A European Odyssey

I know that many people find it hard to understand why a group of sexagenarians and septuagenarians would ever contemplate undertaking a trip across Europe by bicycle. Most people our age are exhausted at the prospect of sleeping in an air-conditioned tourist bus as it sweeps along a smooth autobahn, why on earth would we want to pedal bicycles up and down hills, into headwinds, through heat waves and downpours ? While some might think that we could get enough excitement from a weekly round of bingo or by buying a new non stick frypan from the shopping channel, I am so pleased that we have surrounded ourselves with a wonderful group of like minded lunatics who actually are addicted to this type of travel.

I first got the idea of such an extended ride about two years ago and then proceeded to put together the detailed itinerary. By early 2015 the plans were ready and I put out an invitation to anyone else silly enough to join me on such a hair brained escapade. I had originally planned on a group of around 15 or so, but was quite overwhelmed when the first twenty places filled as soon as I shared the details. Over the next three days I had another 20 applications and I had no alternative other than to declare the adventure well and truly full. The problem then was to work out how to cater for a group that was twice as large as anticipated. Of course the answer was to simply pass the problem to Jaclyn and Dana at UTRACKS and let them battle with the logistics. It certainly did throw up some challenges, but somehow it looked like the whole thing could be actually do-able after all.

Over the ensuing eighteen months our participants trained (well some of them did) and prepared for the ride. Whenever we met together the main topic of conversation was what we were going to do on our Grand European Odyssey. Now the time for departure has finally arrived and the dream is about to be turned into a reality.

Such a venture is always a combination of dozens of individual links which have to work together to make a perfect finished product. Our first such link was "how to get the airport at Melbourne?". Although we had many options – train, taxi, bus, etc, we decided to opt for the simplest alternative of booking a shuttle bus to collect us from our doorstep and deliver us to Tullamarine. The friendly lady on the phone promised that the driver would be there “right at 2.30 pm”. He actually arrived right on time at around 3 pm and then proceeded to make up lost time by doing his best Fangio impersonation all the way to the airport. It was a real white knuckle affair of passing everything in sight, bouncing over curbs and abusing fellow motorists all the way. Although it was not the perfect way to de stress before a long flight, but we did set a new record time for Pakenham to Tullamarine.

Since we had arrived quite early it was too early to check in our luggage. Oh well, it was a good excuse for the first coffees of the day. We settled down for a coffee and a muffin while we waited for the others to arrive. Although most of our fellow riders were already in Europe, we did have the final six others who would be making the long journey with us. Although Maggie and I were flying with Etihad and the others with Qatar, our two flights were due to depart within a few minutes of each other.

When the check in desk finally opened, Maggie and I were happy to be at the front of a very short queue. We rolled our baggage up to the smiling young man at the desk and handed over our passports.
“Is the plane full?”, I asked.
“No not quite”, he replied.
“Any vacancies in business class?”, I nonchalantly added.
“Yes a few”.
Well here's my chance....
“Any chance of an upgrade?”, I asked, trying to look like the feebleminded elderly gent that I was.
“Yes certainly, but it will cost you $2200 each”.
“Actually we quite enjoy economy class” (lying comes easily to me).

After a few minutes more smiling and chatting to my new friend, we finally negotiated our way into a couple of "extra legroom" seats (for a fee) and then went to meet the others. Within a few minutes our group had grown to 6, but there was no sign of the last two. It looked like they had gone missing before the ride had even started. As it turned out, that was going to be a portent of sinister events to follow.

We returned to the coffee shop for another coffee. By this time we now had Gael and Gerry and Paul and Jan as well as Maggie and myself. It was while we were drinking our coffee that Gerry decided to break something (fortunately it was news, not wind), but unfortunately it was bad news, not good news.
“I nearly didn’t make it tonight”, he started.
I looked at him, waiting for the punch line. There wasn’t one.

He went on to explain that he had been caught in a flash downpour when driving his car that morning and the resulting flood of water across the road caused him to lose control and head straight for the nearest large tree. All 73 years of his life flashed before his eyes and he could not help but regret the fact that he had already paid for his upcoming holiday that was now going to be cruelly snatched out of his grasp at the final moment.

The car did hit the tree, the air bags went off, the car wrapped itself into a warm arboreal embrace, but fortunately Gerry’s near death experience was premature. There was no light at the end of the long tunnel, just a sore reminder of the seat belt’s impact across his chest. Apart from shock and sore muscles, he was OK, but it was certainly not the ideal way to start an extended trip.

I have to admit that Gerry’s account did unnerve me a little. It sounded like a close call and a reminder that things really can change so dramatically in the blink of an eye. I hoped that all the trip’s mishaps would be over before it began. As it turned out, I was wrong.

After passing through security and immigration very quickly, we met the two missing members of our team and settled down to wait for our respective flights. Maggie and I boarded on time, settled down into our pretend business class seats, stretched our legs out and braced ourselves for the next 13 hours or so.

Although I could never say that I enjoy these long haul flights, at least the extra legroom seats and the high headroom of the A380 did make the flight bearable. It was only when I switched on my phone at Abu Dhabi that I received a message from Douglas. It was more bad news. Apparently the Qatar flight that they were on was delayed no less than 4 hours at Tullamarine. This meant they arrived so late at Dohar that their connecting flight to Amsterdam had already left, leaving them stranded in the Middle East furnace. If they were expecting a sympathetic ear from the people at Qatar they were mistaken.

What transpired over the next day was more harrowing than an extended stay in a Philippines’ Prison. The details are too horrible to include in this account, suffice to say that the group was divided into two subsets that were sent on a circuitous combination of planes and trains around Europe in an attempt to get them to the starting point at Bruges by the designated time.

In the meantime Maggie and I had arrived at Amsterdam and had staggered to our hotel near Amsterdam Central Station. Our room was smaller than a compact refrigerator and had no air conditioning, but at least it was clean and convenient. After almost 40 hours in transit we could have happily slept on a railroad track. With the unseasonably hot weather we pulled off the heavyweight doonas and threw them to the floor, then climbed onto the top of the mattress and within seconds we were both fast asleep.

The next thing I knew it was 6 am the following morning. We got up and went for a short walk in the pre-dawn. The view of Amsterdam at this time was not the view that most tourists ever get to see. The streets were covered in garbage, upon which hordes of hungry seagulls were fighting over the best spoils. A few homeless tramps were still straggling around looking for a place to sleep. Although it was a somewhat depressing scene, it did give a fascinating insight into the daily routine of a typical city.

Within the next hour the garbage collectors went to work, the street sweepers drove along the footpaths and soon the whole scene transformed into the familiar sight that most tourists see every day. We ate our breakfasts, packed our bags and headed off on the short walk back to Central Station. Soon we were on the high speed Thalys Train speeding towards Antwerp at 300 kph.

The plan had been to meet the rest of the team on the deck of the MS Magnifique at 1 pm and I knew it was going to be a close run affair as to whether we would get there on time or not. I could not help but feel a little like Phineus Fogg on his way to meet the deadline after his trip around the world in eighty days. I imagined the clock on the boat ticking off the minutes while we were battling to beat the hour hand to the top of the face. All the while I was worrying about the fate of those who had unfortunately been “lost in transit”.

We changed trains at the impressive Antwerp Central Station and boarded a local train headed to Oostende. Compared to the Thalys it seemed very pedestrian indeed as it rattled and shaked its way from station to station. I looked at my watch, starting to get anxious.. It seemed like it was taking forever, but eventually we pulled into Bruges Station around 12.30pm. We had less than 30 minutes to navigate to the boat.
“Hurry up Maggie”, I yelled.
“I need a toilet”, she replied. I rolled my eyes. She went in search of a toilet. I waited (and waited and waited). She eventually reappeared with a sheepish look on her face. “I got lost on the station”, she explained as if it was perfectly normal. People just don’t appreciate that this is the sort of stuff I have to put up with all the time.

We bolted out into the hot afternoon sunshine, dragging our cases up and down footpaths, through parks, over bridges, through traffic and finally found the boat with about 2 minutes to spare. It had been a close call but my reputation for punctuality was intact. Now I could return my attention to the 6 lost sheep.

The rest of the afternoon was spent welcoming each team member and sharing stories of how tough the journey had been. “Our plane had been violently thrown from side to side and up and down – and then the real turbulence started”, someone shared. “Our flight was the worst in history”, someone else added. “We saw our pilot reattaching the right wing with gaffer tape”, I contributed. There is little doubt that the getting to the start line is by far the worst part of all such trips but, once we get started, the real fun begins.

Our lost six finally staggered up the gang plank – eyes blank, nerves completely shot, bodily functions all but ceased. They were not a pretty sight. I thought it best not to ask what they thought of Qatar Airlines.

Although it had been an eventful start to our adventure, at least everyone was finally here. I wondered what the next six weeks would bring.

After a beautiful dinner we had a late night guided walk around Bruges. I think it was amazing, but I can’t be sure because I was unconscious for most of the time. I stumbled back onto the boat around 11 pm and collapsed onto my bed. It went dark, I fell into a deep sleep. The adventure was finally beginning.Weiterlesen