Drinking beer and eating pastries in Belgium and France whilst sitting in beautiful town squares and, taking in some history along the way sounds like a brilliant way to spend a weekend. Cycling all the way there and back maybe not so brilliant was what I was thinking on the Friday evening before we set off. But that is what I did last weekend.
It started with a 5.30am weekend alarm call and a half mile ride to the train station in Deal with four other friends. We were quietly excited about what the weekend may bring – especially me – as this was the first time I had joined the group for such a long ride and the first time we’d turned it into a weekend away. On arrival in Dover we faced a few more security checks than usual – mainly we joked to the chief organiser of the trip put there to add to the pressure that we may not make it to check-in in time – but before we knew it we had met up with our support crew (2 more friends) who were waiting to board the ferry and I began to relax. A few other cyclists were also in the queue so I’d have to look like I knew what I was doing when we boarded or they’d suss out that I was just tagging along for the beer and pastries. Cycling on the deck of the ferry was the smoothest 100m we would experience all weekend. Maybe I should have appreciated it more but it was still only 7.45 on a Saturday morning and I had only cycled a couple of miles at this point.
Last summer I had cycled several times to a nice breakfast cafe and back. It was 30 miles total. Dunkerque to Ypres was 45 but everyone had reassured me it was relatively flat, relative to what I didn’t know. Concentrating on being on the right side of the road, dodging pedestrians and navigating traffic lights, crossings and cycle lanes meant I didn’t really notice all the miles going by. Before I knew it we were cycling through dunes, national parks and fields before meeting up with our support crew in the centre of Verne, surrounded by Flemish buildings, churches and a huge selection of beer. We all toasted our first 24 miles and baked in the sun for well over an hour. I chatted and relaxed and in my head pushed away the thought of the next 20 miles until we decided maybe we needed to move on if we were to make it to Ypres in time for the last post.
Fuelled by beer and frites we travelled again mainly on cycle paths beside tree lined canals for 2 hours until we reached Ypres. Cobbles may look pretty but they weren’t very welcome at the end of the ride. Despite the cobbles I couldn’t help but be wowed by the central square and its surrounding architecture and then two minutes down the road the amazing house overlooking the Menin Gate that was to be our home for the night. The house was like a museum with a collection of WW1 and other army memorabilia – flags, rifles, bugles, hats, grenades – a historians paradise. On arrival I genuinely felt I had a little more left in the tank but still declined an extra 8km cycle to a cemetery with Pete and opted instead to collapse on the sofa for half an hour or so to read through some paraphernalia. I then realised that actually I was quite achy.
A windmill on Saturday afternoon 
Lemon tree anyone? 
Another beautiful church 
Memorabilia in the house 
View from our room
We all chose bedrooms and despite the achy legs I agreed that we would have the one that involved climbing 50 stairs – it might have had something to do with the fact that it was in the attic with low sloping roofs and Pete and I are the shortest in the group. It did however have a fabulous view of the Menin gate so the stairs were worth it. We made it out for the last post – 50 m from our front door – and had a moment of silence, peering over peoples shoulders to see the poppy tributes and watch the buglers. Despite the fact that they have just started a 2 year renovation project on the Menin gate and you could not see half of it or read any of the 54,389 names engraved on it, the ceremony was still a moving tribute and a moment to pause and reflect.
We briefly wandered the streets of Ypres again before settling at a traditional bar and sampling a selection of beers. I opted for a cherry beer and sat feeling satisfyingly achy enjoying some croquettes as a snack to keep us going until we returned to the house for baguettes, cheese, pickles and more beer and wine. Oh and great company.
My thoughts had always been that if I didn’t want to cycle on the Sunday I could get a lift in the car but my legs were not feeling too bad when I woke up and I thought it would be wrong to not at least try. So fuelled by strawberries, pastries and chocolate I cycled with the group almost non stop for the first hour and a half along smooth cycle lanes beside a canal. On the way we crossed the border from Belgium back into France with a lot more ease than at the port of Dover. No check in, no passport control, no customs. Brilliant.
It felt like our fastest stretch yet and we were rewarded for our efforts in Rexpoede with a selection of delights from the local patisserie. Sitting on some dilapidated steps, basking in the sunlight eating guilt free cakes gave me the spur to keep going for the next section – a quick 5 miles to a drink stop.
The sugar from the cakes and meringues didn’t really fuel me much on this leg but before long we arrived in the town of Bergues and settled in a cafe where I declined a beer and decided that a lemonade and more sugar might get me through the final 15 miles to the port. I was quietly optimistic that I would manage the full distance and even said to myself, ‘15 miles, that’s not far!’
I don’t know if beer would have helped more than the lemonade but the last 5km was hard work. Not only had we left the beauty of the French countryside and entered the no man’s land that is a port zone but the northerly wind was blowing at its strongest at this point (well that’s what it felt like anyway). The huge gantries up ahead were gradually getting closer as I plodded along – watching my group (except Pete) getting further and further away. But all was ok – I knew they wouldn’t check in without me and I knew we had plenty of time. I’d done 80 something miles and wasn’t about to be beaten by the last few plus on the approach roads to the port I think most people would rather be cycling slowly than walking as the lorries thunder past.
I made it in time for a quick visit to duty free and then boarded the ferry to relax once more with another prosecco, some chat and laughter about the last 24 hours and a comfy sofa. On Friday night the ride was a daunting prospect but by Sunday night it was a feeling of achievement, satisfaction and a full stomach that reminded me – it’s good to push yourself out of your comfort zone every now and then. You might even enjoy it – although don’t let Pete know I said that about cycling. There is already talk of another weekend away on our bikes – maybe this time I will believe that I can do it before we even start.
Mary's Little Yak 
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