Bike Boxes, Black Licorice, and Home at Last

Day 59: Diegem, Belgium → Iowa City, Iowa

This was it, our final day of travel.

We woke around 5:30 a.m. and caught the 6:45 shuttle from our hotel to Brussels Airport. Everything went surprisingly smoothly. Both bicycle boxes weighed exactly 23.7 kilograms (52.2 pounds), which was just over the stated limit, although no one seemed concerned. Check-in was faster than usual, and the man who weighed our boxes had done some bicycle touring himself. It is always reassuring when the person handling your bicycles understands what is inside those enormous cardboard boxes.

We wheeled them to the oversized-baggage area, where another exceptionally friendly employee helped us send them on their way. One thing we have noticed at airports outside the United States is how much less yelling there seems to be from security personnel. The calmer atmosphere removes a surprising amount of stress from the process.

Security went smoothly, although I was pulled aside so they could swab my palms and shoes, presumably for traces of explosives or drugs. I had used the hotel’s automatic shoe buffer on my tennis shoes the night before, so I briefly wondered what mysterious chemicals might now be detected. Yikes! Fortunately, my shoes and I were cleared for travel.

The flight from Brussels to Copenhagen was so smooth and uneventful that I barely remember it. We spent some time walking around the Copenhagen airport, and I bought a little salty black licorice, a traditional Danish treat. We also nibbled on snacks that had been traveling in our panniers for weeks and ate some of the homemade bread we still had from B&B Molmento.

Then came the usual commotion of loading a huge airplane for the nearly nine-hour flight to Chicago. I am still amazed by how many people cough and sneeze in crowded lines without covering their mouths. Did we learn nothing from COVID?

In keeping with tradition, I was seated directly in front of a five- or six-year-old boy who spent much of the flight pushing his feet into the back of my seat and tapping enthusiastically on his entertainment screen. At one point, he and his mother were playing a game together and pushing hard enough that I finally turned around and politely asked them to stop. Someone nearby also had possibly the worst body odor I have ever encountered. Together, these provided perfect preparation for nine hours in a confined metal tube.

Lisa and I tried to stand up and walk around every hour and a half. We watched a few movies, although I do not think I slept at all. My jet-lag research suggested staying awake until we reached home, sleeping through the night, and getting plenty of sunshine the following day. It sounded like an excellent plan at the time.

Everything with SAS went smoothly, as did immigration and customs in Chicago. We even arrived ahead of schedule, and our oversized bicycle boxes appeared remarkably quickly.

Doug was still about an hour from O’Hare when we landed, which gave us time to clear customs, remove the bicycles from their boxes, reassemble them, and fold the cardboard for recycling. By the time he arrived, everything was ready to load into the car. It may have been our smoothest international arrival yet.

Having a friend like Doug is something we never take for granted. He drove us to Chicago at the beginning of the trip, returned to pick us up nearly two months later, and has done the same for several of our other adventures. An airport run between Iowa City and Chicago is not a small favor. It is a long drive, made even longer by traffic and two tired travelers with bicycles and piles of luggage. His generosity allows our adventures to begin and end with the comfort of seeing a good friend.

Traffic was heavy around O’Hare, although it gradually improved as we approached Iowa. I intended to stay awake for the entire 3¼-hour drive home. I made it about two hours before falling asleep. Somehow, as usually happens, I woke just as we were nearing home. Perhaps the body simply knows.

When we pulled into the driveway, a wonderful sign from Randy and Sally was waiting in the yard:

Welcome Home Jim & Lisa!

Our touring bicycles stood beside it under the red glow of the porch lights. After nearly two months and 2,552 miles, they were home too.

We wandered through the house for a while, looking at familiar things through the haze of exhaustion and jet lag. Everything felt exactly the same and slightly unfamiliar at the same time. We were too tired to absorb it fully, although it was comforting simply to be there.

By about 10:30 p.m., we were in our own bed. Tomorrow would bring groceries, voting, unpacking, catching up with friends, finishing our FindPenguins posts, and beginning the slow process of adjusting to ordinary life again.

For tonight, it was enough to be home.Read more