Northbound,...again.

So here we are, august 3rd 2019 all packed up and ready to go. The first stretch should not be too difficult. Gent to Zeebrugge, 61km. Goodbye’s are never easy when we’re gone for a longer period of time, and they remain seldom dry. But after a couple of individual hugs, a family hug and drying the tears we’re on our merry way. There are few routes in and out of Gent we have not taken, still is is always a bit strange to ride through your hometown fully packed. All of a sudden you seem to be a tourist in your own city. We go through the city centre, along the Brugsevaart to Vinderhoute. Twenty six years ago, when I was cycling with my friend Niko to Schotland, we decided to stop here and pay his friend Klaas a visit. I had not met the Bullynck family yet, nor had I experienced their hospitality. “Saying hello”, typically means being invited in for lunch or dinner and drinks. So when Niko and left about four hours later we were far from sober. Long story short, on the way to Zeebrugge I lost control of the bike and hit the concrete hard. When we got onto the ferry, the friendly staff gave us a cabin instead of the seats we had book and all’s well that ends well. All this to say that passing through Vinderhoute without stopping, was kind of challenging. However we decided to be strong now and not allow ourselves to be invited in. We said hello to Ginette, exchanged some quick memories and continued our route to Zeebrugge.  First hurdle successfully taken ;-). 

We continue our journey along de Lieve and het Schipdonkkanaal, het Leopoldkanaal then skimming along the Dutch border in the direction of Zeebrugge. The road is flat, there is slight headwind, but nothing serious, still after about three hours my legs feel weak. The result of virtually no training I guess. We take a break the De Groene Wandeling, a local bistro, giving a last sample of Belgium. The public consist of grandparents with grandchildren eating their ice cream, cyclists and motorcyclists stopping for a Trappist, tourists from Brussels enjoying a exuberant lunch and discussing the language issues they are experiencing visiting Flanders. You can actually already see the beginning the port of Zeebrugge from here. After a croque monsieur and a lemonade we get back on the back to wrap up the last part of the day. With our trip to Norway last year, we’ve gotten some experience getting on ferry’s with the bicycle. It looks more challenging then it is. As we advance to the queue there’s an English family of five in front. The father and the boys on a triplet, mother and daughter on a Helios tandem, not exactly like ours, but still close enough. They’ve been biketravelling with the kids since they were little. The kids seem to think there is no other way to travel. Great to see. With last year’s luxurious experience of the ferry from Hirshals to Bergen in mind, the Zeebrugge-Hull ferry is like an episode from Back To The Future. I’ve taken this ferry for the first time when I was sixteen on a school trip to Yorkshire, then a couple of years later with Niko on the bike trip to Schotland. While probably a lot has changed, it seems like nothing has. Everything looks increadbly nineties. The deck staff is virtuall all Eastern European and in The Lounge, one of the two bars on the boat, there a guy behind the piano playing Michael Bubblé songs while making jokes with the barmen. I get a bit of a zoo feeling, where I am not sure who are the visitors and who are the animals, however just observing the crowd is an entertaining experience for a while. Also the all-you-can-eat dinner that we ordered when booking the tickets is in the same line. It is more civilised than the self service restaurants in some of the entry level Disney hotels, but the basic principle is the same. Take as much as you can, then see what you eat. The food is what you would expect on a ferry to the UK: dry meat and watery peas. Ok I exaggerate, there was a dry wannabe Chinese dish, and watery broccoli and some other wet and dry combinations, but nothing compared to the fresh salmon and other delicious dishes on the Bergen ferry. I guess the price was also different (about double). After a passage on the deck, we hit the sack for what turns out to be a great night’s sleep. 

We wake up at around 6.45 and are getting ready for breakfast. 45 minutes later a voice through the intercom announces: “Ladies and gentlemen, it is now 6.30, breakfast is being served”. Right, the UK, we have to turn the clock back one hour. It gives us plenty of time to quietly have breakfast and look how the ferry is docking in the Hull harbour. We’re the last ones to get of the boat as two other Belgians had placed and locked their bikes against ours. Off the boat we get in line for border control, we try skipping the line, but no favours for cyclists here. They’d rather have you dry from asfictiation from the car and motorbike fumes. “Get in line as everyone else!”  The warm welcome is appreciated. As we finally pass the border control, I am humming “Land of hope and glory” in my head. When about one kilometre later we get out of the harbour to the first neighbourhood there is little glory to be spotted. Passing an obese mother, with what I think is an 8 year old obese kid in a stroller, all the hope disappears as well. But no worries, Boris, is going to make Britain Great again.  Past that first sample of urban Britain, we actually get immediately on one of the national cycle routes. Not the NCR 1 as originally planned, but the 65 to Hornsea. I wanted to get as quickly as possible to the seaside and while I did not check the elevation profile of the NCR 1, the route we take has the advantage, as is quite of the the case with these cycle routes in various countries, of being an decommissioned railroad track. That mostly means any elevation difference is very smooth. From Hornsea it goes further, this time along the regular road to Bridlington. Along the road there is one caravan parc after the other, each marketed slightly differently from deluxe, to cosy, to well,...marginal, Onslow-like. We take a lunchbreak in Bridlington. A nice little town where we find a quite bench under the cathedral. From Bridlington it goes further over the Natioal Cycle Network to Bucktom, over Hunmanby to Cayton, ending our first day in the UK in Scarborough, a Victorian seaside resort with (yes the former queen has her statue here as well) with Hercule Poirot style hotels and even a tramway that will take you from “up town”, the full 20 meters down to the beach. We make it to the campsite just outside of town. From the point of view of the  Camping and Caravanning Club this camping belongs to, cyclists are considered backpacker, probably because they get so few of either one, they decided to put them all in the same categories. What you see here mostly are camper vans, motor homes and caravans. The tents that you do see resemble more small houses than an actual tent, with TV, inflatable couch and what have you. The manager is a bit shocked herself from the backpacker price: £21. But we knew that camping in the UK is not cheap, and that the Camping and Caravanning Club sites are mostly outstanding. Moreover £21 was still nearly €30 a couple of years ago, now that about €22, thanks to British politics. 

We felt really good after the first 100k. It gave us confidence for the days to come. Also the weather seems to be on our side, no rain the first day just until we got to bed. Then all hell broke loose apparently, but we did not really notice as we slept like a log. In the morning the sun is shining and our tent dries quickly just when we’re all packed, it starts raining and while we have breakfast in a little hut on the campsite the rain has passed as we’re ready to leave. On the program today, the Yorkshire Moors, aparently soon the scene for the world championship cycling. The initial part is quite easy, a gradual climb along an old railroad track again. It starts raining slightly again, but we’re covered by the trees. All of a sudden, the climb and the threes are over and we arrive in Ravenscar at Robin Hood’s Bay. The sun is shining again and even in this tiny little place there is commerce. A cute little tea room. We stop for morning tea, trying to intergrate and everything. The track continues in the direction of Whitby with beautiful views on the bay. The road downhill is unfortunately in less good condition then the one uphill, it is super bumpy, not allowing us the get a speed advantage. Not too bad con side ring the ever beautiful views. We see Whitby Abbey on the right, but turn right upstream of the River Esk.  Nice and flat at first until we ride out of Briggswath. There is starts going up. We pass a French cycling family and encourage them as we ride past. But then we need all of the oxygen and power we need to keep going. And just as we thought it couldn’t get steeper the road adds a couple percent. We give up, get off the bike and start pushing. The hard road ends and it seems to be less steep so we start peddling again until the next corner. Same level of steepness, on a gravel road. We don’t even try, get off and start pushing again. Even that is hard. At the end of hill also ends the gravel road. We cruise along the flank of the hill until we get to Egton. We decide to stop for lunch at the local pub. The great thing about rural UK is that people are very accessible. They’ll always ask you where you’re from, where you’re going, if there is anything they can do for you. Sometimes that is inconvenient, like this time when the two gents sipping away from their pints stop us before we get in. We’re hungry, need to go to the bathroom, but still tell them the story. “If you think it’s hilly here, wait until you get to Schotland”. Very encouraging. We manage to go past them and order well deserved food. The owner spots us immediately as Belgians. “Belgium is the best country for rugby”, he says. I thought that was New Zealand, Australia or even France, but certainly not Belgium. He turns out to be a rugby referee and is invited to Dendermonde, aparently the best Rugby team in Belgium, holding a yearly tournament. “As a referee I am paid from the time I leave home until I get back, I am super well lodged and get free beer for the entire time I am there. Best tournament E-V-E-R!”. So, there you go, Belgium is famous in rugby,...thanks to its beer. We continue our journey north-west. Contrary to the longer climbs, and corresponding descents, we had in Norway, here the road goes up and down. Which actually seems more tiring, certainly as the are gettting steeper, to 25%, and have a curve at the bottom. So you push your way up for 15 minutes, speed down in one minute, hit the breaks to take the curve and then try to get up again in the lowest gear. Those of you who will be watching the world championships cycling in Yorkshire soon, will wonder what I am talking about, however these are trained athletes on ultra lite carbon race bikes, not just husband and wife on a tandem full of luggage. We do get, again, some really nice views. We end up at a farm camping with less mileage than expected but a beautiful sunset.