Simmerath

Today was the time for us to experience the Vennbahn, the long distance bike path that follows the route of the trainline of the same name. This world famous bike path will be the theme of our ride for the next three days. I had also announced to the group that, after our wicked climb out of Bouillon, all the hard work is now behind us. "It will be all downhill from now", I added. How wrong I was.

It was only when I was looking at the ride details that I discovered that the elevation profile had a little anomaly that I hadn't noticed before. While it was true that most of the second part of the elevation graph was a steady downhill, there was a wicked kick at the end. It looked like the graph turned vertical. Surely it was probably just a glitch in the software. No road could be that steep. To our horror, we later discovered that it not a mistake. It really was a shocker.

At least the first part of the ride was delightful. We discovered that the Vennbahn blessed us with tremendous riding. The combination of gentle gradients and smooth sealed surface was delightful. No wonder this part of the ride is so popular.

It was about this time that I was reminded of a discovery that we had made on our last ride in Belgium, back in 2016. It seems that every Belgian rider thinks they are a reincarnation of Eddy Merckx. Eddy was the legendary Belgian rider that won the Tour de France five times, along with just about every other classic bike race. One year on the Tour he even won the yellow, green and polka dot jerseys. How greedy is that ?

The smooth surface of the Vennbahn now encourages every Belgian rider to climb on their plastic fantastic racing bikes, and then try to break the sound barrier on two wheels. It matters not a jot to them that the path is shared by a wide range of other riders, roller bladers, walkers and joggers. It is a single minded obsession that dictates that everyone else has to just clear out of their way. Obviously nothing has changed in the last 7 years. These racing maniacs are still a hazard that has to be endured.

While enjoying the long downhill to Monschau, we were so mesmerized by the glorious riding, that we missed the recommended turnoff. When we realised our mistake, we had to ride back a short distance to find the track.

A glance down the track was enough to deter some of our riders. It looked like a rough, rock strewn cow track (probably because that is what it was). Fortunately it only went for a few metres before leading us to a much quieter trail, meandering alongside the Rur River. It certainly was great to have some peace and quiet, and be away from the racing cyclists.

This alternate path took us all the way to the town of Monschau, but none of us were prepared for the spectacle that greeted us on our arrival. The entire town was overun by literally thousands of tourists. They crammed every street, every little eatery, every corner of the place. It looked like the scene outside the MCG on Grand Final Day.

The streets were so packed that we had to dismount and try to walk our way through the hordes of people. We had all looked forward to seeing this pretty town, but the dense throng had really taken away all the pleasure. No one wanted to stay there any longer than was necessary.

Somehow we did manage to find a few empty seats at a cafe opposite the church, where we feasted on coffee and waffles. We waited for the second group to arrive, but discovered that they had been hugely delayed by a puncture. (It is worth noting that this was the only puncture that was suffered by anyone in the entire ride).

We still had 8 km to complete before we could really relax at our hotel. The first few km were ominously downhill, before we finally crossed the river and began the brutal climb. The road immediately tilted up (and up and up). Riders clicked down to their lowest gears, and then went searching for even lower ones. The power switches were clicking to find the highest power settings. Even with TURBO, SPEED BOOST, WARP FACTOR 10 or whatever, the motor was painfully inadequate to compensate for the awful gradient. My lungs started burning, my chest started heaving, I even felt like my entrails were about to tie themselves in knots. There is no way of gilding the lilly, it was just hard work. And it went on and on.

The climb turned out to be just as hard as the wall we had faced on the exit from Bouillon. Just when I thought that my eyes were about to go dim, the road finally relented and started to level out. The final few hundred metres to the hotel enabled me to regain a little composure. I was just glad that it was over.

Later that afternoon I discovered that, for two of our riders, the climb had really proven too much. No, they hadn't actually died in the attempt, but they had found a place to secure their bikes and then catch a taxi to the top. Necessity is the mother of invention.Read more