Setting Off

Unplanned Serendipity

When I plan a trip, I draw a line on a map, and fit it to local bike paths. I don’t really look at the surrounding area, so I was genuinely surprised when I passed “Zutendaal”, one of the Belgian Army’s firing ranges.

Why would I be excited about a firing range? That seems out of character for me, but I spent the last few months working at an arms company, and my colleagues were often there debugging the software we produced, and I had hoped to have a chance to go myself!

Mourning on the path

The most memorable part of cycling journeys is often the people I meet along the way. This time, it would be a local who came to deposit flowers on a memorial for a local DJ.

I passed a tree decorated with chimes and vinyl records, tinkling in the wind. After I’d stopped to take a picture, I asked a local who had just laid down a bouquet about the memorial: with tears in her eyes, she told me about her best friend Wouter, a local DJ, who died in an accident at the base of the tree a few weeks ago.

Valerie 15

Leaving Maastricht, I headed towards the most moutainous part of the Netherlands (relatively speaking). The road snaked between hills. I started noticing quarry openings along the cliff faces, but the sight of a broken concrete structure protruding from the wall, urged me to stop.

The region has been traversed by conflict and bears the marks, like the walls surrounding Maastricht, built in the 1700s and still standing. A sign along the road told the story of these holes. In the second world war, as the allied bombing campaigns took their toll on German industry, they had relocated production to more defensible locations. The Bonsdal quarry, code named “Valerie 15”, was repurposed as a repair facility for the BMW 801 engine used on German fighters on bombers, Rapid allied advances in 1944 prevented it from being used.

Memories of the war

The further I progress, the hillier the terrain. The valleys between hills gave ample protection from the wind, but cresting a hill exposed me to the elements. I would be faced with another punishing headwind until I could find a valley to escape to.

Throughout this, I stumbled upon memories of the war: pictures from 1944, showing children playing on abandoned German guns, or small memorials for American soldiers who had died in the fighting to free the area.

The rack fights back

Traveling on a bicycle exposes you to mechanical issues. From fixing flats, to adjusting derailleurs, there is always something to fix. I’d never had a problem with my bike rack though. My luck was about to change. As I was crossing a road, I heard a clang, immediately followed by a rubbing noise. I turned and saw my bags dragging along the road. The screws holding my rack vertical had disappeared, and it had turned 90 degrees …

I stopped and surveyed the damage. The bags were fine, nothing was damaged beyond repair, but I needed to re-attach the rack. Thankfully, I had replacement screws in by toolset and I was able to re-attach the rack. I got into the saddle again, but my chain was stuck. I shifter gears a few times, but it wouldn’t move. On closer inspection, a more worrying problem appeared. The screw holding the bottom of the rack to the bicycle (the one that actually carries the weight of the rack) had unscrewed itself. I screwed it back in, but I could not tighten it, the hole was stripped. This was a concern.

I tried using the mounting hole immediately above it, but this required me to adjust the arms that connect the top of the rack to the bicycle, and I needed an 8mm socket. I didn’t have one …

Thankfully, I was still in the Netherlands, and the closest bike shop was a mere 10 minutes away, so I made a temporary repair, cautiously rode to the bike shop, fixed the rack, and replenished my spares. Hopefully, this would be the end of my mechanical issues.

Borders don't exist

I knew that I was close to the German border, and I really wanted to see the border. I’d crossed the border between Belgium and the Netherlands without noticing, so I was attentive to the slightest change in scenery. I passed a sign post for the bike routes: still the Dutch signage. Then I grew suspicious, I passed a restaurant with a sign for “Bitburger” beer, a German beer. Damn, had I crossed the border without noticing again?

I discovered the answer soon after: I passed a memorial to the war dead. No glorification of resistance, just a somber reminder of the cost of conflict. I was in Germany.

Destination Reached

It was the golden hour, animals and birds were returning to the fields, and I kept stopping to take pictures: a few birds here, some deer there, I was stopping too much. My destination was a train station from where I would catch a train to Cologne. I arrived there as night fell.