20 years ago today - Day 115

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Wednesday, June 26th - Brussels to Hans-sur-Lesse, 5731 km

I am leaving today, heading for Dinant on the French/Belgian border, my next stop on my way to Luxembourg. I am up early to get ready. I give Francis a hug before I go. He receives it gratefully. It doesn't appear our paths will cross anytime soon so I try not to hang onto my disappointment.

There is no point waiting for Nimi because she doesn't need to leave until 10, long after I should be gone. There are two women sharing the living room, one a friendly older woman Nimi's age, who tries to engage Nimi in conversation, but she will have nothing to do with intruders in her kitchen. I witness her coldness when I come in to say goodbye to Joe. He insists, as I could have expected, to draw me a map of how to get through Brussels. I have already chosen a simple route but I am polite about his efforts to help me. I set my coat on the counter and Nimi has a royal fit over that, screaming and bemoaning how no one respects her. No wonder.

I am following tram tracks that lead into the centre of town. A middle-aged woman on a one-speed passes me and, while looking around her, her rear wheel slips into the groove of the tram track. It throws her off-balance and onto the cobblestone surface of the street right in front of me. It is a bad fall. She scrapes her leg, arm and face and sprains her left wrist. A bystanders and I help her to the curb. I keep her company while the bystander phoned the doctor on her medical card. I don't mind waiting with her. It is pleasant morning with hazy sunshine and I trust I will get to where I need to be by the end of the day.
She is incredibly warm and kind, even in her condition. She asks me several questions about my trip. She is embarrassed of course, feeling like a fool although it could have happened to anyone. At first she is grateful for my concern and assistance, but as time passes she insists she doesn't need me to wait with her anymore. Before I leave, another bystander offers to drive her to a hospital for x-rays.

I get lost in the centre of the city looking for a place to change money. Then my rear tire keeps losing air and my pump stops working. I find a bike shop and buy a cheap plastic pump that works quite well. I pick up where I left off, following narrow streets with tram tracks that lead out of the centre, but then I get lost again in parkland south of the city. It seems this day is determined to confound me, but my good mood seems irrepressible. Cycling alone, especially when the rain stops, seems to work for me.

I find my way back to N4, a side road that lead south-east to the town of Namur. I am beyond the Flemish part of Belgium where the bicycle sidewalks are. This part of Belgium, the south-east, is the French half known as Wallonia. Brussels is the dividing line.

Namur is a pleasant looking town. I stop for ice cream at a convenience store and chat with a young local man working there about my trip. It is 4pm. From there the route meanders along the Meuse River. It is a beautiful, pleasant ride. I stop for a meal later, which delays my arrival in Dinant until 6pm.

Dinant is a small but beautiful town, arranged in a long row at the base of a steep escarpment along the river. Past Dinant, the road turns east and climbs slowly for a long time. I am entering a hilly region called Les Ardennes, where the final Nazi surge, the Battle of the Bulge, happened in 1944. I count six big hills before I reach Hans-sur-Lesse at 8pm.

It is already dark and spitting the odd drop of rain. It is a great relief to be here. The big attraction in this village is the largest array of underground caves in Belgium. I find a small hotel managed by a friendly couple. A huge troop of children occupy the ground floor but my bed is thankfully on the second floor.

Once I settle in and have a meal in the pizzeria, I find myself in the only pub in town, sharing 12% Rochefort beers with Maggie and Angus, a Scottish couple here on their honeymoon and staying in the same hotel. Maggie is a cool redhead, full of giggles and irony. Angus is a bit of a joker, and easy to converse and laugh with. I feel a little strange sitting with them on their wedding night, but they insist. They are really great fun and they make me laugh a lot. The Rochefort is deadly strong and I have three of them.

After the second beer I am really feeling it. Maggie decides she has to hit the sack and I feel I should too, but Angus wants me to stay with him for another drink. “Don’t you want to be with Maggie?” I ask, feeling weird about the situation again. “Oh Hell, we have the rest of our life for that!” he jokes, and Maggie doesn’t seem to mind. “We’ve been living together for five years anyway,” he explains. It’s raining heavily now so I decide it’s probably best to wait a while anyway and hope it will stop, even if the pension is only 150m away. I stay for another beer.

I guess the other reason I hesitate is because Angus is very sexy and affectionate when he is drunk and I don’t trust myself with him. I have always had the unfortunate ability to remember everything I do when I am drunk, even up to the point I pass out, but being able to remember doesn’t prevent me from making a fool of myself. I don’t pass out, but by the time the third Rochefort takes its toll I couldn’t do anything bad if I tried. Angus throws his rain cape over the both of us and keeps his arm around me as we struggle back to the hostel through the download. His arm is there for his support as much as mine. Back safely on the second floor of our pension he pats my shoulder and shakes my hand as he bids me goodnight. I bravely resist planting a bit wet one on his lips. The room won’t stop spinning as I lay in my bed.


PHOTO 1: leaving Brussels
PHOTO 2: in Namur
PHOTO 3: Namur Castle
PHOTO 4: Dinant
PHOTO 5: Lesse River valley