Contemplating conflicts and harmony while traversing High Fens in the first snow of this season.
I planned to go kayaking, but as the weekend approached, sub-zero temperatures froze my motivation to get on the water. When I got home on Friday, I found myself wandering in my thoughts to the Highlands and went to bed without an alternative for the weekend trip. "I would figure it out tomorrow," I thought.
The following morning, I still had mountains on my mind, which got me thinking about the High Fens. It is the closest to the mountains one can get in the Benelux. The weather forecast was sunny, and the Mont Rigi weather station indicated 10 centimeters of snow. Sunshine this time of the year is not given, nor is snow in Belgium. Scoring both is a bit like a lottery win. I checked the time and realized that the train was leaving in around 30 minutes. "Ah! Quick!" Although I didn't have a specific plan, this was too good to pass up. I grabbed a backpack, chucked stuff inside, made a rapid splash of lube on the chain, and set off to a sprint toward the station.
Halfway through the city, I thought of a relative who never misses an opportunity to heckle me with his opinions of how trains are a huge waste of money and completely inferior to cars. I could hear his voice in my head, "See, if you had a car now, you wouldn't have to rush to the station like a moron." I made it just in time to board my train, and as I calmed my heart rate, I began planning my route and simultaneously formed a reply in that inner dialogue of mine. "If I had to drive now, I wouldn't be able to look into maps and connect trails. I would have to do it before or after the drive, wasting the scarce daylight along with the joy of de-icing the windshield." Then I opened my backpack with apple pastries to have breakfast and thought, "Eating over a table is better than eating over a steering wheel." I also considered expanding on costs and other arguments, but I cut it short. After all, the conflict was only in my head this time; I didn't need to convince anyone. Moving on.
When I left the train, I looked forward to the route crossing the High Fens; it included revisiting some of my favorite places, yet also plenty of new ones. The scenery was fantastic from the beginning, and shortly, snow started turning the surroundings white.
Some elevation meters higher, the snow was also on the road, with icy patches underneath. My mind didn't wander anymore; it couldn't. Instead, I was sensing any traction changes, occasionally breaking it on purpose by brake checks or stronger pedal strokes, just to gauge where the grip's threshold is. Moreover, I had this icy kingdom just for myself.
The outlook was lovely, even when the clouds grew bigger, and I turned into a headwind.
The wind was pretty cold and was getting stronger. So, I put on all the layers I had, and as such, my hearing was dampened; the world around me turned even quieter than it had been until now. Yet, suddenly, a loud explosive sound broke the silence. "Oh no!" I thought.
The thing is, my first point of interest was just outside a vast military training area, and when they have a shooting day, they also close the surrounding lands. Should that be the case, I couldn't reach it. This certainly interrupted the peaceful nature of the moment, as I hadn't checked with the military base when planning the journey. "Come on, they surely don't fire on the weekend, right?" I tried to convince myself. Since I hadn't heard any other bangs, and I was still more than 10 kilometers from the base at that point, I thought that maybe it was just some fireworks-loving local.
The destination I wanted to visit lies in Belgium, but as the military district extends in places all the way to the national border, I had to travel through Germany to access it.
There, the woodlands changed to a townscape, which featured a fun diversion, a nice pump track where I could warm up.
All that was left was to get back to the forest and follow a neat path back to the border.
The place I headed offers one of the very best natural lookouts I've seen in all of Belgium. It is a rocky cliff overlooking a meadow with a meandering river, surrounded by dense forests. "Seeing it in the snow will be the dream!" I thought and approached a river that forms the national border. Behind the river is a flip sign indicating whether the area is open or closed. After the previous boom, my expectations weren't high, but the flip sign was turned to a position of proceed, not forbidden. "Yay! Life is good!" I thought, and rode into the river. But as I forded it, a bang of an apocalyptic scale thundered in the air. It caught me off guard, and I dabbed my foot into the freezing water. Forkin...! The paper schedule attached to the sign then only confirmed what I already knew: there's mortar fire today. The sign also informed that the shooting will last beyond sunset, and that entering equals a danger of death. They just forgot to flip the sign to display the no entry symbol. So, I did it for them.
Ah man. I stood there and imagined the outlook I would miss. Here's an archive photo I took the one time I managed to see it, so you know what I mean.
I thought about my visit to the Šumava National Park in Czechia, a part of which used to be a military shooting range in the past, where I saw big signs warning about unexploded munitions, prompting people to stay on trails. Even though it's called a national park now, the land is unsuitable for agriculture and dangerous for recreation. That's a kind of crap park, if you ask me. THUMP!! The ground shook.
Another voice in my head appeared, "You should be grateful for the military, it is for your good!" the voice said. I then recalled the times I worked for a newspaper in the US, and how I spoke with veterans who had seen combat firsthand. Among some harrowing stories I'll never forget, those veterans also denounced war with the strongest consistency. "Imagine how many books for children you could buy for the price of one tank," one wrinkle-faced man who served in action told me. KABOOM! I was pulled out of my thoughts. "Geez, frightening noise that is," I thought as I started leaving the place. When some leaders think that using this kind of force against others solves the problem, and leaders of the others believe the same, only in their mind, we are the others, somebody will be disappointed. "Could it be everyone?" I wondered, but concluded that I ain't going to solve this. People have been murdering each other because someone said "it is for your good" for as long as humankind has existed, and Belgium bombs some of its prettiest land. It is what it is.
I cycled back to Belgium via the village of Küchelscheid, which had a somewhat surreal feel: Peaceful sceneries of farmlands with a soundtrack of war machines in the background.
I continued into the forests, and while shooting faded, I was amazed by just how far one can hear it. Meanwhile, the landscapes constantly delivered dopamine.
Along the way were a few huts, and next to one was a wooden bench sheltered underneath a piece of laminate roof. Lunch time!
About third of the remaining water I still had turned to ice, and the frozen food was rock-hard; still, I guess wintry cycling makes everything taste all right, and it refueled me to continue to my next point of interest, the tallest point in Belgium: Signal de Botrange.
Woods cleared to glades, the road was incredible, and so were the views.
It was good timing: by the summit, I drank the rest of my water that wasn't frozen yet, and since Signal de Botrange has multiple pubs, I could get rid of the ice and get a refill.
Besides the pubs, the summit serves as a large parking lot, meaning that there can be quite some crowds. Yet, not too far, I turned from the main path to one of the narrower trails around that are still open for cyclists, and there was nobody.
The surface was mostly frozen with occasional cheeky roots, but it was not steep, just the right angle to be aided by gravity without having to fight it. Once again, there was no separation between thinking and movement. There was also nobody out to impress, and no audience to judge. I wasn't thinking about how I looked or what I should be doing; I simply was. Now we talk flow. A flow during which time bends, like the bullet scene from Matrix. Seconds stretched into minutes, but then, the descent to my next point of interest passed in a heartbeat. Pop, and I was by the Robertville dam.
This was one of the places where I had never been before, and visiting it proved to be a good call. The views over the water were pleasant, and the dam had an open spillway, forming a remarkable waterfall as a bonus.
Not too far from here is also the Reinhardstein Castle, under which is one of the most impressive waterfalls in the country. While planning the route, I debated whether to continue there and then follow the Warche valley to Malmedy. I knew I'd like that. However, I decided to follow a different river first, which meant more new places for me to explore. I did enjoy the view of the castle, though.
Now, this section was mostly on paved roads, but they were quiet and scenic.
The river I went to was Warchenne, a small tributary of Warche, next to which goes one of the amazing rail trails of the region. Once again, I can get by with this kind of asphalt cycling.
Still, the path wasn't without difficulties. Even with the lovely sunshine, it was one chilling descent. By the time I got to Malmedy, I was pretty cold. Thankfully, a solution was right ahead: from the city, I wanted to follow Warche until its confluence with the Amblève, which warmed me up rather quickly, as the path was the opposite of a smooth and wide rail trail.
While there were a few hike-a-bike sections, a lot of it was rideable, fun, and carried the tradition of this day when it comes to scenery. Speaking of which, I was in for a pleasant surprise: Soon after the confluence, I stumbled on Rocher de Warche, which is another rocky cliff overlooking a river. Splendid!
At that time, the sun was almost behind the horizon. I still had some distance to cover, but I liked the place, so I stayed for a picnic. "After all, that is why I brought the lights," I thought, ate two frozen waffles, and took a smiling selfie to offset the face-plant from earlier. What a roller coaster.
The highs were here to stay this time, though. The next section of my route was a gravel heaven, spiced with multiple terrific views on the Amblève.
Following the river took me through Stavelot, where I saw a remnant of another conflict: a WW2 half-track, pictured at the top of this article. It felt like it pulled the theme of the day together and expanded it beyond the trip. Outings like the one today serve me as reminders that one wouldn't have highs if they didn't have lows; something I can carry with me even when the trip is over. But today's trip wasn't over yet. I continued my Stavelot excursion; while I passed by a few times, I never took the time to see its center until today, only to realize that it is beautiful and will warrant another visit during the daytime.
The final stretch of the day followed the Amblève...
...until the waterfalls in Coo. The last time I was here, they had a big rig with colorful lights pulsing around, but that has since been removed. I liked it better this way.
All that was left was to eat dinner and get me on a train back home. Balance was struck.
Thanks for reading!
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