About a search in the fog that eventually paid off.
What a week it was: the speed of personal and professional life reminded me of sitting in a maglev again. I thought that between catching deadlines and whatnot, I should make time to chill in the sunlight. I glanced over a map and came up with a route in the lovely High Fens region through areas I hadn't seen before. Seeking new places proved an inspiring cure on many occasions, so why try reinventing the wheel? Speaking of which, I brought a few with me.
When leaving Eupen, the sunny weather forecast looked like a false promise. And just like the sky, my mind was cloudy, thinking about way too many things. I wasn't sure about the weather, but I expected the mood to improve soon. That's why I came here, after all.
The car-free roads I picked were covered by a generous layer of foliage. The fluffy leaves allowed me to roost hundreds of imaginary corners, which was a lot of fun. I also embraced the heavy clouds. The higher I climbed, the closer the sky was.
Riding away from civilization was quick, but getting it out of my head was not. A mile after a mile, I could not stop thinking about the constant challenges and uncertain futures. Like why do people in democracies around the world elect folks who emphasize that immigrants – people like me – are their biggest enemies? But no matter, I pressed on while following an arrow that guided me through unknown lands with ease.
Unknown only to me, obviously. This is Belgium, not the last frontier. That's okay; as a result, I could set off lightweight without a backpack or survival gear, and when the drizzle changed to rain, I conveniently stumbled upon this bird hide:
Right on, lunchtime it is.
The shelter kept the rain out, but not the wind; it felt like sitting in an elevated fridge when I finished my snack. It hinted that it was time to return to the saddle for more enjoyment from soaked glades and atmospheric forests.
I felt better after lunch, and after seeing the fantastic landscapes, some of the mental gloom made room for verses from Björk. I was happy with this exchange, and things continued to improve. The complete breakthrough happened when the forest road changed to a single track marked with an arrow "hill." Oh, yes, please!
First, the sign made me think about a legend from my childhood, Sam Hill, and second, a singletrack makes the world better, mainly when going down. That's a fact. And this went down.
The trail started with a hardpack, had a section with loose rocks, and finished with a bridge over a crystal-clear river. It was playful but not too challenging, so I could also appreciate the dreamy scenery. What a combo, so good!
So good that I decided to push back up and have another go. The decision's merit was debatable, though; being heavy and dancing a rigid bike with <1.5-inch-wide semi-slicks over rocks is playing with fire. I did not burn myself the first run, but I got perhaps too excited the second round, and when escaping air after a jump interrupted the ambient silence, I knew that rolling the dice came at a price.
Unexpectedly, it emerged that mending the wheel was exactly what I needed. It reminded me that if I focus on an issue that is in my power to fix, e.g., a flat tire, I can solve it. Maybe it is not the most pleasant endeavor, but it is doable, and when finished, I achieve something. On the other hand, when I focus on stuff outside my reach, be it what others think or do, the problem(s) won't go anywhere; only I would have a crap day as a bonus.
Rolling off into more fog, it became clear that the place I was looking for was not a physical location but rather a state of mind. That's better because I could take it with me.
Still, the location delivered, too. As I cycled further, I couldn't resist capturing more veiled outlooks. Here are a few:
Eventually, I crossed the high plateau and started descending to one of UNESCO's great spa towns of Europe, Spa. At first, I was cautious because, as I said, I went lightweight, and the spare tube I used earlier was the only one I had with me. On one downhill section, I constantly mumbled to myself not to overcook it.
Soon, though, I joined a cycle path that used to be a train line. Rails got replaced with smooth asphalt, so it was a leisurely cruise. And guess what? Sun came to say hi!
I passed Spa downtown and continued on a hill nearby. I wanted to have a look from above.
Besides the view, I went to that ridge because it is home to MTB trails that involve hills. (After moving to Flanders, I learned that mountains are not given in mountain biking.) I was thrilled to give them a try, and sure enough, gravity-aided action delivered plenty of satisfaction. My tires stayed on, so I went back up for more, thinking that, in the worst case, the train station was within walking distance.
No drama, no mechanical issues, and when my wrists had enough of the roots after a few goes, I decided to ride to the station and call the trip over. I saw that a connection was coming in 20 minutes. "That's all right," I thought. The sun was shining, and life was as it should be.
Yet, that was not the end of the adventure. Just as I expected the train to pull into the station, I learned there was some maintenance work that day, and one had to take a bus service to another town and change to a train there. Of course, no bikes were allowed on the bus. Hello, another problem that is in my power to deal with. Hello, more biking.
Hello, more cool backroads. Hello, more sunshine bringing the autumn (and me) to life.
Hello, more inspiring new places.
And hello to more woodland trails inviting to be ridden and have fun.
One of the downhill trails started so flowy that it lulled me into letting off the brakes. I forgot to "not overcook it," and when I thought about slowing down should there suddenly be more technical terrain, it was too late. I went straight into a steep rock garden, and, umm, I said hello to another puncture. At least I did not say hello to the ground, and in the end, taking the shortcut through the woods paid off. I miraculously still managed to catch the train that the bus was linking.
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