The story so far: I'd arrived at Brussels for the 'Friday' night ride to Ostend.
The full complement still hadn’t turned up by the appointed time of midnight, and while we waited for the others, we attracted the attention of some of the locals who were promenading through the Place and wanted to know where we were heading at that time of night. “Ostend” was of course the standard reply, but I felt obliged to add that I was heading for the north of Norway, returning through Finland. Possibly. And it turned out that amongst the “locals” were a man from Trondheim and a Finn. I may be wrong, but I think I sensed in the Norwegian a smidgen of doubt in my prospects of riding there.
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Eventually we sped off through quiet streets out of Brussels, at a pace which was probably higher than comfortable for me with all my luggage, but I got a breather when Stuart’s chain broke and we waited for mmmmmartin to fix it.
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Broken chain repair team in action
A long stretch along a canal, including a crossing by footbridge with lots of steps (not suitable for a loaded touring bike, but hey-ho), a slight detour due to towpath repairs, the unmistakable smell of the brewery in Aalst, and a further canal stretch, and we were at the feed stop where family friends of the Vermeulens had put on a magnificent spread for us. I don’t think anyone really wanted to leave, but Ostend was calling, and there were it was just beginning to get light when we left.
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There was a super sunrise (aren’t they all when you’ve ridden all night?), and it warmed up as the mist lifted. The quiet canal bank became busier and busier, especially after we left Bruges, but eventually we reached the seaside and took the ferry to where Els’ sister was waiting for us at the cafe where Els had booked breakfast for us.
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Breakfast in Ostend
Bikes and bees blog on the FnrttKust (http://bikesandbees.blogspot.co.uk/2016/05/fnrttkust-2016.html)
Other people drifted off on their separated ways to get home or elsewhere. I took my leave and headed slowly up the coast to stop at the first campsite which took my fancy. Eventually I found one near de Haan which (a) catered for tents and (b) had a reception which was open. I slept most of the afternoon.
Now I had no time constraints, no deadlines, no rendezvous to keep. I had nothing more than a rough plan, and thought it probably best if I got home before winter.
I started off heading up the coast, through Zeebrugge and Knokke-Heist to the Dutch border, although it can be difficult to know exactly where you are on the Belgian coast. I confess that I haven’t made an effort to get to know individual seaside towns, but the coast gives me the impression of one long town, with a broad promenade and multi-story apartment blocks.
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Things changed immediately I crossed the border, and the blocks gave way to dunes with the occasional village. Just as I was wondering how to get round or through Antwerp, which lay ahead of me, I came to Breskens and discovered that there is a ferry service to Vlissingen, an ideal Antwerp avoidance route. That evening I managed to get to a lovely campsite near Essen. NB, that’s the Essen in Belgium, but the campsite was 30 metres inside the Netherlands.
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The hold (aka bike park) of the Breskens-Vlissinghen ferry
Although I had plenty of time, I wanted to get through the Netherlands, Germany and Denmark as quickly as I could, because I wanted to get to Norway. Same with this write-up, so I’ll spare you a day-by-day blow-by-blow account and just pick out some things which are memorable or noteworthy in a non-chronological way. And anyway every day would sound the same – “campsite - bike-path – ferry – canal – bridge – wind – campsite”
Netherlands
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My route through the Netherlands. This was determined by (a) wind direction and (b) the campsite I thought I could reach in good time each evening. I knew I really ought to be heading east towards Germany, but the east and south-east wind kept persuading me otherwise until I ran out of land and had no choice. I usually navigated by choosing a town about 20-30 km away in the right direction and letting my Etrex 20 decide how I’d get there, then repeating. This worked pretty well.
The campsites I used were all part of the http://www.natuurkampeerterreinen.nl/en/ organisation. Following a tip from mmmmartin I had sent off €14 for a membership card and handbook. Money well spent. All their campsites are simple with basic amenities but no frills, often small and on farms. Some don’t allow cars on the site itself – they are left at a ca rpark near the entrance. Their mission statement includes lots of fine words
Mission
De Groene Koepel is dedicated to the sustainable development of Natural Campsites in the Netherlands: campsites where campers can relax in harmony with nature and the environment and can enjoy the natural surroundings.
Vision
De Groene Koepel is committed to maintaining and expanding camping facilities in the form of Natural Campsites. The sites are different from other types of campsites due to the application of quality requirements (Guidelines) which are related to the value of nature, scenery and sustainable management. Based on quality criteria and hospitality, the user can help preserve and raise awareness of the high quality standards of nature and the environment in which the Natural Campsites are located.
All I know is that they are good value and nice places to stay.
One of the nicest was at Nederhemert-Zuid. Just a small field by a river, a few tents and a small washroom. A dutch gent welcomed me with a can of beer on my arrival, and the following morning I had breakfast at the communal picnic table with Liselotte, who had ridden from ‘s-Hertogenbosch with her little boy Raf in a trailer. Raf, she said, was a city boy and had complained about the noise the birds were making.
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Nederhemert-Zuid
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In the orchard at another natuurkampeerterrein site.
This is what one campsite looked like from the outside:
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and on the inside:
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The cheapest was one right in the north, run by the Dutch Forestry authorities. There were no staff but a machine where you could pay by plastic – except I couldn’t get it to work, and no-one had turned up to receive my money when I left at 6:30 the following morning.
Being in the Netherlands, most of my cycling was on cycle paths, but a (to me at least) surprising amount was through untypical landscapes. To balance that a lot was through very stereotypical Dutch landscapes, especially in the north.
Stereotypical Dutch roads:
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and not so stereotypical
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In Appeldoorn I was a day early for the start of the Giro. Some people had made an effort, but it didn’t quite match le Tour’s impact on Harrogate.
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This made me think of Wobbly John, until I realised that whereas Wobbly John makes bikes out of everyday objects, the owner of this campsite had made an everyday object from a bike.
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Some people following me on twitter were under the impression that I was deliberately taking as many ferries as I could find, but this wasn’t the case. I was travelling north avoiding cities, and with rivers flowing east-west, and major roads using bridges in cities, many of the minor routes avoiding cities have to take ferries. The ferry from Nederhemert-Zuid to Nederhemert-Nord was one such ferry. I arrived at the south bank and had to ring a bell to summon the ferry from the other side. It came across, I paid my euro, and was taken across to the other bank whereupon the ferryman resumed reading his book and waited for the next customer.
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The ferry coming from Nederhemert-Nord to Nederhemert-Zuid so that it can take me from Nederhemert-Zuid to Nederhemert-Nord .
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A Dutch bicycle ferry. Maximum 12 bikes.
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Remember the Great Flood of [insert year] ? The water was THIS high!
Germany
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Much the same as the Netherlands, except the rivers were wider and the ferries bigger. Previously when heading to Schleswig-Holstein I’ve gone to the east of Hamburg. This time for a change I went to the west.
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An Elbe ferry. There were huge queues for motor vehicles, but it’s still quicker for many than using the autobahn to the east of Hamburg.
In Germany I missed the Dutch natuurcamperterrein campsites. In Glückstadt I plumped for the youth hostel, and at Dagebüll I ended up what I later decided was the worst campsite of the whole trip – plenty of room, but the site was mainly a thin layer of sand on stones. Not too bad if you’ve got a campervan but decidedly pants if you’re paying to pitch a tent. Having said that I stopped at pleasant campsites at Idafehn, Delve and on the banks of the Weser at Sandstedt between Bremen and Bremerhafen.
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Taking no chances with floods by the Weser.
In Glückstadt YH I met Willi, a retired Bundeswehr officer who was touring the area. He had grown up in Idafehn, which was where I had camped the previous night.
Germany gave me a chance to make my two German river jokes.
Firstly when I crossed the River MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM,
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and then when I crossed River Arse.
I always have great difficulty telling my Arse from my Elbe.
One day I found myself taking a small ferry on which I was the only passenger apart from a car and its occupants which made a return trip without disembarking. On the same day I rode for a couple of hours along the side of the Kiel Canal (known in Germany as the Nord-Ostsee Kanal as it links the North Sea with the Baltic). It has few bridges across it, presumably because bridges have to be high enough to allow ocean-going ships through. But there are plenty of (free) ferries, so I made my way alternately on the south-east and the north-west bank.
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Railway bridge over the Kiel Canal.
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Traffic on the Kiel Canal
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A transporter bridge (in German, Schwebefähre, or suspended ferry)
I’ve been to Germany’s highest point, the Zugspitze in Southern Germany on the Austrian border, and on this trip I came across a small carpark by the side of the road which is Germany’s lowest point at 3.54 metres below sea level.
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Germany’s lowest point
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Near Sandtoft (yes, Germany has its own Sandtoft)
Nearby on a quiet country road was a bus shelter which had been adopted and fancified by the locals, and I reckon they’d made a pretty good job of it. The newspaper article pinned up in it recounts the time the local TV weather forecast was made from there. It's also a popular destination for cyclists.
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Near the Danish border I cam to this level crossing. The last time I had been there was on a (rail)road trip with nuncio opt in 1982 or 1983, and we’d visited the island of Sylt. Apart from the weekend homes of Germany’s very rich and very famous (Axel Springer, Udo Lindenberg) dotted about in the dunes, it reminded me of Spurn Point.
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Denmark
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In Denmark I was making for the port of Hirtshals in the north of Jutland, where I could get a ferry to Norway.
Mostly I found good campsites in Denmark. At Tiset I was the first ‘backpacker’ to camp there this year, the owner didn’t know how much to charge me, and in the end I paid a bargain 60kr for exclusive use of the camping meadow well away from the campervans. I arrived at Viborg on a holiday weekend, and the campsite was packed, but there were 2 tiny places left for non-motorised campers. The following morning I woke early, and was already up and about when a car alarm went off at 6:10. The owner didn’t seem to be about but there were plenty of mightily disgruntled campers milling around in their dressing gowns, plotting revenge. Possibly.
From Herning I rode for 50km along an old railway track all the way to Viborg. To the side of the track there was a sign indicating a German military cemetery. Although some of the graves were of soldiers, most were of German refugees. I assume these were refugees who had fled westward to avoid the Red Army.
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Child refugees’ headstone.
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Elderly refugees’ headstone.
Aalborg promotes itself as a cycling town. Essential emergency tools, bike counter also giving ETA in the town centre and a crap pump.
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A few random pictures from Denmark
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After 5 days I reached Hirtshals, I pitched my tent at the excellent campsite (with kitchen) overlooking the Skaggerak, bought my ticket for the following morning’s ferry to Kristiansand, looked round the harbour, did some shopping and even did some 'planning' for the first few days in Norway. I’d head north and then veer left to Bergen. Simple.
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The ferry took about 4 hours. I spent most of the voyage reading and trying to ignore the noisy group which was surrounding me (I’m not going to reveal their nationality but I suspect many of them voted Trump). But it got me to Norway.
The warm-up was over and the tour proper could begin.
To be continued.