I awoke as I often do, at six, and busied myself with trousers and a cigarette then set to quietly breaking camp. the routine is established and one thing follows another, like a sequence. The ground and fly sheets are last, left attached to the frame I dry them as best as time and sunshine will allow. While this happens I’ll transcribe in my ‘luxury item’ a camping chair that serves as my lounge and office. On this occasion I filed my post with the assistance of my power bank that I have discovered will charge my iPad but not my iPhone, why would this be Apple? Planned obsolescence? The power bank doubles as a jump starter so let’s hope that functionality isn’t required. A cautious cat kept me company and finally succumbed to a waved leather lace from my tobacco pouch, games without frontiers.
I headed out with a ‘fun’ route to Mons, blessedly free from highways but overshadowed by the low cloud base that drizzled but never rained on our parade through the countryside. Often I was tempted to stop and put on my over-trousers, I didn’t, the Kevlar lining of my jeans combined with the protection offered by the protruding cylinders could weather out this weather.
The first opportunity for coffee turned out to be a machine in a gas station. “Recogne. Le marque d’ un cafe genereux” proclaimed the cup, reality begged to differ as barely two fingers on latte graced the bottom. I topped up later at a biker friendly bar in Beauraing but passed on eating.
The N40 proved an adequate route, entertaining by dipping into France then frustrating as roadworks left me looping Beaumont. Missing a turn in Mons required me to lap the inner ring road before locating my goal, The Nimy rail bridge, where Lieutenant Dease and Private Godley heroically covered the retreat of their battalion becoming the first soldiers to be awarded the VC in the First World War.
The Great War wasn’t, we all know that, it still brought a tear to my eye and a shiver to my spine, 110 years to the day after this heroic act, to see their memory persist. A war that didn’t end all wars as witnessed by the tragedy 1500 miles to the east, what is our problem?
My problem was fatigue, a visual migraine arrived and passed, my mind wandered, thankfully not my path, but waking dreams and nightmares haunted me. I had the feeling that I’d lost my thread, probably should have eaten and drunk less, were that possible, coffee.
From Mons I found a campsite that sounded good (had the word bar in one of the reviews). The sat-nav led me down single track rural lanes, just wide enough for a tractor, through harvesting farmers and crops of maize we rode the Flanders fields to Camping Zennijs.
Wind whistled across the flat landscape hindering my pitching, once set I followed the signs to the bar and was not disappointed, it was in a field. A wholesome burger and bottles of 6.6% Kwaremont restored my spirits. The ghosts hosted now in fields of sunflowers not poppies.
Le Mans man 