Belgium

Families replaced college friends. Cars substituted bicycles. A van displaced a trailer and carried all the water. We were back in Belgium.

In 2012, I decided to spend my 40th birthday doing some things that I love. Thus the idea of cycling around Belgium to various Trappist monasteries and drinking their delicious homemade brew was born.

Our peloton of novice bike riders hit the pavement towards the Hainaut province town of Mariembourg on our way to Chimay, the last big day of cycling.

I left A c’t’heure dînant an hour later with a silly grin on my face and two hands transporting a cardboard box full of Westvleteren.

Day number five of our trip across southern Belgium to Rochefort would provide the ying to my yang. This would be the antithesis of the first day from Bomal to La Chouffe.

Even the best laid plans change. Bastogne did. The previous day, our first of six cycling days and on paper, the most strenuous with a bountiful number of miles of elevation gain

Marie-France furnished advice about cycling, beer, and chocolate in Belgian at which point, in a moment of weakness mixed with genuine hospitality, as could be read on her face, she shared a single piece of chocolate from her personal stash.

Belgian beer and I go way back. I decided to spend my 40th birthday doing some things I love. Thus the idea of biking around Belgium was born.