By Ferenc File.

I’ve always wanted to join the annual Horsham Cycling Belgium trip, but somehow something else has always come up at this time of year. This time, though, the stars finally aligned — and we managed to squeeze it in.

On Friday morning, we all drove to Dover and caught the same ferry. We sat together on board, and when we arrived at the port, we were among the first passengers off and, more importantly, the first to order food before the inevitable queue formed. So there we were, having breakfast together right at the front of the ferry, looking out of the windows. Not much beats an early morning full English with a view like that.

The weather wasn’t exactly brilliant. The ferry was rocking so much that we were all swaying around like sailors in an old film, whether sitting or walking. But nobody cared — everyone was excited about the challenge ahead. From Dunkirk, we drove on to Ypres.

I wasn’t particularly well prepared this time. Apparently everything had been discussed and organised in the WhatsApp group, but thanks to my blissful ignorance, I’d missed most of it. In my head, the plan was simple: “Just go with the flow. Phil will sort everything.” And to be fair, he really did. It’s a cheesy thing to say, I know, but he genuinely did his best to make this trip special for everyone — and succeeded on every front!

We started with a shorter 32 mile loop, which turned out to be the windiest ride of my entire life! Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, we hit a cobbled climb. It was my first time tackling one outside of Carfax, so I had no idea what to expect. Let’s just say it was… memorable.

It was wet and windy, we were riding beneath trees, and slippery leaves covered the cobbles. We fought our way up the climb, only to descend and discover a lovely flat road that went around it. I think you get the idea. Oh well — at least I’ve got a story to tell!

Before getting back to the cars, we even had a beer stop, which was surprisingly refreshing. I also learned a valuable lesson: Phil will organise a beer stop for almost any ride, at any time — but don’t expect a coffee stop. Now you know the secret!

That evening, we went out to a lovely pizza place just a five minute walk from the hotel. Speaking of the hotel, it was great too: nothing fancy, but clean and right in the middle of Kortrijk. A pretty little spot. The pizza was delicious, and the waiter was strange and funny in the best possible way. The Belgian trip veterans were convinced he had somehow worked at every place the club had ever visited!

Saturday – Sunshine, cows, sheep… and cobbles. Lots of cobbles.

Saturday was glorious — the complete opposite of Friday. Blue skies, sunshine, fluffy clouds later on, and cows and sheep everywhere. It was one of those days when you’re simply happy to be out on the bike. I loved every second of it.

Well… almost every second. Phil had somehow managed to squeeze four of the most horrible cobbled climbs in the area into our route. Every time I thought, “That’s it, I’m done,” another one appeared. I’d love to tell you it made me stronger, but it didn’t! Joking aside, reaching the top of those climbs was an amazing feeling — at least in hindsight. At the time, my feelings were… different. 😁

At the top of one climb, we found a statue of two legs. Just legs. Apparently it honours a cyclist who used to attack on that climb and win races. Very Belgian. Very cool. We stopped for lunch in the lovely town of Geraardsbergen, and I even had waffles. Belgium really knows how to look after people when it comes to food — which, as you can imagine, is extremely important.

We also visited a chapel where Jesus hangs on the cross alongside the name of the cyclist who won there each year. Again: very Belgian, very cool. Towards the end of the ride, we stopped at a museum in Oudenaarde with a great café and a cycling themed shop. We even bought a bag of coffee beans supposedly designed to make cyclists faster. Or something like that. I haven’t tried them yet, but hopes are high…

That evening, we had dinner together at a great restaurant with equally great food. Belgians clearly love their food just as much as they love their bikes and cobbles — a discovery that pleased me enormously. After dinner, we went for a walk around town, and for a moment I genuinely felt like a proper tourist, not just a cobble warrior.

Sunday – The Randonnée

Sunday was a little different, as we joined the Mouscron Royal Cycling Club’s annual Randonnée. The route was around 50 miles and signposted absolutely everywhere. Every tiny turn, every village, every random corner in the middle of nowhere — perfectly marked.

There were two feed stations stocked with cakes, biscuits, sweets and four different drinks. And the entry fee? Just €4 per person!

For this ride, I decided to head off on my own and meet the others at the second feed station. Not long after leaving town, I started looking for a group to practise some proper chain ganging with. Unfortunately, everyone seemed far too relaxed. Nobody looked interested in putting the hammer down.

Then, while I was standing at the side of the road taking photos, a bunch of riders in yellow jerseys appeared in the distance — moving fast. This was my moment, I could feel it! I jumped on their wheels, and it turned out they were from a French cycling club, which made sense as roughly half the route went through France. They were a little sceptical at first. One even told me they didn’t offer free tours, so I’d have to earn my place. Fair enough.
After my first turn on the front — something close to a time trial effort — I was officially accepted. From then on, we stayed together until the second feed station. It was brilliant! I’d always wanted to experience something like that, and it was every bit as good as I’d imagined.

They even wanted me to continue with them to the finish, but I decided to wait for my own group. So while waiting, I spent some time riding around the Roubaix Velodrome. 😮 Needless to say, that was pretty cool too!

What wasn’t so cool was what happened next: I desperately needed a wee, but the toilets were closed. One of the organisers kindly suggested I go behind the velodrome — which I did. And promptly got two punctures. Front and rear. As if that wasn’t enough, while we were fixing the front one, I got another puncture. Three in total. Quite an achievement, especially considering I was almost stationary. 🤦

From there, we rolled back to the event HQ, said our goodbyes, drove to the ferry and headed home. And just like that, our brilliant weekend was over.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading my long account of the weekend. More importantly, I want to say a huge THANK YOU to Phil for organising such a fantastic trip! He might need to add a few more coffee stops and opportunities for chain ganging to his rides, but apart from that, he’s incredibly generous, thoughtful and clearly put a lot of effort into making this weekend special for everyone!

You might think that’s an overstatement, but here’s the thing: you weren’t on this trip. If you had been, you’d understand exactly what I mean.
So thank you, Phil — you made this weekend one to remember.

Editor’s note: read Dave’s write-up of the 2023 Mouscron Trip)