as able to utilise the speed more. I tried to break my 51.5kph record of the night before, but the best I could do was 51kph. Even trying to take a more aerodynamic position didn’t help. I’d obviously hit the point where friction was having a greater influence than drag. I enjoyed the descent non the less.

This was another brief ascent, and once at the top I had 5km of descent to the Bavigne. This was a straighter road than the descent to the lake the previous night and I as able to utilise the speed more. I tried to break my 51.5kph record of the night before, but the best I could do was 51kph. Even trying to take a more aerodynamic position didn’t help. I’d obviously hit the point where friction was having a greater influence than drag. I enjoyed the descent non the less.

From Bavigne would be the final ascent of the trip, 323masl at Bavigne to 483masl at Café Schumann. The 4km ascent would take me the best part of 50 minutes, and yet would be one of the most beautiful bits of country I went through.

up and up and up

It’s still all uphill…

Softwood plantations and hardwood woodland covered the hillsides, with small patches of pasture land here and there. At one point I came across a cabin by a small lake, with the ubiquitous neat stack of firewood and a couple of bee hives. It reminded me of so many I’ve seen on cabin porn.

Cabin in the woods.

Nice spot of cabinporn…

The uphill continued, the final leg into Schumannseck was perhaps the most brutal climb of the trip that wasn’t an actual rock climb. A dead straight road lined by avenues of trees. By now I was pushing the bike more than I was riding it, and this leg I pushed entirely. Tractors and lorries thundered past occasionally. All of them giving me plenty of space. I wonder what they made of the funny brit pushing the clowns bike up the hill.

Finally I reached the top of the hill, and crossed the main road to Bastogne. From here I felt like I was on the final leg. I eased the bike over the crest and started down.

My plan had been to hang a right onto a back road to Roullingen, before continuing on to finish my ride at Wiltz castle. But as I approached the turning I could see that this road would involve another climb. Worn out, battered, bruised and with sore knees, I decided to take the wimps route, and stuck to the main road for the decent into Wiltz.

I cruised down the hill at in excess of 45kph, overtaken only by a Porsche and a motor bike. It was down hill all the way, I wouldn’t need to peddle again until I reached the campsite at Kaul where I had a cabin booked for the weekend. In my excitement and with the slight shock at civilisation, I blew through a red light, fortunately the roads were pretty much deserted. I continued down the hill, as the decline eased off, my speed eased off as well into something a bit more reasonable as I coasted to the Bar at the campsite. The final sting in the tail was the flight of stairs upto the bar, and my hard earned meal and a bottle of Wëllen Ourdaller.

Postscript

Since leaving the UK I had done 140km, climbing over 1km, in 3 countries, spoken 4 languages, slept under trees, and under stars. What I had thought would be a pleasant ride through a picturesque part of Europe had become a challenging, yet rewarding journey. Sure I’m no Sarah Outen, but the trip has made me realise perhaps what is possible with a limited budget and a couple of days to spare. I’ve got to be in Wiltz again in August, and I’ll be arriving a couple of days early with a Brompton rigged up for touring. All I have to do now is decide on a route.