London to Brussels

[jonny jeez]

POST ONE: Coincidence
http://johnglondontobrussels.blogspot.co.uk/

About 5 months ago, in a warm pub, on a cold December night...fuelled by some potent bitter, and a lack of imagination, I found myself agreeing to cycle from London to Brussels.




It was a good plan, I was really missing the experience of long distance riding, that I enjoyed so much during my ride across Britain only a few weeks earlier. I was putting on a bit of weight and I needed a new challenge.

That said, there was no real "reason" for the ride, we weren't planning on raising any charity cash, weren't ticking off items from a bucket list or living out some long dreamt wish to visit Brussels. In reality the choice of destination was rather practical and dull.

Chris, the least cycle shaped chap you're ever likely to meet (but who still manages to clock up more cycle miles each and every day than most club cyclists)...had a meeting in Paris. As I was already planning on joining a Paris ride in September, I didn't fancy it twice in one year, so we spread a Eurostar map across the bar checked out the routes and plucked Brussels out of the air.

And with that, the date and destination were chosen for us...sorted... which was handy as it allowed us much more time that night to enjoy beer and curry.

Now, 5 months later, people remark on how well thought out and how well timed our plans were...to perfectly coincide with the end of the Paris Roubaix ride AND the centenary of the World War 1 all kicking off in the very same part of northern France and Belgium that we plan to ride.

How clever we were.

Our "team" started small and grew a bit from three to five and finally six (which helped round up the room numbers really). None of us are what you would call club riders, although we all ride regularly and are capable of riding a good distance. We're of mixed ability and fitness (only one of us is truly fit ...nope...not me!) and all us are of a similar age, except Chris the younger who is, well...younger;

And so, on Friday we set off to ride to Dover, then, following a long ferry ride, will ride a little further to settle in Dunkirk.

On Saturday and Sunday we shall travel along the tip of Northern France, into Belgium and across the top of Roubaix, over Flanders and into Brussels where the Eurostar waits to carry us back home to Blighty.

A 3 day, gentley paced, relatively flat adventure across 3 countries.

For the record, the super six are.

Me
Big Chris
Chris the younger
Gary
Jim
Martin

 

[jonny jeez]

http://johnglondontobrussels.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/am-i-missing-something.html

POST TWO: Am I missing something?

Tomorrow is the big day.

Unlike previous rides, we shall be carrying everything that we need with us along the entire ride. That means, in some cases panniers and in others bulging rucksacks full of non bike related clothing, chargers, adaptors, toiletries and the like

Yesterday we were advised that our second nights stop includes a trip to a fancy restaurant...that has a dress code, so now to add to the already hefty luggage list, we shall be including posh frocks!

it seems to me that i am taking about as much "stuff" with me for three days as I did for two weeks, which i suppose is true to some respect.

The moment you walk out the door there's a list of stuff you need whether you plan a one day trip or a 1 year.the difference in time just denotes how many copies of these things you take.

So, in the end, my kit list looks a little like this;

Essentials
Bike
·Passport
·Euros
·Phone
·Phone charger
·Ruck sack
·Garmin
·External Charger (for ride charges)
·Ferry booking confirmation
·Eurostar booking confirmation
·Eurostar Bike carriage confirmation
·Route Notes
·Map


Bike kit
·Mini pump (good for 100 PSI)
·5x spare tubes (three that are repaired once already)
·8x Inflation cylinders
·Co2 Inflator
·Puncture repair kit.
·Bin liner (for keeping clothes dry)
·Small cellophane dry bags (for keeping phone and charger dry)
·Small emergency lights (for rain and fog)
·Saddle Bag
·1x Water Bidon
·Tri Bag (crossbars)
·Chain tool
·Tyre levers
·Spoke key
·Ceramic dry lube
·Small shop rag
·Tyre Boot patch (for tears to tyre)
·Multi tool (allen keys only)
·5x pair latex gloves
·Go Pro camera
·Go Pro extendable stick mount
·2x spare spokes ( I think, although I am worried about them getting bent and becoming useless)
·Spare gear cable

Clothing
·2x bib shorts
·3x cycle tops
·1x SPD shoes
·3x cycle socks
·Arm warmers
·Water repellent jacket (with removable arms)
·Gloves (long)
·Neck warmer/buff
·Helmet
·1x cycle glasses
·1x pair light trousers (evening)
·1x ”T” Shirt (evening)
·3x Boxer shorts (evenings)
·Tooth brush
·Travel toothpaste
·Deodorant (stick)

Ironically, everything is sorted other than one, kind of important thing...my bike.
On Sunday, my chain snapped and as a result my bike is still currently on a stand in the bike shop awaiting a new chain and block (which I would happily have sorted myself if I didn't have a day job to do this week).
I guess having a bike to ride is kind of fundamental to the plan, perhaps I should call the shop.



Amazing that it all fits in one bag

 

[jonny jeez]

http://johnglondontobrussels.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/forecasting.html

DAY ONE: Heads or tails?


Main Route


Second part of day one route




The weather in the UK has been pretty favourable over the last few weeks with talk of a "heat wave" and the promise of plentiful sun.Then as our first days ride approached, things started to turn a bit damp.

Researching the weather forecasts has now begun to absorb so much of my time that each morning I find myself arguing with the telly whenever the weather lady does her bit. Whichever way we cut it, it would seem that today, we're going to get wet

As we set out it was still dry and our pace was surprisingly good. Everyone was on time too which revealed a touch more excitement than 6 grown up chaps were happy to admit to. We rode off of in a convoy of shiny gleaming bikes and ran smoothly to meet the last two members of the team.

My bike had been delivered successfully by the bike shop and was running wonderfully, not a creak or rattle to be heard and just a smooth buzz of the tyres.

The route we have chosen through Kent avoids much of the main roads and took us to Rochester in double quick time. We took the opportunity to take our first tea break in the old Rochester high street and enjoyed hot drinks and bike chatter.






The climb out of Rochester, up from sea level was long and hard, splitting the group a little and slowing us down a lot.
Kent is a bit lumpy and this fast-slow-fast pace eventually carried us to Sittingbourne, where the road opened up and with the flat run we started to munch up the miles.


Our lunch stop found us in a delightful pub garden, resting under willow trees and for some...under kids slides. As we waited for lunch, the rain began to catch us up and all talked turned to waterproof kit. By the time we left our lunch venue we were all a little on the chilly side of comfortable.

We needn't have worried...

About 100 yards up the road we met the most intimidating of hills. It wasn't its height, nor its gradient that were the most offputting but the fact that, as we were riding the old Roman Watling street road, this hill was dead straight as a dye and although the top was within our line of sight it was, in fact, out of sight shrouded in mist and looking more than a little like a scene from a horror film.

This hill literally climbed straight up into the clouds and just disappeared.

By the time we had reached the top, no one had even noticed, nor cared, that the rain had stopped as our thoughts were all drowned out by the noise from our screaming muscles.

We pushed on towards Canterbury and were faced with the realisation that the route I had picked for the day took us directly along a busy section of the A2...of motorway proportions. There was only so much checking that I could do beforehand with the use of streetview but I was still disappointed that I had let this bit of road slip in...I'm supposed to be local after all!

So with heavy rain joining us once more we rode "off mission" and followed the sat nav around Canterbury, and into the surrounding country lanes, avoiding much of the busy A2.

Our concerns turned to time. We had a ferry to catch and had just opted to extend our route, in heavy rain and only a 3 inch screen to guide us.

However, after some delightful detouring (which turned out to be a beautiful surprise addition) we rejoined the last 2 miles of the A2 and braved it out on the tiniest of hard shoulders for 2 miles...at least the rain had stopped.

At the town of Lydden, we pulled off the main road, checked for survivors and began the 6 mile drop into Dover. A few small, sharp hills later and we were cruising along the seafront, our horizon all full of Ferry.

We had 15 minutes to spare.

Boarding the ferry was simple, straightforward and secretly great fun. We chirped like giggling kids to the security staff, reminding everyone who would listen, and all those who wouldn't, that we had ridden from London and were headed to Brussels.

Some people foolishly feinted interest, which only helped to encouraged us to chatter more.

What is it with me and ferries?

Two, or so hours and two, or so pints later we spilled out of the ferry and set cleated foot on French soil.




The road running through the dunes to the docks (The Routes des Dunes) was smooth and clear. I had been studying the weather reports this week not just to confirm what clothing to wear but to constantly check on the wind direction. We had just over 10 miles to ride to the hotel and all of it was on exposed sea front roads. A headwind would have been draining whilst a tail wind could see us propelled at superhuman speeds.



As we rode the Route Des Dunes, most of the group were fixed on keeping to the right of the road, where as I was preoccupied with staring at the direction that the smoke from the many industrial towers chose to take.

We hit the sea front road and were greeted with a strong tailwind...I was delighted as we purred along at 25 MPH without a breath of wind in our faces and with making no effort at all.

After 6 or so miles we pulled off of the road and headed across the docks to the Hotel, when we hit our second challenge of the day.

The huge and impressive swing bridge that was to carry us back onto proper roads, had swung! and was refusing to drop back into place. A small line of cars had already formed at the barriers and we took our place in line to wait.

and wait

and wait

Eventually Chris strode up to the waiting cars to find that they had as little understanding as to what was happening as we did and so, in true British style we showed the local French folk our Dunkirk spirit....formed an orderly queue ...and waited some more.

Eventually a few chaps in hard hats and important looking hi-viz appeared and whatever button needed to be pressed was pressed .Then, to the the somewhat ironic sound of a world war two air raid siren, the bridge swung slowly into place.

Minutes later, we were checking in...and after only a few minutes more we were sat in a welcoming restaurant, enjoying great wine and even greater food. Our chef was the only English speaker within the restaurant and he came out, sweaty browed and flushed faced to patiently translate the menu and describe just how he cooked everything, after which we all agreed that we wanted everything as he had just made an otherwise incomprehensible menu come alive with expectation.

We made our choices and relaxed, waiting for Martin who had resorted to working a full day at the office before getting home and grabbing a fast train to Dover. This left him to navigate the Route des dunes and the sea front road...in total blackness, with no ambient nor direct streetlighting and only the feeble glow of his emergency road lights to guide him. He arrived with fully dilated pupils and the stare of a man blinded by darkness, to be greeted with cold beer and smooth wine

We were all here, in France, ready to ride on into Belgium.

 

[jonny jeez]

http://johnglondontobrussels.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/france.html

DAY TWO: On the level


Day Two route


Waking from the hotel, we ate a healthy breakfast and studied the weather forecast. It seemed that, like yesterday, at some point today we would find rain and so dressed accordingly before we pushed off from the hotel and headed into Dunkirk town.


Big chris atop the Hotel "deck"


Dunkirk town


We rode cautiously whilst we adjusting to the unfamiliar road system and took to the dedicated cycle Paths at every opportunity. After 5 miles or so, we left the traffic of the town roads and turned to ride along a straight canal.


Quick, grab the camera....a FEATURE!


The road was absolutely flat and totally featureless; and the surrounding countryside matched it mile for mile....mile after mile.

A cross wind pushed down on us all the way and we found, to our surprise, that riding in flat roads was a lot more of a challenge than we had expected. limbs, hands and necks began to ache, complaining at being locked in the same position for mile after mile and that's nothing compared to the pain in our collective arses. Not soreness (although for some this was an added joy) but rather a dull and almost constant ache.

We desperately sought variety, but like an addict in rehab we got none...at all...nadda.

On came the sweats and the delirium as we each craved the fix of a hill, a town or just a bend in the road. By the time we reached the border with Belgium, we were each suffering from going cold turkey and were individually displaying symptoms of withdrawal.

At this Point, I would have settled for a quick pot hole or a sneaky bit of broken glass...but there was to be no reprieve, we had to push through.

Eventually, far on the horizon, like a shimmering mirage, fixed in the sights of the barrel straight road we could spot a feature...was it a rooftop, a house...a town perhaps? All thoughts turned immediately to the joy of traffic, bends in the road, junctions, potholes...oh the sweet, sweet potholes.

Spurred on by the promise of a fix, our pace quickened and we rolled into the town of Verne and, after enjoying a few bends, turns and drinking in all the lovely potholes, settled into the cafe De Plakker for a coffee stop, whilst I went in search of a toothbrush.


Chris the younger, dressed for extreme coffee drinking, safety hat and all.


After a short rest we pushed on, across the canals and headed for our midway point in the village of Diksmuide. Whilst we were treated to a few bends, the road remained flat and the wind moved about us as we switched direction from time to time. The roads, for a Saturday were mostly deserted and two abreast riding was the order of the day, encouraging banter and discussion as we rolled over the miles.

As testimony to the featureless surroundings, little else remains worth mentioning until our arrival at the town square in Diksmuide (the Flemish like a nice square) where we gathered around a table in the Cafe De Yserpootunder, under shelter with ample bike parking, to rest our locked joints.


Brilliant Flemish bike-stands, complete with soft rubber grips to gently caress your frame.

Whilst waiting for service the rain began to fall, amplified by the canopy of the bar terrace roof and slowly we watched as the roads changed hue from grey to black. After something like 30 minutes (waiting for a coke) we gave in and relocated, in the rain, to the promising looking De Vred Restaurant, where, within 10 minutes we were all tucking into something hot and hearty.

After lunch we set off in the now persistent rain and settled in for a wet, dirty ride. The segregated cycle lanes, while safe and well planned, tend to allow mud and sand to build up in them. Add this to 2 quarts water and mix thoroughly at a low temperature and you have the perfect recipe for a batch of filthy, crunching bikes that start to skip gears and generally complain much more than their riders.

At 25 miles, in an attempt to provide some variation, we headed off the main road onto a single track bike path and wound our way around the backs of the villages and churches. Not that there was much sightseeing to do, the rain persisted and our eyes seemed fixed to the slippery road surface immediately in front of the bikes.

As we rejoined the main N32 and rode through the town of Standen, we were faced with a straight road longer than any we had seen all day. A small mirage formed at the distant end and, at one point I could have sworn I saw a large aircraft taxiing for take-off.

Rain dripped from my nose and was blown off with regular puffs and to match this rhythm, the joints in the slabs of concrete that formed the cycle path pounded a monotonous beat. To finish off the symphony, my right pedal developed a creak and my left a small click until I was a virtual one man band playing myself down the straightest most never ending road to Standen, with soggy feet and a dampened resolve
Thump,
Puff
Creak, Click
Thump,
Puff
Creak, Click

Something had to change.

And so it did. At last the rain eased off, although I was temporarily distracted by my orchestral attempts and continued to add the puffs for a good 2 miles until Jim rode along side and announced "Rains stopped".

Whilst the weather had changed, the view hadn't and the never ending road was determined to live up to its adopted moniker.

We pushed on and as our clothes began to dry the view offered temptations of a variation.Was that a roundabout ahead?

Oh the joy of steering once more, my elbows creaked as they were drafted back into service. I had to turn my head and even, as if a gift from the Gods to reward me for my patience, I was allowed to change down a whole three gears.

Chris, However, was by now suffering by some rare form of fatigue paralysis and failed to manage to move at all, sailing straight across the roundabout via the tarmac and missing out on the sweet release of excitement gained from turning his neck a little.

After a very long while later, we rode into the town of Roselare for cake and coffee, before treating Gary to a quick cuddle with the cobblestones as he rode at a brave angle up the kerb. Whilst his body made it up, his bike refused the jump and he was thrown to the ground in front of the largely octogenarian clientèle of the Muahieu Tea rooms. After tea, we headed off, with all the time in the world, in search of a bike shop and the promise of acquiring team shirts to commemorate the ride. We rode for 30 minutes into an industrial park and eventually came across a sports shop that sold little more than bike magazines before giving up and returning to Roselare and the route home.

We stopped again in Roselare and after another attempt to acquire a toothbrush (this time successfully) Jim stocked up on masses of cleaning products and we set of through the side of the National Weilermuseum to cross a spiral bike bridge onto the banks of the Vaart Naar De Leie Canal. About a mile down the canal side we rode up to a local bike shop...right on the route...who would have thought.

Shirts were out of stock and so we pressed on for another 3 miles. Jim and I were riding to the back of the pack when we heard a shotgun in the distance before coming across the rest of the group to find chris holding his bike.

His rear tyre had split at the edge of its rim and the resulting exposed inner tube had exploded with force. Whilst we attempted to patch the tyre with a Tyre boot, in the hope that it would hold for the next 4 miles or so, Jim and I were volunteered to return to the bike shop and pick up two new tyres. It was close to 6pm and we figured that if the shop were going to close we had only a matter of minutes to make it and so at an average speed of 25mph, we flew back to the shop.

Unfortunately the shop had closed some 30 minutes earlier and despite a good rattling of doors and knocking of glass, there was no-one to be seen. Jim and I rode back and onto the hotel over a small footbridge across the canal.

when we reached the Hotel Chris had received word that we were unsuccessful and had been offered a lift by the hotel host, Karine to a friends house, where upon he would open up his shop and sell Chris the required tyres.

With amazing generosity, Karine refused fuel money and then offered to run us all into town to a restaurant, as she was fully booked...and then to collect us too when we were done. We were blown away with her generosity and to cap it all she provided a hose to wash down our sorry looking bikes.

This Hotel is amazing.


That night we ate and drank well and as the night went on the restaurant was abuzz with chatter from ours and adjoining tables. Waitresses zipped back and forth with full trays of meals and drinks and the owner was as accommodating and patient as you could hope.

We ended the evening with a selection of exotic coloured drinks that seemed to eat away at the inside of the glass and headed home in the comfort of the Karines Landrover.


I cant look!

About halfway home, we were suddenly aware of flashing blue lights and Karine was pulled over, to much annoyance and significant embarrassment.

It became apparent that as we had been seen leaving the hotel and then turned in the street, as if to avoid the police, we had become suspicious. To add to this, the smell of alcohol wafting from the Landrover was probably obvious to the police well before they stuck their head in the car window.

After some blowing into various machines, Karine proved to the enthusiastic police that it wasn't only the surrounding terrain that was on the level and then we were off ... back on track for the hotel. Full of drink and far too much food, we each waddled off to bed.

 

[jonny jeez]

http://johnglondontobrussels.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/sunday.html

DAY THREE: SunDay


Day three main route

Day three return from London



As I awoke this morning, I took a peek through the gap in the curtains to see clear blue sky's...and smiled to myslef, Today's weather looked promising.

We had enjoyed a good meal last night and were paying for it now with thick heads and a distinct lack of appetite. Most of us chose to hydrate rather than get about the business of riding and some stowed away ham rolls to eat later en-route, to compensate for their "current" lack of appetite.

The promising weather helped to lure us out onto the bikes and soon, after thanking our hostess for her extraordinary hospitality, we were away.

Within a few miles the comparison between today's terrain and yesterdays was striking. The route wound through a variety of styles from back lanes to main roads, through small villages and across open fields. Variety is, indeed, the spice of life.

As we approached the town of Wortegem we passed the American War Cemetery and the significance of the region was not lost on us. The stars and stripes looked oddly out of place in the blue sky of Belgium and the area took on a distinctly American feel with long fenceless front yards, low houses and tree lined avenues.

Soon we were climbing our first (I did say first right?) hill of the day and at the top we stopped for a few minutes to strip of layers and revert to sleeves. The temperature had already risen to 13.5 degrees. Things were looking up.




The route along this trip carried something of a sense of Deja-vu for me as I had spent a good deal of time researching the important junctions with the use of Google Street view and as such could recognise much of the ride already. At times I was able to throw out directions like "in the next town is a huge church and a small statue, take the left before the statue and head to the butchers"...like I somehow knew where I was going!...everyone seemed to go along with the blag and for the most part we made uninterrupted progress.

In contrast to this familiarity, the cycle system in Belgium is an alien experience. The roads are designed to cater for cyclists as a "privileged" class, with vehicles yielding to bikes at every junction. The safe, well built and dedicated cycle paths carry riders from town to town without risk and allow riders of all levels of age, confidence and skill to enjoy cycling about the place.

However, this "one size fits all" approach does have its frustrations. The cycle paths are slow and often clad in block paving which makes the going more measured, they are also peppered with junctions and ingenious systems to circumnavigate roundabouts to the point that, to make progress, you feel inclined to give them up in favour of the tarmac. We passed...and were passed by...many club ride peleton's who took both to the paths and to the tarmac in equal measure.




Despite this we were making good progress and at 15 miles we puled into the town of Oudenaarde for a rest. The impressive square at Oudenaarde was crammed to the brim with a variety of fair ground rides and caravans, which spoilt the view a little and made the place looked more congested than it really was.




Despite this, we picked a small coffee shop for caffeine and conversation and bathed ourselves in the warm sun. It seemed we weren't alone in our choice and slowly more and more club cyclists and motorcyclists began to join us. Soon the place was awash with an unhealthy mix of Lycra and leather...it was time to make our leave.



Our exit from Oudenaard was complicated a little by roadworks but soon we were climbing up above the central canal and heading towards an entirely new cycling experience.

There is a famous annual ride through this region called the Paris- Roubaix. This tough ride is made more gruelling by the fact that much of it ridden atop rough cobblestoned roads.

Today was our chance to share the pain and as we reached our summit, all achy legs and puffing cheeks, we were met with the prospect of riding a mile or so of slippery, shiny cobble stones. It seemed the order of the day was to ride with speed and float across the huge crevasses between the cobbles. However, carrying a weekends worth of luggage meant that we had little option other than to tough it out and ride each cobble with a wince and a yelp. Our spindly tyres were grabbed by the gaps and loose cobbles providing a constant struggle with the bars just to keep the bike moving in the right direction. Despite the challenge the experience seemed to generate some entertainment and we were soon welcomed back to smooth tarmac with a soft, familiar embrace.




We pointed our bikes towards the town of Brakel, where we intended, at the halfway mark, to stop for lunch. Swooping downhill roads rewarded us for the earlier effort and we progressed with great speed and relative ease. We were making such good progress that we flew through Brakel and left the main tarmac to follow a glorious and dedicated cyclepath across the open and freshly ploughed fields.



We rode three abreast and chatted like birds about the scenery and the privilege of riding without the concern for traffic, when we were met by a convoy of cars all driving across the same pathway. It seemed our VIP membership had expired and we were, in fact still riding on registered roads.



Pretty soon we found ourselves back at sea level and entering the canal system to the town of Ninove. I had been concerned about the canal section of today's ride. In the UK, tow-path cycling can have a tendency to end in riders getting wet and whilst I was happy to share a drink at the end of today's ride, I had little intention to end up in it!

My concerns were settled as I soon saw that this canal, which, with true sensible Flemmish planning was set away from the waters edge by a grass verge and was both wide and well maintained. Pushed on by a tail wind we zipped along the riverside under tall trees and blue sky's.


We rode so well that at 40 miles we found ourselves sat in the market town of Ninove, enjoying a carb laden lunch, some 20 miles further into today's ride, than we had expected. We had earned a rest.

As we ate, the weather closed in a little and we each began to adopt layer after layer until, as we left for the last 15 mile ride, we each looked a little like we were heading out for a winter ride.

A few miles along the road we diverted from the Main N9 to Brussels to enjoy the quiet country route to town and at the top of the last big hill of the day we found ourselves, once more, stopping to strip off layer after layer. From this elevated vantage point we could spot tall buildings on the Horizon, with suggestions of civilisation. and despite a few switch back detours across fields and paths we were soon riding into more industrial landscape.

As we each waved a hello to the roadside sign of "Brussels" we eked out a few last opportunities to sneak along canals and small parks before we succumbed to the environment and switched to "urban riding mode".



I never like to judge a city by limited experience, after all what impression would visitors to the great town of London make if all they got to see was New Cross or Kilburn High Street but I have to say that, from what I had seen so far, Brussels isnt an attractive city.

After checking the location of the station we headed of to the Grand Place, an vast and tourist filled square in the centre of town flanked by impressive buildings wrapped in ornate golden statues, each pointing at one another across the rooftops.



After a couple of beers it was time to say goodbye to Chris (which, try as I might, I just don't remember doing so) as he was leaving for an on-bound meeting in Paris; and to head back to the station.




At the check in we were, despite our attire, treated to VIP status and shown directly to passport control avoiding the queues. Our bikes were taken to their carriage by a Kindly looking chap who assured us they would be taken care of. I couldn't help notice that as he wheeled our bikes away he lifted each one as if to gauge their value by weight...I chose to accept this as a good sign, hoping that I would see my bike again sometime, hopefully in one piece.

After a quick snooze and an equally quick train ride (three days there, TWO hours back!) we arrived in London once more and began fixing lights to the bikes in preparation for the last 15 mile ride home.


Home sweet home


As we approached the river Thames in twilight, we were met with an impressive headwind and the going became tough. However the streets were empty (it was Sunday evening after all) and within an hour I found myself rolling up to the garage door that I had left three days earlier, filled with a sense of achievement and satisfaction that I had just ridden from London to Brussels.

 

[StuAff]

After 6 or so miles we pulled off of the road and headed across the docks to the Hotel, when we hit our second challenge of the day.

The huge and impressive swing bridge that was to carry us back onto proper roads, had swung! and was refusing to drop back into place. A small line of cars had already formed at the barriers and we took our place in line to wait.

and wait

and wait

The swing bridge that swung....east of Dunkerque...hmm, sounds all too familiar. Got stuck by that one Saturday afternoon heading over the border to De Panne. Absolutely nothing maritime visible, and it was up. Sat there for fifteen or twenty minutes before backing up! I won't be going that way again...

 

[StuAff]

Great stuff Johnny!

 

[jonny jeez]

The swing bridge that swung....east of Dunkerque...hmm, sounds all too familiar. Got stuck by that one Saturday afternoon heading over the border to De Panne. Absolutely nothing maritime visible, and it was up. Sat there for fifteen or twenty minutes before backing up! I won't be going that way again...

Ours was the very first one off the beach, took bloody ages!
https://www.google.co.uk/maps/@51.0...ata=!3m4!1e1!3m2!1syTrAwH8KKxmUiRJNrdxcvQ!2e0

cant seem to create a link from googles new street view

 

[StuAff]

Ours was the very first one off the beach, took bloody ages!
https://www.google.co.uk/maps/@51.0...ata=!3m4!1e1!3m2!1syTrAwH8KKxmUiRJNrdxcvQ!2e0

cant seem to create a link from googles new street view

Actually, that was the one I got stuck on, linked to another one up the road. Oh, that's another reason not to go that way again......

 

[sheddy]

Excellent.
Just a shame you forgot to wipe the wet off the camera lens...

 

[jonny jeez]

Excellent.
Just a shame you forgot to wipe the wet off the camera lens...

Haha.

they were tears!

 

[ianrauk]

Good read jonny, cheers.