Anyway, I've been going on my own for five European days (it turns out that European days are exactly the same as English days, just one hour earlier. Or later. Basically, five days...), and I have to say it's been better than I expected. I don't want to bore you with an overwrought flowery diary in which I honk on about how hardcore I am, so I'll condense the last five days into bullet-points. In which I will honk on about how hardcore I am.
Before that though, I should say thanks to Ed and Tom who did the first 450km with me. We went to Amsterdam, and Brussels and there was a thunderstorm, and all was a lot of fun. If you want details on those days, track one of them down. They will bore you with the tales like some ancient mariner (but a mariner who traded his ship in for a bike and then drank a lot in Europe for 10 days).
Anyway, over the last 5 days I have...
- Ridden my way out of Brussels, with a tailwind, heavy traffic, no sense of direction and a stinking hangover. That was pretty easy, actually. No exciting happenstances. Sorry. I am too amazing for this to be an interesting story.
- Ridden 100km into the Belgian countryside. Failed to find a campsite, then been surprised by another thunderstorm. Pleaded with some cyclists who let me put my tent on their son's lawn. The mum went and made me a toastie and brought me a beer and some icecream. She also insisted I do a poo in her house. In the toilet, I mean, not just anywhere. They were strange, but very nice.
- The next day I did 100 more kilometres. Oh yeah. Like nothing. Like falling off a rock. I met a Belgian cyclist who refused to believe I would ever make it to Istanbul. He's probably right.
- Camped at a campsite, where some children insisted on using my tent as a kind of central column to chase each other round. They ignored me, so I ignored them
- The next day I found myself in the Ardennes. I had not really heard of this place, but it turns out it's Belgian for 'Land of the fucking steep hills and forests that go on for miles without so much as an ice-cream stall but full of horseflies who treat you like some kind of buffet service'. I did 85km. It was really really hard work. If you don't believe me, try this simple exercise. Tie a tractor tire to the back of your bike, then ride up and down a footpath in a nearby wooded area for 6 hours, with a sunlamp tied to your head. Drink 2 litres of water, but no more because the stingy owners of a cafe wouldn't let you fill your water bottles up. After that, put up your tent next to a motorway and then put a Belgian sitcom on your iPod and listen to it for 5 hours. Eat a bowl of pasta with an oxo cube in it.
- The next day I crossed into Luxembourg. Luxembourg is not small. It is huge and hilly. My back chainguard broke in the middle of nowhere and I had to cut it off with a penknife to free up the freewheel, as I do not have the tool to get the cluster off. It was bloody hot too. I cycled down a dual carriageway to try and make it to the capital (which is also called Luxembourg - imagine!) but I almost got smeared onto the crash barrier by a truck. I then pedalled like mad, shaking legs and poo-stained gusset and all, for 4 kilometres to the next exit, and went back on the country roads. Which were too steep and didn't ever go in the direction I wanted. So I found a campsite, had a beer and ate some chips.
- This morning, I woke up in my tent and it was my birthday. I got myself the best birthday present I could think of. A train ticket for the 40km left to Luxembourg city for 1 euro and 50 cents. I am not ashamed - far from it! The hostel was fully booked, but the girl called all the people who hadn't yet shown up and got me a bed. I am now going to have a well earned birthday beer! Next up... Germany and beyond!
