DAY THREE: SunDay

Day three main route

Day three return from London

As I awoke this morning, I took a peek through the gap in the curtains to see clear blue sky's...and smiled to myslef, Today's weather looked promising.

We had enjoyed a good meal last night and were paying for it now with thick heads and a distinct lack of appetite. Most of us chose to hydrate rather than get about the business of riding and some stowed away ham rolls to eat later en-route, to compensate for their "current" lack of appetite.

The promising weather helped to lure us out onto the bikes and soon, after thanking our hostess for her extraordinary hospitality, we were away.

Within a few miles the comparison between today's terrain and yesterdays was striking. The route wound through a variety of styles from back lanes to main roads, through small villages and across open fields. Variety is, indeed, the spice of life.

As we approached the town of Wortegem we passed the American War Cemetery and the significance of the region was not lost on us. The stars and stripes looked oddly out of place in the blue sky of Belgium and the area took on a distinctly American feel with long fenceless front yards, low houses and tree lined avenues.

Soon we were climbing our first (I did say first right?) hill of the day and at the top we stopped for a few minutes to strip of layers and revert to sleeves. The temperature had already risen to 13.5 degrees. Things were looking up.

The route along this trip carried something of a sense of Deja-vu for me as I had spent a good deal of time researching the important junctions with the use of Google Street view and as such could recognise much of the ride already. At times I was able to throw out directions like "in the next town is a huge church and a small statue, take the left before the statue and head to the butchers"...like I somehow knew where I was going!...everyone seemed to go along with the blag and for the most part we made uninterrupted progress.

In contrast to this familiarity, the cycle system in Belgium is an alien experience. The roads are designed to cater for cyclists as a "privileged" class, with vehicles yielding to bikes at every junction. The safe, well built and dedicated cycle paths carry riders from town to town without risk and allow riders of all levels of age, confidence and skill to enjoy cycling about the place.

However, this "one size fits all" approach does have its frustrations. The cycle paths are slow and often clad in block paving which makes the going more measured, they are also peppered with junctions and ingenious systems to circumnavigate roundabouts to the point that, to make progress, you feel inclined to give them up in favour of the tarmac. We passed...and were passed by...many club ride peleton's who took both to the paths and to the tarmac in equal measure.

Despite this we were making good progress and at 15 miles we puled into the town of Oudenaarde for a rest. The impressive square at Oudenaarde was crammed to the brim with a variety of fair ground rides and caravans, which spoilt the view a little and made the place looked more congested than it really was.

Despite this, we picked a small coffee shop for caffeine and conversation and bathed ourselves in the warm sun. It seemed we weren't alone in our choice and slowly more and more club cyclists and motorcyclists began to join us. Soon the place was awash with an unhealthy mix of Lycra and leather...it was time to make our leave.

Our exit from Oudenaard was complicated a little by roadworks but soon we were climbing up above the central canal and heading towards an entirely new cycling experience.

There is a famous annual ride through this region called the Paris- Roubaix. This tough ride is made more gruelling by the fact that much of it ridden atop rough cobblestoned roads.

Today was our chance to share the pain and as we reached our summit, all achy legs and puffing cheeks, we were met with the prospect of riding a mile or so of slippery, shiny cobble stones. It seemed the order of the day was to ride with speed and float across the huge crevasses between the cobbles. However, carrying a weekends worth of luggage meant that we had little option other than to tough it out and ride each cobble with a wince and a yelp. Our spindly tyres were grabbed by the gaps and loose cobbles providing a constant struggle with the bars just to keep the bike moving in the right direction. Despite the challenge the experience seemed to generate some entertainment and we were soon welcomed back to smooth tarmac with a soft, familiar embrace.

We pointed our bikes towards the town of Brakel, where we intended, at the halfway mark, to stop for lunch. Swooping downhill roads rewarded us for the earlier effort and we progressed with great speed and relative ease. We were making such good progress that we flew through Brakel and left the main tarmac to follow a glorious and dedicated cyclepath across the open and freshly ploughed fields.

We rode three abreast and chatted like birds about the scenery and the privilege of riding without the concern for traffic, when we were met by a convoy of cars all driving across the same pathway. It seemed our VIP membership had expired and we were, in fact still riding on registered roads.

Pretty soon we found ourselves back at sea level and entering the canal system to the town of Ninove. I had been concerned about the canal section of today's ride. In the UK, tow-path cycling can have a tendency to end in riders getting wet and whilst I was happy to share a drink at the end of today's ride, I had little intention to end up in it!

My concerns were settled as I soon saw that this canal, which, with true sensible Flemmish planning was set away from the waters edge by a grass verge and was both wide and well maintained. Pushed on by a tail wind we zipped along the riverside under tall trees and blue sky's.

We rode so well that at 40 miles we found ourselves sat in the market town of Ninove, enjoying a carb laden lunch, some 20 miles further into today's ride, than we had expected. We had earned a rest.

As we ate, the weather closed in a little and we each began to adopt layer after layer until, as we left for the last 15 mile ride, we each looked a little like we were heading out for a winter ride.

A few miles along the road we diverted from the Main N9 to Brussels to enjoy the quiet country route to town and at the top of the last big hill of the day we found ourselves, once more, stopping to strip off layer after layer. From this elevated vantage point we could spot tall buildings on the Horizon, with suggestions of civilisation. and despite a few switch back detours across fields and paths we were soon riding into more industrial landscape.

As we each waved a hello to the roadside sign of "Brussels" we eked out a few last opportunities to sneak along canals and small parks before we succumbed to the environment and switched to "urban riding mode".

I never like to judge a city by limited experience, after all what impression would visitors to the great town of London make if all they got to see was New Cross or Kilburn High Street but I have to say that, from what I had seen so far, Brussels isnt an attractive city.

After checking the location of the station we headed of to the Grand Place, an vast and tourist filled square in the centre of town flanked by impressive buildings wrapped in ornate golden statues, each pointing at one another across the rooftops.

After a couple of beers it was time to say goodbye to Chris (which, try as I might, I just don't remember doing so) as he was leaving for an on-bound meeting in Paris; and to head back to the station.

At the check in we were, despite our attire, treated to VIP status and shown directly to passport control avoiding the queues. Our bikes were taken to their carriage by a Kindly looking chap who assured us they would be taken care of. I couldn't help notice that as he wheeled our bikes away he lifted each one as if to gauge their value by weight...I chose to accept this as a good sign, hoping that I would see my bike again sometime, hopefully in one piece.

After a quick snooze and  an equally quick train ride (three days there, TWO hours back!) we arrived in London once more and began fixing lights to the bikes in preparation for the last 15 mile ride home.

Home sweet home

As we approached the river Thames in twilight, we were met with an impressive headwind and the going became tough. However the streets were empty (it was Sunday evening after all) and within an hour I found myself rolling up to the garage door that I had left three days earlier, filled with a sense of achievement and satisfaction that I had just ridden from London to Brussels.

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