Bastogne

We awoke to a lovely clear morning, and the spectacular sight of a thin ribbon of cloud snaking its way along the river valley. Everyone has adored their time in Bouillon, and the Hotel de la Poste was absolutely delightful. Its combination of rich history and eclectic decorations quickly made it a group favourite.

I had already warned everyone that today's ride would be a challenge (aka a real shocker). It would have been even worse if we had chosen to follow the original suggested route over the Ardennes Plateau. Back in Australia, Maggie and I had deliberated over maps, elevation profiles and Google Street View Previews for hours, in an attempt to devise a more intelligent route. But you know what they say about the "best laid plans of mice and men".

There was no getting around the geographical fact that Bouillon sits at the bottom of the river valley, and the only way out is UP. In fact it is brutally up. The road out of town was narrow, and at a gradient of over 10%. We also had to share it with cars and trucks. It was certainly NOT EASY.

Our riders gradually left the city in a long line. I started near the rear, only to be cruelly blocked by a car and trailer, after only about 200 metres. I had no alternative other than to get off. The trouble with dismounting on such a climb is that, not only do you lose all your forward momentum, but it is almost impossible to ever remount again.

And so I walked the next 250 metres to a small open space, where the rest of the riders were gathering (an alternative way of describing various medical emergencies caused by the extreme exertion). I also experienced my own alarming emergency when I tried to take a picture and discovered that my GoPro camera was not working. In spite of all my efforts, it just would not turn on. That meant there would be no photographic record of our day's efforts. As it later transpired, that would be the least of our problems.

The brutal climb continued unabated for around 2 km, before it slowly started to moderate. Many were reduced to walking, coughing, gasping and complaining about what I had done to them. It was already evident that it was going to be a very long day.

The Ardennnes Plateau is the highest part of Belgium, and we would be doing most of the ride between 400 and 500 m above sea level. Of course, it would have been easier if we had just been cycling on a flat plateau, but we were riding a veritable roller coaster of ups and downs. Each little village seemed to be at the bottom of a steep descent, resulting in a steep climb on the other side. This type of riding really takes its toll.

After about an hour of riding, we had covered about 8 km of distance. I kept trying to reassure the peloton by telling them (aka lying) that the "worst was over". Actually it wasn't. The pain went on for most of the day.

And so we rode up, and we rode down. We rode up some more. We rode through farmlands and through beautiful little townships (none of which had even a tiny cafe). We climbed over a succession of peaks, enjoying new vistas as we crested each one. The photographs would have been wonderful, if my camera had been working, but you will just have to take my word for it.

Although the riding was tough, at least the weather was kind to us. For most of the day we had fine, cool and partly sunny conditions, that were just about perfect for riding.

After riding for what seemed hours (probably because it was), we finally stumbled (staggered) into a little village that actually had a shop that was open. What a miracle. I went in and explained to the young assistant that we all needed coffee. She replied that she had a coffee machine. A miracle of the Ardennes !

Nineteen riders tramped into the shop, waiting for their caffeine fixes. The girl turned on the machine, fiddled for a while, and then announced that it was not working. Could you believe that ? The only coffee machine we would see all day, and it was busted.

We sat outside and pondered our misfortune, while the girl brought out some red hot, peppered sausage for us to singe our tongues on. Just the sort of thing that we really did not need when we were already parched and dry.

After leaving the village, we soon found ourselves climbing through a lovely shady forest. I remembered this from my time spent on Google Street View, and it was an amazing feeling to now find that we were actually here in reality.

That was when things took a turn for the far worse. I received a call from Mary, telling me that her bike was refusing to start. It was stubbornly displaying the dreaded E10 message of doom that is common to all Shimano based ebikes. No amount of turning off and on, removing batteries, etc made any difference. This was the last thing we needed when we were in about as remote a location as we could possibly be.

About an hour was spent fiddling and discussing with Erik what to do, but it was obvious that we would have to improvise a solution. David rode back to donate his bike to Mary, and then battle away with the unpowered bike. At least it got us moving again, but it was less than ideal. Mary's battery somehow ended up in my pannier, adding further to my weight.

We knew that, if we could only reach Libramont, we would be able to ride the remainder of the ride on the rail trail, and that would mean no more significant hills. I was also hoping that we would be able to get some lunch there.

Well, we did finally reach Libramont, but because we were so late, the bakery had run out of bread and the cafes were all closed for the afternoon. As if things couldn't get any worse, I discovered that my key was so bent, that I could not remove it from my bike. This was obviously caused by an earlier mishap that I forgot to mention.

Sometime earlier in the ride, I had tried to complete a tight turn and fell from my bike. To complicate matters more, it happened just as a large SUV was reversing from its driveway. As I was lying on the road, entangled in my bike, a set of large reversing lights came closer and closer. My ride (and most probably my life) almost finished right there. Fortunately some of the others warned the driver to stop, and catastrophe was narrowly averted.

Since I could not remove the key, I could not lock the bike. I had no other choice than to keep riding. A glance told me that I had around 26 km to ride, and about 24% battery remaining. This was going to be interesting.

The final section of the day's ride was along an old disused railway line (Ravel). The surface was rocky and uneven, meaning that it required significant effort just to keep moving. And it went on and on (and on). Our destination of Bastogne never seemed to get any closer.

Somewhere, further along, we caught up with another group of Ghostriders, and our peloton grew to around 10 or so. It was getting dark. My battery was starting to flash red. My energy was failing, and so was my backside.

The battery finally failed on the outskirts of Bastogne, but by that time, I was close enough to the end that it did not really matter. By the time I stopped at the Hotel Leo Station, the trip meter indicated that I had ridden over 70 km. It had been a hard day, but it was a wonderful feeling to have finally finished.

It was at that point that we had a welcome surprise. The hotel had a welcoming glass of champagne waiting for us. I think we all thoroughly deserved every drop of it.Read more