Well, two days, 167 miles and two completely different experiences. Yesterday morning I started off in Ypres in the rapidly descending gloom. Mostly, it pissed rain yesterday. A lot. It was cold and windy and generally horrid. One could imagine how the green and pleasant fields could rapidly turn into a complete quagmire. Even stepping a few feet off the road collected a generous amount of mud, now stuck in my pedals. I didn't stop much yesterday, save to eat. I mostly put my head down and cycled, just trying to get to Brussels. It wasn't a little bit of rain or a sudden summer thunderstorm, it was sheets and sheets of water, bucketing in a very businesslike manner from a slate sky. The roads were lovely and smooth. The cycle paths sometimes astounding, even in the middle of nowhere. It all passed in a blur though. My waterproofs resisted for about 30 miles, then became quite amenable, welcoming even to the rain. I had a lovely lunch huddled under a highway overpass. Anyway, I made it to Brussels in the end, with its lovely, not insane at all drivers, tram tracks and completely nonsensical massive intersections. I have to remember here that people take their traffic on the right has the right of way rule very seriously and will just whip out without looking. I had a very nice dinner with Alex.
This morning was cool and dry, autumnal. I set off in Brussels rush hour traffic, which is a delight and managed to not get run over by any trams. I set off to the southeast, across a lot of rolling countryside not unlike southern Minnesota or the east of England. Rolling countryside, of course, means it is actually continuously uphill. Big difference going from Flemish to French speaking Belgium, the bike lanes disappear. I ended up giving up on my planned route today when bumpy concrete turned into cobbles turned into dirt, and made it to the end with a combination of Garmin and winging it. The weather was perfect though. What I was not counting on was it suddenly getting extremely hilly, with 25% grades at mile 75, just after Liege. Countryside not dissimilar to Devon. Actually, Liege and Verviers remind me a bit of the Belgian equivalent to western Pennsylvania. You can tell there was a lot of money here, just from the number of amazing buildings, but it is all a bit rough around the edges. It's also very French, which to me feels much more foreign than Flemish. Anyway, I'm staying tonight in a fantastic room in an old mansion, once owned by a wool magnate. The guy who runs it seems a little eccentric, has several cats and greeted me at the door in a straw hat. He has many objects d'art and is currently hosting a wine tasting beneath my room, which I'm hoping doesn't go late. He did invite me but it seems like all his friends, who speak French and are all a bit fabulous. I decided that might be a bit too excruciating, had my dinner in town and am now in the room, being a blob, and thinking I should use the hair drier on my bike clothes I washed so they aren't damp when I put them on in the morning. Oh the life of the rich and famous...
