We were no strangers to the prospect of a detour, so with London within touching distance, it was no surprise that we opted for the roundabout route. Amsterdam had long been on our list of places to visit, and the terrain was uncannily flat, making the decision an easy one. From France, we crossed into Belgium on the day that they were to play each other in the World Cup Semifinal. Having supported France up until that point, like the bandwagon junkies we are, our allegiance switched to our host country for the night, arriving in Brussels to stay with a friend we had met exactly a year before in Malaysia.
Street party scenes below Isaura's apartment. It looked as though things were about to kick off if Belgium had won
To our dismay, our decision proved fruitless, with the French overcoming a strong Belgian side, spoiling what was likely to be a large party on the streets below. We spent a few days in Brussels, taking the time to trial the innumerable Belgian beers before moving on towards Holland. We had thought the driving in Europe had been rather exemplary up until that point, with the courteousness of the Europeans being immensely pleasing. But we hadn’t met the Belgian and Dutch drivers yet. The cycle ways essentially transported us the length of both countries, with drivers giving us the right of way through every roundabout, allowing us to maintain our pace through intersections. Coming from New Zealand, where almost every ride you’re guaranteed some form of hostility from drivers, this was a delightful breath of fresh air.
Brussels Town Hall
View from Isaura's apartment where we were staying
Just a cheeky marching band, marching on by
Sean being artsy
A few too many Belgian fries for this unit. Felt so sorry for the guy. He couldn't move, or at least didn't try
Belgian fries. Better than French fries
Mixing it up for the monument shot in front of the Royal Palace of Brussels
On our way out of Belgium, we realised our time on the trip was limited, so thought it necessary to get as much drone footage as we could. So as we rode parallel to a canal, we popped wee Donald into the air, and lined up a shot of Fred cycling alongside a barge that was motoring its way through. It was a spur of the moment decision on my part to pull the drone backwards as opposed to forwards, in the hope of getting a slightly different perspective from the shot at hand. With my eyes fixated on the iPhone’s display, my heart dropped as I heard commotion in the air behind me, turning to see a rather large tree, with its leaves being rustled in a rather distressing manner. Within seconds our beloved Donald fell from the sky, and I rushed over like a concerned parent expecting the worst. It was like Vietnam all over again (when I almost had Donald skittled on the Ho Chi Minh Highway) - an amateur mistake, which almost cost us a drone on one of his last flights. But it was not to be. The rotors were indeed damaged, but no notable harm had been done to the body of the drone, allowing us to put him up immediately afterwards. Good thing he’d come with spare rotors when we bought him back in Bangkok. Lesson learned.
That day certainly didn’t lack drama, as we crossed into the Netherlands, and eventually sought a viable camping spot. After Google translating a sign on a fence we were about to jump, which read “trespassers will be shot”, we opted for the safer option, heading for the paid campsite just over the river. Forty Euros was a bit steep for our liking, so we scanned the area for a thicket of trees or bush which could house us for the night. A local lass warned us that a 180 Euro fine would be received if we were caught wild camping by local police, who commonly patrol the area due to the regularity of minor drug deals that take place there. With that in mind, we committed to asking a local farmer who let us camp on the land he was working on. It wasn’t his, but he seemed to think the landowner would be happy for us to camp there. After setting up our tents in plain sight of the road, Fred had started cooking when a beaten up BMW pulled up and tooted at us, proceeding to enter the paddock and come our way. Our assumptions of this being the landowner were soon vanquished, when we saw that the windscreen had been smashed and the two occupants of the vehicle were visible. Timmy and I approached, where we were offered weed, cocaine, a single shoe, jumper cables (for our bikes which aren’t electric), a local spirit and eventually a gift wrapped wooden truck complete with six delectable Heinekens. They insisted we take something from them, after having told them that we weren’t the guys who had called them. Reluctantly we accepted the beers, thinking they may demand something from us in return. After the driver had snorted a hefty bump of cocaine from his keys, they bid us adieu, before ripping a few doughnuts around the paddock, and speeding off to presumably find the customers who had called them. It was a relief to see them go, and even more of a relief that they did not return. The beers tasted oh so good.
Fred, myself and Timmy, safe and sound at the campsite after our run in with the local drug dealers. 'Twas a beer to remember
On the hunt for a viable campsite on that fateful night. It was not long after this photo was taken, that the lady told us that we would be fined 180 Euro for wild camping
Sean's bike, featuring the green shopping bag, used to store the fresh camping supplies for the evening, and all our tasty treats
Beautiful backroads in the Netherlands
Early morning views from our paddock camp. The beauty of the flat nature of the Netherlands means that you maximise sunlight hours
The abandoned farmhouse that was perched next to our paddock. The drug dealers rocked up through a gap in the fence just to the left of the tree on the far right
Loves himself a stale waffle to kickstart the day!
The next day we hit Amsterdam, seamlessly negotiating the extensive system of cycleways and finding our way to the Air BnB we had booked with our kiwi friends, Andy, Ainsley and Caitlin. Amsterdam was gorgeous, and we took the time to explore its waterways by hiring a small tin canal boat. It was at this point in my life where I realised being a tourist boat driver was not my calling, as I drifted our boat around a tight corner, colliding with a tour boat of about 50-80 people. With the helmsman abusing me and my innocent clientele, I proceeded to steer the boat to starboard, which would take us up the alternate path of the one-way system. I blamed my navigator, Freddie, who I then put in charge of the vessel, passing five more boats, with a lecture coming from each skipper, hanging our heads in shame. We weren’t the most popular boat on the canals that day.
The scene of the crime
Close quarter living
View from our Air BnB. Don't worry guys, the canals were a lot narrower where I crashed the boat
Our mate Andy. A man who went out of his way to make sure he crossed paths with us in Amsterdam. What a lad! (Sorry Ainsley and Caitlin, but we have no photos from Sean's camera of you both)
The next day we were met with a headwind on the way out of Amsterdam, and were joined by a local rider who accompanied us for most of the day. As we hunkered in behind Freddie, who was battling a diagonal wind, his wheel slipped off the path, forcing me to brake suddenly, creating a chain reaction behind. The all too familiar sound of the clatter of gear on pavement sounded, and sure enough, the Chenmeister General had hit the deck once again. He’s no stranger to the tarmac that boy.
Robert joined us for most of the day. Timmy looking smug after yet another crash
Timmy and I riding the dunes of the cape feat. many jet streams
Left over gin from Amsterdam which we decided to polish off before the day's end. The last few kms were fun
That night, we camped amongst the dunes just east of Zeeland, and the following day was spent riding alongside the North Sea. You could almost taste the end. We arrived in Ghent, where we were housed by a couple, Eef and Stef, who had messaged us when we were in Turkey, urging us to stay if we came through Belgium. Taking that offer up proved to be one of the best decisions, as they and their flatmates treated us to two special nights in Ghent, where we partook in the festivities of the Gentse Feesten.
Popular with the Dutch girls
Sean always the centre of attention. Bloody hard to get that man behind the lens, when he always wants to be in front of it
The tallest hill in the Netherlands was this cycleway, that sat about 10m above sea level
The clocktower in Ghent. The dragon on the top of it would breathe fire at midnight. Pretty sick
The beautiful waterways of Ghent. Not a bad spot to just sit and take in the view
Graffiti street in Ghent
Stef and Eef - the couple who had messaged us when we were in Turkey. Such an awesome couple
Old school Ghent architecture, featuring the bars and infrastructure for the Gentse Feesten in the foreground
Gentse Feesten is a free public festival. Cheap beers, good music, and great vibes
Eef had only just got back from the Gentse Feesten when it was time to hit the road. We couldn't keep up with her that night!
Eef was sad to see us go, and played 'Lean on Me' when we left. We had that on repeat in our heads, the whole way from Ghent to Dunkirk
As we left Ghent, the weight of finishing hung heavily on our shoulders, with grey skies massing overhead (quite literally). There wasn’t a whole lot of talking done that day on the bikes, as we slowly approached Dunkirk, which very much felt like the end of the line. We enjoyed our last European supermarket lunch experience, getting up to our usual antics, with Fred and Timmy breaking into a brawl as usual. We camped by the beach of Dunkirk, a site over which our grandfather had flown Spitfires before the mass exodus of Allied soldiers in 1940. As we swum in the North Sea that evening, our eyes were drawn to the sight that many helpless young men had looked out at during the war, dreaming of the safety and familiarity of home. Strangely enough, we were craving the opposite: the thrill of the unknown, the endless adventure and peripatetic lifestyle we’d become accustomed to over the last 14 months. We even entertained the idea of riding all the way home. Maybe next time.
Working on the upper body after 14 months of leg day
Staging a not-so-convincing crash for Sean. Unlike Timmy, I managed to stay upright for most of the trip
Yeah nice
A furry friend meeting another furry friend. A moist final night in Dunkirk, with some sparkling wine and a few rounds of Schnapps from our lovely Belgian neighbours to celebrate the end of our European leg. A truly surreal moment in our lives
