My Forest...of course it is!

My Forest.

Not all of Luxembourg's forests are broad leaf.

Of course it is my forest, it is the forest just a kilometre from my door, I ride in it at least 4 days a week, it is my commute, it is my entry to the bigger, wider expanse of woodland beyond, it is MY forest. I share it of course, I like to share, it is good to see people out walking, collecting berries and mushrooms. It is good to see the dogs and the dog walkers even if some of them have a very dubious idea of what “under control” actually looks like...and don't get me started on the idiots with extending dog leads and earphones...but that is another story in itself.

In my forest I watch the seasons change. The coming of Autumn is spectacular most years, the changes astonish me and the trail changes on a daily basis. Spring always fills me with hope. Hope that the cold, dark commutes are finally over and as I watch life return to my forest I begin to dream of the longer exploratory rides of summer when new paths, new trails, new castles, new worlds open up.

But there is always that time I dread, that time at the end of autumn the beginning of winter. The time when the leaves have fallen but the frosts have not made the trails hard. These are the days I fear for my forest. You see, my forest is not just mine, nor is it the dog walkers and berry pickers. The forest in truth belongs to the loggers. These are mostly old beech woods. They may look and feel natural but many of the paths I ride are in fact logger’s roads. The grass, bush, birch and nettle may crowd the trail but these were once roads for logging trucks and will be so again. These forests belong to the loggers. These are the days I fear, the days when I look forward to slipping into my singletrack descent and arrive at the entrance to this secret pleasure only to find the singletrack destroyed and replaced with a 3 metre wide scar of mud and caterpillar track. These are the days when I wonder how I will get home tomorrow, how I will find my way to my favourite spots, how life will ever be the same. These are the days I grieve for my loss and the damage to my forest.We are entering that time.

The loggers perform their duty with ruthless efficiency

What once was a swooping secret descent becomes a muddy scar.

I grieve less and less every year, it is not that the loggers are more careful, more respectful of my place in my woods. They are not. My passing is not noticed at all. No instead I have come to learn that the forest itself is by far the most powerful thing here. The trucks, caterpillar tracks, extractors, might seemingly destroy the forest but in reality it is never for long. The forest has a knack for reclaiming itself and as it heals itself and the cycle wheels, walking boots and dog paws tread down the muddy imprint, so the trails return to the way they were, for the most part. This is not the clear-fell destruction that we see in other parts on the world’s forests. These forests have been harvested over the centuries. They are now carefully managed, they have time to regenerate,  a few trees here, a few trees there are brought down, dragged to the main paths and stacked. In fact the biggest danger to the forest is that it is getting old, there is not enough space for the young trees to flourish, Luxembourg may have to step in and actually clear bigger areas in order to help the young trees thrive. So now, while I grieve for my loss, I also smile knowingly at the stacks of logs appearing at the side of the trail and celebrate the power of the forest. 

The loggers, the feet, the mountainbikes, the storms, very little can truly destroy my forest, with in a season or two the trails will look much as they did. Nature is amazing and given a bit of time nature will return my forest to me, as the loggers give way in the spring time and the trails begin to dry out, so nature will begin the job of reclaiming what it lost. I will once again be besotted by the growth, the change, the colour. But for now, for now I must stay out of the way of the chaisaws and trucks, I must find new paths while the loggers widen and submerge the old trails under centimetres of soft slurry. But not for long...not for long.

Castles and Celts (well alright Gaulles and Romans and Franks but Celts sounds better.)

Have I mentioned Luxembourg is a stunning place to be a cyclist? Have I mentioned that it has history in abundance? Have I said that if you own a CX or Gravel Grinder or Adventure bike you owe it to yourself to visit this tiny country?

Luxembourg has km after km of forest road, of farm road and quiet roads to link them. So I set off to see what it would be like to be a gravel grinding cx riding tourist. My bike of course my trusted Pickenflick and my route choice had to be accessible from the city with the minimum of black top road. Luckily Luxemboug is well served in almost any direction in that regard. The Piste Cyclable 1 is a wonderful track, but best taken with an adventure bike of some sort or at very least a rugged tourer. It is a wonderful resource and my usual commute route. It is easy to use it to link to many other forest roads and farm tracks and in this case enjoy some beautiful autumn scenery.

Not all the forests in Luxembourg are beech.

From the PC1 I crossed one valley and headed up to a fascinating archeological site where buildings have been unearthed from as far back as Asterix's time - through Roman and beyond. If my French were better I would be able to explain more but suffice to say a great deal of ancient activity was to be had in these parts.

It is a pretty ride on good forest surfaces.

From there I explored new trails to me and ventured from forest to field and back again before eventually finding my way into Septfontaines.

This may look like clear fell at first glance but this is storm damage from a couple of years ago.

Some more beautiful riding in stunning woods took me to a cycle path which should have led me to Hollenfels and my second castle of the day but there were warning signs, not that I really understood anything other than it was a warning, but the men standing on platforms in bright orange camouflage and waving guns seemed to imply an other way might be a wiser option. It did involve a wonderful road descent through the trees to the main road and of course the climb back on the other side.
Which led to one of the most magical climbs, on broken cobbles, not disimilar to a scaled down version of Paris Roubaix but of course unlike Paris Roubaix there was a significant incline. This road led me upwards into mixed woodland that so captivated me that I completely missed my turn and climbed on to a crossroads where the sun beamed down through the trees and the ground glowed. Sadly the picture does not do the moment or the memory justice.

Hollenfels castle is a centre for many activities, and right beside it is a youth hostel. The castle was actually in use at the time I visited and youth groups swarmed around so I did not linger.

Instead I headed down the hill beside the castle for the briefest of time on tarmac and passed the very impressive SNJ buildings with the equally impressive gates.

From there a couple of extra climbs took me past Schoenfels castle and back to my familiar routes amongst the white roads above Steinsel.

50km 900m climbing and just a brilliant day out. Some country to cycle this is!

https://www.strava.com/activities/753598581

Autumn is Coming

 Taking time to enjoy my surroundings is something I try to do on a bicycle as often as time and my competitive spirit will allow.

Today I had time and any competitive spirit had evaporated with the entanglement now mangling my rear mech. My breath hung grey and still in front of me but despite the cold, sweat dripped from my forehead and carved silver stains onto my glasses. It was then that I first truly noticed. Autumn is coming!

The stinging nettles that lined my path and which, just a couple of days ago crowded in, green and threatening, now seemed old, tired and just a little sad. They bent down tinged with brown at the edges and covered in holes. Clearly the caterpillars or snails no longer feared their sting and were gorging themselves on the last of the green. The nettles weren’t the only thing I noticed, the path which so recently had been sandy and loose was now firmer, held tighter by the addition of a little rain and dew. Instead of the nettles threatening me with a sharp sting, the now glistening, roots threatened worse if I did not pay attention to them. 

As I began to cool and feel the chill air on my damp back, I cleared the stick and got moving again but now more slowly, more aware of the slight changes that had occurred in my forest. The golden brown of the beech litter was beginning to hide the rocks and roots, the trees still looked green from underneath their still shady canopy, but other signs were there. Beech nuts crunched under my wheels and the wild flowers of summer were no longer to be seen. When had they disappeared, they were here a few days ago... weren’t they? 

The last descent seemed slippier, despite my increased care, the back wheel skipped and hopped over the drainage channels and then I was out of the forest and looking across the valley to the other side. 

When did that happen? The far side of the valley was already burning copper around its edges. The green giving way in great waves to yellow and brown. Looking back at the forest I had just left, it struck me. Inside the forest was still green, but looking at it from the outside it had begun to turn, it had really begun to change. Autumn is coming! 

 

4 Countries 4 Beers 1 Day

The plan was simple, or should have been.

I live in one of the small countries in europe, wedged between France Belgium and Germany with only a short hop from its northern border to Holland, Luxembourg is a little cycling gem. Bordered on its eastern boundary by Germany and in part the Moselle river. Following the Moselle south leads to France. Heading west back into Luxembourg would take me passed one of the few craft brew places in Luxembourg in the town of Bascharge and on into the spiritual home of beer... Belgium. Swinging east again would lead me home to the little town of Walferdange just north of Luxembourg city.

So I planned to ride into 4 countries  drink something from each, though the aim was, if possible, to find a native beer in each country. After all 4 small beers wouldn't do me any harm over the course of a day's ride, surely. How hard could it be. Everywhere in Germany sells beer, France is the home of the cafe culture, Belgium a powerhouse of brewing and Luxembourg has a cafe on every corner.

Luxembourg is in itself a wonderful country to cycle in. The city and the main roads are busy like any city or country but off the main routes the traffic is relatively light and the car drivers are generally respectful of cyclists, as they should be. Cycling is the national sport here and Luxembourg boasts more Tour de France winners per capita than any other country. There are also mile upon mile of designated cycle path though it is of very variable style and surface. Some of it winds through traffic calmed suburbs on the roads, some suddenly degenerates into rough forest road or farm track, and some is wide purpose built shared usage bike path. So the plan such as it was was to spend as much time as possible on the bike paths away from traffic and eat and drink my way into 4 countries in a day.

It should have been easy but as I set off at 08:00 it was already 26 degrees celsius and rising. 11km came the first puncture, thankfully I was carrying a spare tube tools and a repair kit but my mini pump struggles above 100psi so… anyway …I promised myself I would stop at the first sign of a bike store and adjust the pressure and replace the patched tube. The trip was going well and despite the puncture and the fact that I had been forced to walk a section of the cycle path which was conspicuous by its absence I arrived in Remich in good time, rolled across the border into Germany and headed for the the cafe at the camping site - closed - something that was to be a recurring theme for the day.

Once at the Moselle I ambled south, moving off the path to unsuccessfully locate a bar on the way, well unsuccessful in that I located several, all either closed or decaying. Eventually very hot, a little bit bothered and very very thirsty I found my first German bar. Now I have a smattering of French and absolutely no German but as ever the waitress spoke English and I was soon sitting in the shade with my cold beer. Excellent, all going swimmingly kind of, so after downing the ale and getting the bidons replenished I moved on. Back into Luxembourg and then down into France.

Mondorf Les Bains is a smart Luxembourgish

town with a thriving tourist industry modern new buildings around the hot springs and a general feel of affluence. Mondorf is a full 100m away, is in France and is non of those things. Foolishly I avoided a slightly seedy looking bar sure in the knowledge that somewhere in the next few towns I’d find a drink and maybe something to eat, after all  aren’t the french famous for their cuisine. As I was toiling up a hill in the now 40C heat I saw a couple of bikes hurtling down hill towards me. I raised my dripping brow from my stem to grunt out a greeting just in time to recognise the Luxembourg champions jersey. Wannabe flashed across my mind followed a split second later by the realisation that it was in fact Frank Schleck, and he was gone. Andy I believe is opening a shop and cafe somewhere around there but maybe over towards the German border where I had just come from. Which reminded me - still needed to find a bike shop, and a beer, damn but it was hot. I toiled upwards and aimed for little back roads to the next village. The road quickly turned into farm track and needless to say the cafe bar was locked up and decaying. Onwards then ever onwards. I was flirting with the border here dodging in and out of France Luxembourg France but never once did I find a bar open until I was back well inside Luxembourg. Oh well a Luxembourgish beer and some food would be good enough. I’d get a French beer from the supermarket to drink at home later. Beer yes food no kitchen closed. Moving on then and a small detour to the rather excellent Beierhascht hotel and brewery in Bascharage. Tempting though it was to stay in the cool and drink their wonderful ale I forced myself out the door and headed North west to Belgium.

The roads were good, the villages large, the shops and bars, hotels and cafes all shut. I don’t know if it is always like that but having ridden in circles round several villages I ended up crossing back into Luxembourg just outside Steinfort buying a beer and water in a petrol station riding back across the border to drink a beer in Belgium. The rest of the ride was uneventful beautiful and quiet Luxembourg roads, cafes and bakeries open for the most part though now tired I dropped my head to my stem and pressed on home and a cold shower and cold beer from each of the countries I had visited beckoned. Then came the realisation that the ride could actually be an imperial century so having slogged up the last hill of the day I turned away from home to add a few extra kilometers. Another small miscalculation had me riding around the block until the 160km appeared on the garmin.

I got home with what can only be described and Neapolitan tan, like the ice cream, white pink and brown. A cold shower and a liter of cold water later I was ready to light the bbq and celebrate my achievement with a beer from each country. There was Simon Regal from Luxembourg, Bitburger lager from Germany, Chouffe an IPA tripel from Belgium and … no French beer. Not even in the supermarket, simply not to be found anywhere.

The ride was a great success, some beautiful countryside, some excellent cycle paths, particularly inside Luxembourg and four countries visited in one long hot day. Next time I will plan the places to stop so I don’t ride aimlessly round French and Belgian villages looking for ale. Next time it won’t be 40c. Next time I’ll take 2 spare tubes, never did find a bike shop either. Next time...