Brussels, Belgium - Thursday morning, May 20th 
Location: AT THE HOSTEL

John: Our few days in Brussels, orienting ourselves to Europe, have ended now.  We're packing our things up and readying our bikes to head out of the hostel here.  This will be our first venture to the countryside on our bikes. We figure we're going to take a train to the suburbs to get out of metropolitan Brussels (although there doesn't seem to be that much to it).  Then, we start riding from our destination, the relatively nearby town of Gembloux.  Seems to be about eight kilometers out. 

We've loosely plotted out the route we will take and which countries we want to hit.  We started here in Belgium basically because the airfare was the cheapest.  From here, we'll head south.  That's because Dick doesn't like the heat, so the plan is to see the warmer countries like Italy first, early in the season, and then backtrack north. So, that means we head immediately south from Belgium to France... that's probably only about two days ride away.  Then we'll head due south towards the Riviera.

Presently, on the side of the courtyard here at the Hostel, Dick is putting together his bike.  We had to take them apart and store them in boxes for the plane.  Now reconstructing them, Dick, the perfectionist, has been working on his for the last hour or two.  Mine was together in 15 minutes. 

Come on, Dick, we've got to see the Swanee Forest... outside of Gembloux.  Swanee.  Swanee.  I'm getting antsy.  It's time to go. 

Dick: We'll make it. I want to take it slow now.

John: That's because, a couple of minutes ago, Dick cut the knuckle of his thumb while he put the rack on his bike. This caused quite a deep gash and he's still dizzy. Wiped it off with alcohol to clean it. Bourbon, I think.

The cook here at the hostel, somewhat of a ditz, came out and panicked at the blood and gave him three bandages to put on it.   She said, "Ooooh, I hope you don't lose your finger."  That's a confidence builder.  Will you be losing your finger, Dick?

Dick:  No.

So, it seems, in just a short time we'll be out these gates and will be saying good-bye to Brussels, the home of the giant atom (l'atomium) statue and remembering our trip to nowhere, being led astray by some guy named Jacques.  That is unless Dick loses his finger. Au Revoir.

Namur, Belgium - Saturday, May 22
Location: ON THE ROAD

John: Well, we've been on the road now for three days... we met up with Alan from Wales (right), who is riding aside me.  The road meanders along this scenic river valley along the narrow Meuse River.

As scenic as it is, I've discovered riding on these bicycles isn't that much fun, really. So far, anyway. Maybe it's the mundane Belgium countryside, but it's pretty monotonous looking at rolling hills and cows all day. Nothing too unusual or unique so far.  Wouldn't you say so, Alan... hey!  Look at that.  You see that?  Up on the left side of the road here. ...wait.... Watch out for that... car.  Almost hit Alan from Wales.

Take a look... it's a deserted World War II, US Army tank. ...As we cross the road...  I've got to take a look in there.

Alan: You're climbing up?

John: Yeah... look down the hatch.  Oh no, a dead soldier!  Pretty desolate in there.  You guys should take a look in here.  English labels inside. There must have been some battles right around here.  Come on take a look.  

Dick: This whole Ardennes region had some heavy fighting.

John: Did any of you blokes from Wales get into that action, Alan?

Alan: I think the UK had a hand in it. 

John: Sure you guys don't want to look in here?