Dried sweat coated our sun-exposed skin and trickled down our faces as we pushed our bikes up hills that seemed like mountains, through gravel logging roads, hay fields with grazing cows and forests not meant for biking. It seemed as if we spent most of the day pushing rather than pedaling. The cows gazed at us curiously, probably wondering what the hell we were doing as flies buzzed around our heads.
The lesson we learned that day: Don’t divert from the original route and Belgium has hills.
As 6 p.m. rolled around, a feeling of hopelessness came over me as I contemplated paying a Belgian farmer to take us over the seemingly never-ending plains to the border.
This was day five of our European biking adventure beginning in Rotterdam, Netherlands with a destination of Venice, Italy. My original summer plan was a month-long cruise throughout the Baltic region of Europe with my mom and ended up being a 2.5 month excursion throughout — exploring 17 countries and biking 800 miles through five of them: Holland, Belgium, Luxembourg, Switzerland, France and lastly, Italy.
Our day in the Belgian hills was one of several struggles we faced on our journey. I’m not sure what was more challenging: that or being stranded in Switzerland for 24 hours without any money.
As that day grew longer, the hills grew higher and the descends shorter. I was exhausted and my ass hurt. Despite my aches and pains I pushed forward. I was the navigator. Mom followed close behind, using the least amount of gears possible to stay up right on the bike. It was quite hysterical hearing her grunt and grumble about whatever challenge we were about to face next, as she swayed from side to side. I never realized how funny she was before that trip.
We decided we had enough when pushing the bikes became equally hard as riding them. We used the GPS to find an alternative route to avoid such mountains, then didn’t see another human soul for three hours! The highlight of the day was making it out of the hay fields and then more hills to follow. Soon after, it was smooth sailing. At the end of that day we laughed until we fell asleep, reminiscing on the ridiculous day, snuggled in our tent.
As we biked through small towns and charming villages via cobblestone streets, our days were long and we covered anywhere from 25-75 miles from one country to another. We camped under grapevines and took in our surroundings. Three weeks and 1,200 kilometers later, we had arrived.
For the next three days we sat, drank, ate, embraced the beautiful culture and lost ourselves in Venice.
Throughout the trip I constantly found myself looking forward to the next town or the next country. The bike trip was an uplifting learning experience and one that I could never possibly forget. We had fun along the way — despite the strenuous biking — or perhaps, because of it. Looking back, I realize that the most important thing isn’t what you find when you get to where you’re going, but what you see along the way. The journey itself is the destination.