The Ardennes

During the long winter months of darkness, positive thoughts struggle with the despair of the eternal gloom and Bruce Forsyth. With effort, the mind's eye can be turned to all manner of great things to do when the days start to get longer than the nights again. And yes! What about the joys of cyclo-camping!? The whirring wheels, the gritted teeth, the midday sun, the hill ahead, the wine, the cwoiffee and cwoissant, the lumpy and bumpy campsite: its honking toilet block!

And so: maps are procured and fingered, websites browsed, opinions sought and ignored. Where to go? This is twenty-twelve: Olympics: the games for the people – at least for those can afford it, and, the vastly more important, Euro 2012, and, I am hitting the big 50. 

The summer is always booked for a big one but what about a quick one in the Spring to get the metabolism up and running? I have had my eye on the Meuse for a couple of years. It meanders through steep wooded valleys for a fair part of the Ardennes, and, a cycle path clings to its banks for a good 80km. There are also the delights of the Semois, a tributary of the Meuse, with its picturesque villages and towns such as Bouillon, named after the soup.

The Ardennes is a big forested area of hills that straddles the boundaries of France, Belgium and that mysterious country, Luxembourg. These are the Continent’s closest hilly bits to the UK and not only that, the Ardennes is very famous. Walkers or cyclists, if they are very, very lucky, can see, on the more out of the way routes and simple forest tracks, the famous Ardennes Pate running free in the wild.

Luxembourg is number 2

And so, what of Luxembourg? Luxembourg, for many years, was a pirate radio music station off the north coast of Kent. It frequently held a comedy show called The Eurovision Song Contest. In footballing terms, it has consistently punched above its weight, beating Afghanistan 6-0 in 1948, but remained at the bottom of the FIFA rankings for twenty years. 

The weather this time last year turned out to be our summer. March may well have been our summer this year but we have already booked our 8am tickets on the trusty DFDS ferry Dover to Dunkerque route. Compadre Neil will transport us in his voitureomobile to Givet - a large settlement upon the Meuse – hoping to arrive there for 1.30/2 to give us five hours to negotiate the 55 miles to Luxembourg. The next day should take us along the Sure then west across to Flourenville – 65 or so miles. Saturday will be spent going along the Semois to its junction with the Meuse at Montherme - again about 65 miles; The final morning will be along the cyclo path back to Givet.  

New Kit

Each trip provides an opportunity to show off a new piece of gear. In Neil’s case this has extended to purchasing the full monty of a new Jamis audax bike and the requisite touring miscellany including Karrimor tent, Ortlieb panniers and a plastic knife fork and spoon set.

I have opted for front pannier bags ‘to distribute the weight more evenly for a safer ride’ and a pair of waterproof booties. The front sacs – Carradice Carradura at £43 for the pair - will in fact carry my tent as I can just stuff the two pieces in instead of trying to iron and re-vacuum pack my tent to get it back into its own bag – a process which takes up precious time in the mornings. These shiny new sacs will be hanging off a Tubus Tara low rider (in silver effect finish). Deuan has yet to reveal his latest accoutrement.

However, 2012 marks the passing of his beloved touring machine of many years. His late bike, supplied by AW Cycles, was so humble it didn’t even have a model name. It was involved in a crash in which my trusted friend flew over the handlebars, such was the force of the bike's sudden intimacy with a granite kerb. The frame was cracked and bent and beyond, this time, repair.

D's late bike reincarnated.

Deuan will be riding in its stead a Claude Butler Dalesman and with a name like that one would imagine the bike to be constructed of tweed and corduroy and wearing Hunter wellies.

Maps have once again been procured from IGN. IGN 105 covers the French and Belgian bit but Luxembourg, being rather little, does not appear on any maps at all other than the ‘My Big Map Of The World’ and even then half of it is obscured by a picture of a generous helping of Ardennes Pate that depicts Belgium’s contribution to finger buffets.

London, 09:12am hundred O'clock hours, 21/5/12: The Ardennes trip approaches the weather radar. The same old tension: will it or won’t it...rain, sleet, be ablaze with sun; freeze my externals; blow a gale - just like a penalty shoot out. While the weather story unfolds over the next ten days so will the future of Europe as we know it. Will we still be allowed on the continent? Will money still exist? Will society implode as the run on the banks in Greece turns into a continental marathon? Or more importantly will the Euro continue to decrease in value against Sterling?

What had started off as a rather sedate sojourn through three countries in four days with plenty of time for bark rubbing, cheese tasting and hanging about in campsite pools was suddenly upgraded, unlike European banks, to four in four. When the weather caved in on the first scheduled trip, D and I had lobbied briefly for a distant time in the summer for the next attempt but Neil insisted on May 31st. Something was afoot. Indeed, he’d been handed a mission – one, that if he wished to take it on, had to be completed by the end of May. He’d been asked by a magazine to do a piece on something interesting he’d done on his holidays in May.

‘But,’ I pleaded, ‘we are going to Belgium and Luxembourg!’

‘Let’s make it to Germany then,’ he replied, ‘and call it 4 in 4!’

What could we say!? Saddle up!  

Thursday 31st May, blimey O'Clock

I got up when my electronic alarm activated at the inhuman hour of 3.30am hundred hours 'blimey' O'clock. By 4.43 I was struggling up Cedar Grove in the Clapham to meet Neil. We convened at the given spot and traversed the Common and made it to Balham, gateway to Tooting, by 5.15, approximately 13'24" late. This lateness, in the end, did not prove critical yet I thought I would bring it up right now as lateness and cycling do not mix! That is unless, of course,you are invited to a cycle party in which case it is perfectly acceptable to be fashionably late.
We arrived at Dover in the nick of time to get our 8am crossing to Dunkerque. This was provided by our old favourites, DFDS Seaways - not be confused with DFS Furniture stores - and a miraculous £40 return for both car and its three passengers for the 2 hour trip. After a hearty breakfast, the boat parked up and we were on the road to Givet, a small town that sits astride the wide Meuse and the gateway to the Ardennes. The route, on motorways E16 and E42, was toll free and required elementary navigation and took just three hours with a comfort stop. We secured some free, off-road parking behind the tourism office - these are everywhere in France, just as we have banks.

At 15.30, we headed east from Givet into Belgium towards Beauraing, Wellin and Tellin with the roads becoming increasingly quiet. We had a quick quiz amongst ourselves: name a famous Belgian: Herge the creator of Tin Tin, and, Eddie Merckx. It was a very quick quiz as I say. Out of St Hubert is a very big hill, and, half way up, is a teashop that sat very pretty in the afternoon sun. The forecast was already off the mark as there was no danger of rain or rain of any danger. As we approached the legendary Luxembourg, we entertained ourselves with an even quicker quiz as, of course, there are no famous Luxembourgers. The scenery by now had developed into undulating voluptuous fields of lush green grass bounded by proud pine-covered hills.

The road surfaces in Belgium were in need of a Keynesian macro economic rescue of a struggling construction sector, resembling skin from which scabs had been picked off too early. But, as we crossed the border, the skin was L'Oreal smooth. A few more twists and turns we made it to Um Bierg in the farming village of Tarchamps at 21.15. We were over an hour late and had to rush to get the tents up, shower and get a few beverages in at the bar so as to celebrate Neil's birthday. There was a game of wii ten-pin bowling going on in the bar with some annoying inane music but there was also the strange tongue being spoken. Luxembourg being of such insignificance to us had not merited any thought about what language they spoke. We managed to get away with French and some German yet they still had their own thing going on.

We supplemented the beers with cracker nuts and they turned out to be our evening meal. D thought it would be appropriate to appropriate some red wine and so the night continued until the early hours. Always a bad idea: the unholy trinity of cycling, camping and cheap wine.

At some point in your life you realise that, for a good while, you have been going for a pee in the middle of the night. The point in time in question, when you really notice this, may well be on a camping trip. Getting out of a tent in the middle of the night to go for a pee is possibly the least redeeming feature of camping. It is a procedure not to be undertaken lightly. Untangling oneself from a sleeping bag, finding a torch that you mislaid because you were drunk, finding some underwear just in case there are people mooching about outside then, worst of all, finding and putting on your footwear before the shriek of the unzipping of the tent door alerts any nearby campers that you are off for a pee. Once out there, where do you do it? It is not decorum to deposit your load where someone may sit in ignorant bliss the next morning to eat their tasty al fresco breakfast.

try to pee some distance from nearby tents

Best, instead, do it in a hedge which, however, does tend to be noisier. Better still, but least likeliest, actually do it in the toilet block itself! And, if you are lucky you'll only have to do it once during the night.

brekkers

There had been some rain in the night and a grey day greeted us. This was the expected weather. After a hearty al fresco breakfast of porridge on the damp grass, we slipped off at 10.14 towards Wiltz. As we made good time over the immaculate roads, we considered what keeps Luxembourg going. Cars from Belgium fill up there as the fuel is 30 cents a litre cheaper - so perhaps it is a large duty free shop. There seemed to be lots of farms and the like but not a lot of anything else. The fact it is a tax haven could mean everyone lives off the service industry as I cannot recall ever buying anything made in Luxembourg. Perhaps they make some nice cheese or saucisson. Furthermore, being somewhat inconveniently wedged between Germany and Belgium, what happened to Luxembourg during the wars?  Well, not surprisingly, it was invaded and occupied by Germany on both occasions yet, due to its long term insignificance, on neither occasion was the event regarded as a turning point in world history.
Wlitz revealed one secret. Despite being a founder member of the EU and champion of all that is forward thinking - in fact, 'Luxembourg', along with 'Brussels', was synonymous with EEC bureaucratic nonsense for many years  - it is perhaps the last remaining country in which you can smoke in bars (2012). This shock to the nostrils was administered at 11am in a great little hostelry that lets you BYO croissants to enjoy with their top cwoiffee.

scenic Luxembourg

It was still grey as we headed on to Wilwerwiltz and beyond on some right old bendy hilly stuff. Neil muttered expletives under his breath that were directed at the hills personally and I reminded him that the hills were unable to talk back. It was up and down until we got a right soaking just west of Pintsch, which gave me an opportunity to put on me new booties and my faithful billowing cape. The upward motion continued to Hosingen, after which we were hurtling down towards the Sour river and the German border at 35mph.

borderline

We crossed a wee bridge and stopped by the blue Eurozone sign for the bundesrepublic and enjoyed the German vibe for seven minutes before returning over the bridge. It was a few km down the river to Vianden - an attractive town on the river bank overlooked by a large fort.

borderline church

We stuffed ourselves on pasta and pork escalope, and apple pie and cream then continued along the river until we picked up a metalled cycle way that had once been a railway.

cycle way south of Vianden

This would eventually take us all the way to Boevange sur Attert and avoid Ettelbruck but required regular navigation stops to check which way the path as going as it was not signposted too well. It was a car-free route in the main though bungling weekend cyclists held us and the mission up by cycling in an enjoyable, leisurely, carefree fashion. The day was drifting on into the late afternoon graveyard shift, when lunch has worn off and the arse is sore and the mouth dry and the scenery becomes blurred and incidental. We were on a fairly straight undulating route to Attert that was punctuated on a regular basis by villages with names ending with '-ange': Boevange, Useldange, Everlange, Reichlange and Redange. Time really dragged on and expressions grew weary as the Luxembourgish rhyming village names novelty wore off. Upon arriving over the border in Attert at 7.45, I had deja vue about arriving in a village where the campsite had been reclaimed by cows and scrub two years before. But the sign post was there and the site was open - pretty and endowed with good facilities. It had been a long day in the saddle and so we had little time to enjoy the evening  by the time we'd put up the tents, showered and eaten. If there is no down-time or snooze-time, the lack of sleep starts to accumulate and the trip becomes and chore and the temper shortens.
We had a mission within a mission as the next evening we had to be Bohan at no later than 5.15 for the England - Belgium soccerball friendly that kicked off at 6.15 at Wembley. That would be mean an 8am tee off following a 6.30 rise and shine.

Neil - flower pressing for The Mission

Another grey day said 'ciao' in that annoying continental way and being 6.30am it was particularly grey. We improved on our getaway time of the previous day and left at 10.13am in search of cwoissant and cwoiffee. These were both procured in Habay, though the coffee was particularly grey and tasteless. 
We crossed the feature of the day, the Semois river, at Jamoigne and the going was easy to Florenville, where we stocked up handsomely for a lunchtime picnic at Muno. The carbs stowed during said picnic came in very handy very quickly as we were faced, shortly after the restart, with, as UB40 once remarked, a one-in-ten (or, as I thought back in the late 70s, 'I am a wellington'). This 10%-ter took us straight up 180m in a couple of km through a thick forest, where we were able to catch a glimpse of a famous Ardenne Pate running wild through the trees with gay, unfettered abandon. Despite Neil's name calling of hills a couple of days before, he was very polite to this one.  He was actually enjoying the climb - laughing and trying to take snaps of Deuan and I as we gulped the pine scented air - testament to the adage that the legs get used to the hills.
And so, not before too long, we sped down to Bouillon - named after the soup - a cute little town on the Semois with rooftops that looked just like croutons floating on chicken broth. The river, by now, had grown somewhat since the wee bridge in Jamoigne. Next up was a classic alpinesque twister up to the plateau, 200m higher, where we we came across another place name ending in '-ange' - the peculiarly named Pussemange.
It was, literally, downhill all the way from there to Bohan sur Semois. 
If something is 'uphill all the way' it is generally regarded as a saying that refers to a struggle and, so, you'd expect it would be easier - and involving no struggling whatsoever - if it were 'downhill all the way from there'. But 'it's all downhill from 'ere matey' refers to the gradual wasting away in general of one's body (and soul) and the subsequent struggle with life as one ages and so, when one says 'it's all downhill from here', there needs to be a qualification because, in fact, 'it is all downhill from here' could actually refer to going uphill, it too, being a struggle. It is preferable, therefore, to use the colloquialism, 'it's plain sailing from now on' - despite being on a cycle.

We were followed down the hill into Bohan by a car pulling a trailer full of logs, the driver of which wound down his window invited us to his camps(h)ite. The gobsmacking location by the Semois belied the below average amenities including a solitary shower at 1.25 a pop. We did the needful before watching the first half in the campsite bar. We split that joint to catch the second instalment and a bar playing northern soul and serving tasty burgers and groovy Belgian beer.
Another early night was avoided by the quest for a bottle of red which kept us up 'til midnight following promises of being on the road at 8am.

The sunlit evening gave way to heavy rain throughout the night and early morning. There is nothing quite like packing away a tent and your stuff in rain. My front panniers were built for these occasions: just shake off any surplus water from the tent and stuff it in. I had managed to do the inner tent and my gear under the cover of the flysheet - another advantage of the three man Vango 300 banshee tent and worth the extra kilo. The other guys didn't have enough room to swing a wet cat - lots of rustling and swearing. A height that allows you to sit up and roll up sleeping bags and mats and faff about is worth the extra weight.
We skipped breakfast and slunk off in drizzle towards France and Montherme. Clouds hung low over the Semois, dispensing the light rain onto my fantastic billowing cape and funky booties.

The going was pretty much flat and at Montherme we found the purpose built cycle path that followed the Semois and Meuse to Givet. Despite the early start I was convinced we had to bomb along and since the supposedly breathtaking scenery was shrouded in dreariness we raised the spinnakers and sped ahead under full sail - and it was really downhill plain sailing all the way. The path follows the river in all its meanderings and so it it probably twice as far as the busy road that cuts through the valley.

Billowing Cape

Had the weather been better there would have been a lot of stopping and starting for photos and general absorption of the glories of nature, all of which would have slowed us up. As it happened we flew down the last couple of miles into Givet and made it there at 1.20. Dismantling everything took us to nearly 2pm and so we had to leather it to get back to the ferryport at 5.05pm - ten minutes to spare, although I am sure they don't make a fuss if you're five minutes late.