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May 10 Wednesday morning 4º C -- mid afternoon 12º C overcast, rain, some sun Bicycle touring Belgium There was a clearing of blue that I could make out above a space in the tree branches we were bicycle camping under. It was darn chilly in the forest grove, but I figured that once we were out cycling on the open road it would be warm. Wrong. Our hands froze. I should have put on my full-fingered gloves ... but that would have entailed me digging them out of the bottom of my pannier. Easier to freeze instead. We bought a flute bread. It is about 50 percent more expensive than in France. I tried to find some fresh milk, but the only two stores in town only had UHT milk, which is okay for hot chocolate when I can kill the taste with cocoa, but it isn't so great straight-up on cereal. The woman at the grocery store couldn't figure out that I wanted non-UHT milk. "Fresh," I said. "Oui," she says. "Cold," I try. "Oui," she says. No. No. No. I know this milk isn't bad and I know I can make it cold. Who knows? Maybe she thought I was commenting on the weather. It certainly is fresh and cold out there on a touring bike. The woman looked at me strangely as I exited, but at least she didn't wish me a "nice day" in German, like the old lady I had the displeasure to interact with yesterday at the camping supply store. As we cycled away, it didn't take long for clear patch of sky to go away. A thin layer of light grey clouds took over. We pulled our touring bikes to a stop in Vielsalm. I wanted to try a larger grocery store to see if I could buy some real milk. Ah. There it is in the cooler. Hey, there only one type. Oh well, that makes things simpler. We cycle N633 out of town along a scenic river. We cycle past busloads of kids out floating the river. A huge chateau sits behind trees. A meadow overlooks the trees. There is a bench beside the roadside, next to a walking trail through the meadow between two fence lines leading to the trees. As we cycle along, we can see the river below. Occasionally we catch glimpses of rafts and canoes floating down the river with their noisy occupants. Across the valley is a tiny clustered farm village. A sharp church steeple is the focal point. Above the village is grazing land dotted with sheep and a few cows. Deciduous trees are pleasingly spaced amongst the animals. Occasionally the sun shines and we are warm when it does. But usually a cold wind blows, and a mass of clouds -- continually becoming darker and closer -- obscures the sun. We stop and lean our bikes against the back of a bench. Sharon takes out bowls, spoons, Muesli cereal and delicious fresh, cold, milk. I pour a generous amount on top of my huge portion cereal of grains, raisins, and nuts. Before eating my bowl of cereal, I lift the bottle of milk to my lips to savor its sweet goodness. The white fluid exits my mouth faster than I poured it in, spraying the shrubbery around me with a foamy whit milk bath -- buttermilk to be exact. Yes, I had mistakenly bought buttermilk. Apparently "battu" translates to butter. Why does something with so sweet a name taste so much like sour milk? (Because, buttermilk, as I later learned, is the fluid left over after one makes butter. Okay for baking or pancakes, but not so great straight-up.) I more or less (possibly less) salvaged my cereal by pouring peach juice on top of everything, which helped considerably. Several cyclists ride past on racing bikes. Two old grandpas cycle past, both of them talking at the same time. We can still hear them as they cycle to the top of a hill. They are standing on their pedals to make it over the steep grade, but their chatting never misses a beat. Later in the afternoon, as we cycle along a wonderful stretch of Belgium forest, I notice my bicycle meter approaching the 10,000 mile mark -- we've cycled almost halfway around the world. I watch the digits click past: 9,996 ... 9,997 ... 9,998. At 9,999 I pull my fully loaded touring bike to a stop so Sharon can take a picture of the mileage (I wasn't sure if the meter would reset to 0000 in the next mile). I shove the meter in my wide open mouth (that meter is bigger than it appears) and stick out ten fingers. We cycle off. In one more mile I find out the meter ticks over to 10,000 miles! Yahoo! A fist punches the sky. We pull our touring bikes to a halt once more and Sharon takes another picture of me with my meter. This time with a Belgium flag in the background. We have a wonderful bike ride on Belgium's N633. We're now cycling along the opposite bank of the river. As we pedal blithely along, enjoying our cycle touring accomplishment, raindrops begin to spatter down on us. Sharon has had her raincoat on and off twice already. She just gets her cycling rain gear on for a few kilometres and the sun pokes out, making it too hot to ride with her raincoat. It is almost 4 PM, so we call it a day. We cycle a road behind a chain barrier with a sign that dumping garbage is not allowed. After cycling about half a kilometre we find a flat spot nestled amongst a stand of pines. We position our Kelty cycle touring tent so that one side of the fly can be fully staked out. The other side of the fly stretches around two sides of a tree. Earlier today, we had pulled our touring bikes to a halt along the road for some famous Belgian fritters from a roadside stand. They love French fries in Belgium. French fry stands are everywhere. Sharon whips up delicious buttermilk pancakes for supper. |
