C2A: The road to Bruges

We set off early. Pack up the tent, hit the road. It turns out that lots of people are hitting the road on this bright sunny Saturday morning, namely a bunch of older guys named Jan who ride their €12,000 bikes at like 35 kph past unwary English bikepackers.

We take a wrong turn early but it turns out to be a blessing, as the detour sends us past a pizza vending machine. Yes you read that right. Honestly goated, cannot glaze the pizza vending machine enough. While we’re waiting for the pizza to heat up a man arrives to collect from the adjacent potatoes vending machine. We chat briefly about how Belgium has all the great vending machines.

A little while further on we have to wait for a boat to pass through a series of swing- and draw-bridges. On the far side of the canal a group of identically-dressed blokes cruise by at a Professional speed. The boat, which has a playboy bunny tramp stamp and which is called “Bunny”, passes through the bridges and we’re on our way.

We pass “Bunny” in short order.

From here, a long stretch of canalside riding, relatively boring but easy going. I wonder if Belgian cyclists quake at the sight of a hill. I wonder if I’m getting into something serieus by slagging off Belgian cyclists, all of whom have a penchant for passing me at high speed.

Soon we’re at the outskirts of Bruges, on the route of a triathlon later in the afternoon. We make a detour through the burbs for a stop at Decathlon during the hottest part of the day; it is unbearably warm in the car park. We meander around the city to the campsite where we’re staying for the night.

The campsite is quiet. The Germans and English who make up its residents are out in town during the day. We pitch the tent and head out for a late lunch.

The typically siesta-oriented Europeans are all on their afternoon breaks but we find a spot to scarf down some good Quality food to keep our spirits buoyed throughout the afternoon. Then we make a trip into town by bicycle but get no further than the corner of the Grand Markt before retreating before the hordes of tourists and the waves of heat coming off the cobbles. Instead we retire to a bar just outside of the tourist district and knock back a couple of fancy Belgian beers.

Then we both get extremely sleepy.

We ride back to the campsite by way of the grocery store, where we pick up the essentials for pasta. The essentials for pasta includes beer. We make at least three wrong turns on our way back to the campsite but arrive safe and sound, eventually. A German couple asks us for permission to park their bikes within their own campsite; I wish I had the gumption to try to speak with them in German.

We rustle up a quick dinner of spaghetti, then lie around for a bit watching the magpies in the trees before going to bed.