clairedavieswriter

Last week, on my ride to Brussels, I was enjoying a banana in the shade of a tree when I was approached by a thin, bald, middle aged man in round red framed glasses, riding a huge electric mountain bike and emanating nervous energy. Think Tintin’s Professor Calculus on a health kick.
After plying me with questions about Bernard’s front wheel luggage – in immaculate English: appropriate usage of the term ‘mounting kit’ was a particular highlight – he moved on to my trip, which I suspect was the object of his curiosity all along. When he heard I was riding through the Ardennes, he looked worried. It’s very empty, it might be difficult to find food, he said. I airily dismissed his concerns, telling him I was used to it in France. But the good Professor’s warning was ringing in my ears as I set off today, without lunch, or snacks of any kind, except for a banana.
In my defence, I was quite keen to leave my accommodation. I certainly had no wish to linger in the shared bathroom, where the set up might have suited male guests but didn’t appeal to me:

And not wishing to climb Cheddar Gorge again, I didn’t want to go back to Dinant to stock up. So I decided to take my chances. Though it turned out I was only halfway up Cheddar Gorge, so the day started with a gruelling 3km climb straight out of the gate. By the time I reached the top, my decision to forgo a shower had been vindicated: sunscreen was melting off my face and the rest of me was virtually liquid. Minutes later, I received a full-body blow-dry as we swooped downhill. And so it continued for the rest of the day. As my landlady noted somewhat gnomically when I arrived at my destination: Ça monte et ça descend.

As always, the effort of climbing was repaid by some spectacularly long views, although they’re hard to capture in a photo

My only provisions were consumed mid-morning, and thereafter I scanned the horizon anxiously for villages large enough to sustain a shop.

But the Professor was right: there really wasn’t much out there. It was either vast arable fields…

Or dairy pastures

Or forests so dense that light didn’t penetrate to the ground – it was real Zone Blanche territory, if you’re familiar with that slightly surreal French police drama.

Thankfully, I saw no sign of mythical horned creatures, though it would seem there are plenty of the normal kind about and they don’t exactly live in harmony with the locals

Finally, in the village of Vencimont, where the boulangerie was closed, and the bar/tabac up for sale, my personal hunt for food was rewarded with the sighting of an artisan boulanger in an old water mill. But so distracted was I by his likeness to the lead singer of Coldplay, and so intent on buying something – anything – to eat, I unwittingly paid an outrageous amount for a small bag of madeleines. To be fair they were freshly baked, delicious and necessary, as by that stage I was running on empty. Though if Chris Martin’s baker twin had mentioned there was an Intermarché in the next town, 7k away, I might have waited.

When I wasn’t toiling up long hills (I claim my personal Queen of the Mountain for the ascent through the village of Sévry), or flying down them (top speed: 46kph), a few things caught my eye. Like the extraordinary 13th century Château de Vêves, which might have inspired the makers of Shrek

… and the fact that street and town names were so proudly European. It occurred to me as I pedalled along that these two things – a centuries-old military stronghold in an area that has seen so much conflict, and a fierce modern faith in an institution that binds nations together – were not unrelated .

Tomorrow I have a much longer, and possibly more demanding day in prospect, but in the words of the real Chris Martin: nobody said it was easy.