An early start for the 8.30 from St Pancras to Dover before which Pete decides to get a bit of training in via Kings Cross and Euston. So all aboard the fast train to Dover (travel arrangements courtesy of your humble blogger) where we have a taste of the easterly wind to come but find shelter in the garden of a sea view cafe where we stock up on carbs with big breakfasts. Fantastic view of the white cliffs as we leave port - it's been ages since I've used Dover rather than Portsmouth. Windy but calm sea. Disembarking we take ages to get from port to Dunkirk, after a couple of false dawns, with a Steppes originated wind bearing down on us. After that it's a pleasant enough sunny if strenuous ride along country lanes past flat fields and canals a couple of which I swear we saw twice. My cub scout sun navigation tells me that we're often going in the wrong direction but to be fair to Pete (navigational duties for the trip, along with his phone) on inspecting Strava afterwards we only do a slight loop just feels a long way in this wind. As the sun sets we pop into a bar for a well earned beer and in broken English and Flemish work out how to get to our destination. As darkness falls the wind does too and we're soon arriving at the boat which is home for the night welcomed by intrepid cyclist Bart ("as in Simpson") who shows us around the main boat on the canal where we can help ourselves to a bit of nosh and beers paying into the honesty box. then Bart shows us our accommodation (thanks to Simon on housing duty and very well done both nights) which is a done up boat out of water on stilts. Very cosy. Four close bunks with crapper at the end of them with no partition except for a "modesty blind". The picture will tell you why none of us wanted to use it both to spare our blushes and to spare the others a terrible ordeal especially given Simon's bumper sized stock of hard boiled eggs. It's a dry loo with a bucket of hemp next to it (no, we didn't fancy smoking it) and a separate outlet (or inlet?) for the liquids. After all that excitement we go back to the main boat and rustle up something to eat and work our way through a few of the "if it says 8% that means at least 8% but could be more" local beers. Lovely they were too. After Chris, the 4th of our party coming in late as he's only just back from Brazil a few days ago, demonstrates a few dance moves, it's all back to ours for a nightcap passing the main boat residents on the way and then for a surprisingly good nights sleep with no one falling off the stairs on their way to the tree in the night.
Next day is sunny and windy and I pop down to the main boat for a shower. Simon preferring a dip in the canal. After left overs for breakfast I opt for shorts today and we have a lovely canal side cycle into Ypres which is all set up for the race to pass through plus a few other complimentary events in the main square. Kitted out with matching advertising cycle hats we find our extraordinarily friendly Hotel Ambrosia, well named, and then it's off to the main event of the weekend. The Gent Wevelgem is one of the Flanders early season classics making a loop of Flanders taking in a fair few cobbles including the Kemmelberg hill which is where we're heading towards. En route we find a WWI trench to visit which we have to crawl under the wire to get into which is a bit bizarre. The thought of spending months in that, and these were dry, doesn't bear thinking about. We see the women's race speed past, well the front group did although towards the back they're coasting a bit with an underage race marshal whistling them on. Next stop Kemmel to find a bar in the main square, take our shoes off and kick back in the warm sun. Couple of beers in the mens race comes past on the way up the Kemmelberg for the first time. After they're all past we four start our climb of the famous hill. Not long but damn steep in parts, 1 in 4, and the widely spaced cobbles don't help one bit. Two of us manage to successfully negotiate the hoards of spectators ruining our line of attack and climb the cobbles despite the back wheels spinning in between cobbles, how they can do this in the wet is beyond me, and reach the tarmac at the top which is blissful and feels like freewheeling for the last bit having left the cobbles behind. Simon and I have a weird coughing attack which must come with cobbled climbs but watching the race on a big screen, including a crash, and a few frites sorts that out and then we fight our way over the hill to see the mens race climb the other cobbled ascent. The leaders fly up barely sweating but the laggards, including a few with gashes on legs and arms, are really struggling a few look like they're about to grind to a halt. Of course they don't. These are professionals. After the crowds have died down we cycle down the cobbles myself very gingerly as firstly I'm a wimp when it comes to dangerous riding, OK, if you exclude going through central London twice a day, and secondly my ingenious quick release brake mechanism popped up on the way up disengaging the front brake and I was a mite worried both would pop up on the way down giving no braking power except metal cleated shoes hurtling down a 1 in 4 cobbled slope. Anyways I soon catch up with my less cautious riding mates and soon we're back in Kemmel where we watch the exciting race climax on telly and listen to old MOR songs blasting from a raucous bar, with a bit of Flemish punk to end with. Then it's a flat ride straight back into Ypres for a shower and chill out. Refreshed we wander down to the Menin Gate to gaze at the names of hundreds of thousands of British and commonwealth soldiers who died a hundred years ago and then listen to the daily Last Post ceremony. Very moving. After that it's getting nippy. We eat in our first restaurant of the weekend then retire to a bar for some strong dark and sour monk beers before toddling off for a comfortable nights sleep but not before a nightcap in the lobby and chatting to lots of talkative WWI site seeing folk.
We awake to what I think are early morning revellers returning home but in fact are school kids on the way into school. A great breakfast catering for their first vegan with a choice of milks and spreads. Lovely. Pocketing bananas for the journey we are off for an incident free ride up to Dunkirk docks in perfect riding conditions. Sunny with a breeze behind us. Just right temperature in short sleeved tops getting a little chilly on the arms when cruising down hill but warming up soon enough to just under breaking sweat temp. We cycle through beautiful if flat countryside and picturesque towns with regulation cathedral. In one we pay respects to those we've lost and then see archaeologists excavating skeletons just across from the cathedral. Dust to dust. We picnic by a river whilst Simon and Chris dip and would be great to have a couple of bottles of wine and while away the afternoon but we have to up and off as we've a ferry to catch and soon enough we're wheeling along a major road with trucks hurtling past on our way into the port. Uneventful crossing then a final beer at the pub by Dover station and back into town on the fast train. We say farewell to Pete and then Chris and Simon manage to lose me behind County Hall but hey, at least I can stretch my legs on the hill from Stockwell to Clapham on the Larkhall back route. Great trip with not too many miles but enjoyable enough.
