"Because it's there" and Other Good Reasons to Bike in Belgium

I'm on a train on July 25, 2019 - during one of the biggest heatwaves in Europe's history. It's very crowded. My 21 year-old Bike Friday New World Tourist is sitting ten feet away but I can't see it since it is buried under a layer of other people's luggage. The conductor is passing out water due to the near-intolerable heat in the compartment and I keep telling myself this is going to be worth the trouble.

Let me back up a second.

The 'this' I was referring to that day was Belgium. Because of the International Sketching Symposium - an event for sketchers and other artists that takes place in a different country each year - I was on vacation in Amsterdam* which made the Netherlands the 17th country I've ridden a bicycle in.  A day and a half into that adventure I decided I really should should go to another country. Not because I was having a bad time in Amsterdam but I figured Europe's compactness and trains would make a two-country vacation possible and give me an 18th country on my list. 

I looked at a map of Europe and the train lines. I had one day - no overnight - so I needed a country that I had never been to before that I could get into and out of easily, so I landed on Belgium. At first I thought I'd go to Brussels, but when I realized how impractical that would be I settled on a city I knew nothing whatsoever about called Antwerp.

Before riding to the station in Amsterdam at 8:50 in the morning, I determined the train I wanted to take was a Thalys train and would depart at 9:15, which would put me into Antwerp at 10:41 and give me a good several hours before taking the train back. I had to buy both a round-trip ticket and a bike pass for the Bike Friday. 

It started badly. I found I couldn't get on the 9:15 since bikes weren't allowed on the train so I had the choice of either ditching this foolishness in its entirety or paying 99 Euros for a round-trip pass to Antwerp with the outbound train that wouldn't get there until 11:23.

I choose to continue the foolishness.

The platform on the train was intensely crowded with scents ranging from the unpleasant to the hazardous. In the section toward the front of the train there were 8 seats and 14 people - three bikes including mine and a lot of luggage. 

And it was hot. 

The heat made the B.O. stench worse and definitely impacted a few people's moods. One particularly obnoxious man in some kind of sports jersey at the stop in Schippal boarded our section of the train by literally pushing his way past the female conductor, saying something like "My team is on board." His rudeness caused the use of whistles and a lot of yelling - and another delay. 

It was at Breda where the train crew passed out small bottles of water to everyone in our section. I downed it in just about one swallow and waited at least ten more minutes for the train to move again.

The delays put the arrival at quarter to twelve and even then I had to wait for my Bike Friday to be unearthed from the luggage pyramid it was trapped under. Finally free of the train, I headed out into Antwerp station...and the arduous parts of the journey to get there was all but forgotten. 

This is the interior of the station, and no photo I took of it ever did it justice. I found out later this station is widely considered to be the most beautiful in the world and that story checks out. 

I took a mental note of a Belgian waffle stand inside the station and promised myself I'd buy a Belgian waffle. When wheels hit asphalt and Belgium officially became No. 18 I bought a vanilla ice cream cone for 1 Euro and it was the best ice cream I had all summer. 

I didn't have a lot of time so I just rode straight out until I found a path by the water (the signs referred to it as The Ring) so I just picked a direction and rode in it.

Naturally I had to stop and look at the 'bike path' sign - the English Safety Bicycle is a universally understood symbol that is drawn many different ways by transportation departments around the world. Whomever did it in Belgium chose to put fenders on their version.

I didn't have to ride much longer until, on the left side of the trail, I found more artwork.

Because size 451 tubes are hard to find in most bike shops - here and abroad - I carry at least three plus a fresh patch kit every time I take a trip. I also carry an entire spare tire in case of a catastrophic puncture. You can also see a tiny roll of duct tape hanging beneath it (you never know). 

The original plan was to pose with this mural with the bike like I had at the Antwerp Station, but I just couldn't make it to the bike before the timer went off. 

Continuing in the direction I chose, I found a really interesting drawbridge that opened like a sliding van door on rails that were set alongside the road.

As fascinating as it was, I didn't feel like waiting for it to close, so I turned around and opened the throttle on the path churning out miles.

The trail got further from the city and more remote, but I followed a bend and wound up back in Antwerp, where I found a place to have a late lunch.

The outdoor cafe was especially nice because it was shielded from the brutally hot sun - and it faced this.

With temperatures over 100, I headed back to the station the long way back along the path. I made such good time I kept going - past the mural and across the drawbridge that had been opened earlier.

I didn't see any other riders while I was out which didn't surprise me since it was so hot. But there were still people out and about, determined to be outdoors.

After riding several more minutes through a lot of empty fields overlooking windmills, I doubled back toward the city and left the path to roll through Antwerp. I stumbled across a sign that said "Welcome People of Tomorrow!" and the greatest "cars beware" sign I have ever seen.

Finally, I made it back to the train station - not two hours after I had arrived in Antwerp. 

I had ridden in a new country. I ate a great ice cream cone, I had a peaceful lunch. I saw a cool mural. That would have to do.

However.

Just like I rode the Bike Friday from France to Germany to fetch a pretzel, this waffle - which was fantastic - was as good a reason as any to bike to Belgium.

Even though I had my ticket I needed to confirm something about my train, so I got in the information line. It was there that I saw an ad campaign that needs to exist in the United States. 

When I ride and take a train to work on my folding bike, I like to think I am equally handsome.

I boarded the train and sat in the same bike section I had when I was outbound, only this time it was a lot less crowded.

The two bikes on the left belonged to two German women who were on a big road trip together. We talked bikes for a few minutes even though neither spoke English very well. But they understood the hand gestures I made describing how my Bike Friday folds up and liked my high-speed video of the fold I had on my phone.

A guy with a Cortina hybrid boarded at Rotterdam and chatted briefly with the women before silently reading a book. At the Schiphol airport he wordlessly offered me some of his water when he noticed I had run out. At the same stop I helped the German women unload their bikes, and we all wished each other happy travels before the train continued on to Amsterdam. 

I rode a grand total of 15 miles. I could have ridden longer and further if I decided not to go to Belgium but I just couldn't miss the chance even in a heat wave. It's a testament to the power of rail - which I use most of the time for getting to work in San Jose - so consider using one when you want to go a bit further than you normally go. The price of adventure is always worth the ticket. Thanks for reading and thanks for riding. 


*I still need to write about that trip!

Biking Nations: Chicago, Illinois in the United States of America

                      Finalists for the Mr. & Mrs. Chicago Bike Yoga - spotted on Dearborn  - July 29, 2017

Picture it: Summer, 2016. I'm standing in a room in Manchester, United Kingdom with hundreds of people passionate about pens and ink and I'm waiting to hear where the next Urban Sketching Symposium would be held. There have been eight so far, and I've been to seven. I have never attended as a sketcher, but as a cyclist. My wife Suma is an artist you should follow on Facebook and I went with her to Lisbon, Portugal, Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic, Barcelona, Spain, Paraty, Brazil, Singapore, and, last year, Manchester, UK. 

It's fun to go to a new city so she can explore her passion and I mine. At the end of the day we meet back up for dinner - often with other artists - and I share stories and pictures of what lies beyond the city they've chosen for their symposium. I've dubbed it #WhileYouWereSketching - and have had enough sketchers tune into my travels for me to be upgraded to an honorary cast member of the Urban Sketching Symposium (or USK).

So I was excited to hear - from the organization that pretty much created my 'Biking Nations' series - where the annual multi-day even would be held and I was a little taken aback when the hosting city would be...Chicago.

Chicago as seen from the 18th St. bike lane.

As some of you know, I went to Chicago four years ago to attend a friend's wedding and was stunned by the dystopian structure of the city - specifically how the traffic moved at rush hour. What happened was I was in the back of a taxi, which  would go a cab-length, stop at a red light that was more than half a block away. While waiting for each light to change, even more cars would spill out of parking garages like M&M's from a torn bag. The light would change green. The cab would inch closer. The light would go red again. I aged about 18 months on the way to dinner that night. 

So not only was I not crazy about going to Chicago I was also thrown off that I'd be riding in a country I had already ridden in. I didn't have to visit the extraordinarily useful web site WhatSideofTheRoad.com to figure out how Chicago traffic moves. I didn't have to visit a Travelex to change my American money to Chicago money. I had no language barrier to contend with nor did I need to spend any time apologizing on behalf of my country for Trump and mass shootings like I did in Manchester.

Yeah: traveling to the Windy City was throwing me off my game. But I packed my Bike Friday in the case and after a napless flight we landed in Chicago. 

    Dearborn St., Chicago

Something welled up inside me soon after we began walking from the L station dragging the rolling Bike Friday case. I think it was...encouragement.

While walking to the lovely Hotel Blake I noticed a lovely two-lane protected bike path along Dearborn Street. I've always had mixed feelings about protected bike paths in city centers, in that I want something that discourages cars from getting in my path but not something that keeps me from leaving the path when I want to make a turn or otherwise merge into traffic. This one seems to do the job right. Not only that but the intersections have their own bike traffic signal - like I've seen in Europe. 

Both of the silver cars in this photo ran the light turning left onto Congress St. I would have taken pictures of every car that did this but my iPhone only has so much memory.

I noticed - and The Portland Sketcher (who I learned later - to my delight - brought her own bike with her to Chicago) backed me up on my observation: it appears cyclists in Chicago don't run red lights nearly as much as they do in other U.S. cities. It may be because they have infrastructure that actually is designed for them so they are more likely to respect it. 

On the other side of this, though: Motorists in Chicago seem to run reds more. Part of it, I'm sure, is a volume and impatience thing - but that of course is no excuse. I get that you've been moving through one city block in the time it took me to pedal ten - but you chose a GMC Yukon, a Ford Escape, a Honda Accord, a Toyota Sienna - and so on. You chose the car. Live with it and let me live.

The other thing I liked about Chicago out of the gate was the complete absence of Beg Buttons (you know - those 'push to cross' buttons you hit multiple times when you're trying to walk home fast to go to the bathroom). The pedestrian walk signals are timed to the red lights and everyone has a chance to go across the street. Of course, about half the time there is a big, stupid car splayed on the crosswalk like the kid who cut in line to sit on Santa's lap - but the thought of a city traffic light engineer who treats walkers and bicyclists as equals to car is what matters.*

After assembling my Bike Friday in the room (first looking lovingly at the note the TSA had left me to let me know they had, as they do 9 times out of ten, opened the case) but before I had a chance to ride it my wife and I headed off to see Hamilton at the PrivateBank Theatre with tickets we had bought six months earlier. Seats Y 121 and Y 122 are as far away from the stage as they sound, but we could still see and hear a show that actually lives up to the hype. It's like the anti-Avatar of musicals. Lin Manual-Miranda: if you're reading this please thank the entire Chicago team for me - and look me up if you're ever in the Bay Area as I'd like to take you on a bike ride. 

   

As usual, with a first ride in an unfamiliar city, I just rode around aimlessly to give myself the chance to see how the city breathes and how everything fits. I did have a chance to stop at Chicago Union Station where I waited inconspicuously for the bookkeeper. While I was there I noticed a woman struggling to bring a baby buggy up the steps and decided to help.

But I didn't stay long and got back on the road. Rather quickly, I learned that Chicago's bike infrastructure has the same critical flaw that other cities have: the inconsistency. The two-lane protected bike way was great but only lasts just beyond the river before disappearing entirely, and during the entire trip I'd often find myself riding on, say, Michigan Avenue and would merge into the left lane so I could turn left. Every time I did that, I didn't know if I'd hit the Bike Infrastructure Jackpot (the grand prize being a protected, pigmented, bike lane). or come up with a panniers bag full of nothing. 

Day one was short - which was fine by me. What happened was my wife offered to buy me a straight razor shave at Metropolitan Barber Shop - one of those old-school barber shops - so she could sketch it. My appointment to reduce my wind resistance was at four in the afternoon, and a guy named Pierre - who I learned has been a barber for 20 years - did the shave.

  Follow Art by Suma CM on Facebook

My wife captured the details of the shave quite well in her sketch. What she did not capture was the fact that the TV above the mirror was showing the absolutely ridiculous Shark Week special of Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps 'racing' a shark (digitally; he wasn't in the water with it). Also the barber and client in the chair next to mine were having the most detailed, profanity-laced, and hysterical conversation of Game of Thrones. It wasn't easy for me to be absolutely still with the hilarious discussion going on three feet from me but every time I was tempted to laugh I remembered there was a very sharp razor to contend with. 

The next morning, with a face that you would have had to touch to believe, I set off along the Lakeshore Bike Path heading north. It was nice to look at Lake Michigan but the wind, even in the morning, was definitely coming in off the water and I hoped it would be with me for the ride back.

That wasn't the case because about ten miles up the trail ended and I had to hit the surface streets. This was fine but I somehow got insanely lost - so much so I ended up going seven miles out of my way (in a great big circle) as I made my way up to my destination in Winnetka, Illinois.

I can feel your envy.

As it turned out, the house that was used in the exterior scenes in the film Home Alone was undergoing renovations - probably to fix the damage done by the Wet Bandits. 

I had gone 26 miles to get there when it should have been 17. Due to this error I opted not to try to find the 'Save Ferris' water tower (I also couldn't get confirmation as to whether it had been repainted).

After lunch in Winnetka I headed to the Frank Lloyd Wright Home and Studio in Oak Park. This was about 20 miles to my south and the directions took me along the North Branch Trail for a good chunk of the way.

I didn't take a tour of the Frank Lloyd Wright Home & Studio (I'll save it for my next visit when my wife can come with me) so I instead headed to Working Bikes - a bike shop I had looked up before I left that lies a few miles west of downtown Chicago.

I saw this not-for-profit bike shop as a sibling to what Good Karma Bikes in San Jose and the Ohio City Bike Co-Op in Cleveland is: taking used bikes and doing good with them. Working Bikes just made a smile hit my face and stay there. I wandered about, bought an obscure bike part I didn't know I needed, and bought it. If you live in or are visiting Chicago and have a passion for bikes and helping people you're going to want to go there. Check Working Bikes out.

Finally, I headed back to the hotel - having brought my Bike Friday 60 miles with no flats. It was an unusual amount of riding for the second day of a four-day trip...especially considering what I had planned for the next day.

To be continued. 

* Until we get spike strips that pop up along the sides of the crosswalks so they'll be repercussions when cars do that. 

Biking Nations: In Manchester, UK with the USK

I got over the jet lag from my trip to Japan about fifteen minutes before I boarded another intercontinental flight. Those Urban Sketchers - the passionate pen and paper people - were the reason my wife and I were making this trip. 

Portland, Oregon was the site of the first Urban Sketching Symposium. That was the only one my wife didn’t attend (which obviously means I didn’t attend it either). But each summer since then I got to go along with her and go biking while she’d sketch and attend helpful workshops and seminars: I basically owe the USK the Biking Nations series of posts since I got to do Portugal, Dominican Republic, Spain, Brazil and, last year, Singapore because of them - I also always learn something new each time I’d have one of these adventures. 

This year the symposium was held in Manchester, United Kingdom. I’ve biked in the UK many times but only in and around London. 

We did stop briefly in London before heading to Manchester by train. Still in the clothes I wore on the plane and functioning on 93 minutes of sleep, I went up 311 steps up The Monument to the Great Fire of London (called ’The Monument’ for short) because nothing quite diminishes the effect of jet lag like going up 311 steps to look out over London. 

We also did a side trip to Oxford where, unfortunately, I didn’t have a chance to ride. But if you are a cyclist and go to Oxford, you should stop at Bike Zone and go to The Handlebar Cafe & Kitchen.

Bike shop on the first floor. Cafe on the second. It’s a beautiful thing.

No trip to London is complete with riding a bike share bike. Since I hadn’t ridden this essential, wonderful and imperfect bike share system in over a year the bikes were now labeled Santander. Well-versed in how to use the system (and already carrying my helmet with the little rearview mirror mounted on the non-U.S. side) I took a short ride - admiring a staircase with a little ramp on the side.

My warm-up, pre-Manchester ride originated in Canary Wharf - which was where my wife made a warm-up, pre-Manchester sketch.

By the time we got to Manchester, I was raring to take the Bike Friday out of the case. It had been in Japan only two weeks earlier and I only had a couple of days between trips to get it back up and running again - which I did by replacing the rear tire and giving it a brand-new tube. 

Manchester is a beautiful city even though there are still some Brexit scars visible.

As usual, the urban sketchers captured the city better than I did this trip (See my wife’s beautiful sketches as well as ones belonging to Rita, Orling, Jessie, Fernanda and Amber - and do a social media search for #USKManchester2016 and offer to buy the originals from these and other talented artists). 

I have an excuse for taking a smaller number of photos than usual: it was raining. A lot. After more than a year of living in precipitation-starved Silicon Valley, I forgot how annoying it is to bike in the rain. But if one is cycling around Manchester there are plenty of bridges you can hide under when the skies open.

We stayed at Innside Manchester, which had a comfortable room, a convenient location, a breakfast buffet made for hungry sketchers (and cyclists) and a short walk from Harry Hall Cycles - the perfect place to buy a patch kit (more on why I did so later) and admire, yet again, Bromptons.

I found that riding around Manchester was a little easier than London: not quite as dense and at a pace that wasn’t turned all the way up to eleven. Infrastructure was scattered (but to Manchester’s credit a light rail is being built and that was the cause of a lot of the construction I had to contend with).

A particularly memorable moment when infrastructure did make an appearance was the Manchester Cycleway: a protected bike lane (learned more about why these matter from the Silicon Valley Bicycle Coalition Bike Summit the other day) with its own traffic signals.

I’m not going to say I got bored biking around Manchester but I did want to really aim high this trip and bike to Liverpool - about 35 miles to the east. On my second day of biking in Manchester, I made a go by using the Trans Pennine Trail. 

This wasn't the ideal terrain for 115 psi road tires. 

Very quickly, I discovered that a lot of the trail wasn’t paved. That’s fine, I thought. I’ll just ride anyway like I did up the mountain roads in Paraty. 

Unlike Paraty, I got a flat almost right away. I set the bike upside-down beneath an bridge to get out of the rain and quickly realized that horses use the trail as well since I could see (and smell) horse excrement that was sitting just a few feet from me. 

In spite of the omen, I pedaled on...and got a new flat barely a mile later - just as the rain was picking up. I stopped beneath another bridge to again get out of the rain to change a tire. A few mountain bikers (who were undoubtedly smarter than me as they were all riding pedal-powered versions of the Christopher Nolan-era Batmobile) offered to help but I had all the tools I needed. 

An old man walking alone on the trail stopped under the bridge to get out of the rain himself, and he and I talked while I mended my tube. His name was Patrick and was born in Ireland. I appreciated his company but just like The Washington Post said not too long ago I ended up having to answer his concerned questions about Trump - and also about mass shootings.  I couldn’t give him a good rationale as to why the U.S. has both, and when the rain subsided he headed off on his way. I never saw him again.

Hopefully, the next time I am in the UK I will be instead asked about happier subjects like, say, for instance, Lorca. 

Soon after the tire was changed, I headed off and the rain began to pester me once again. Just as I was wishing I had fenders, I stumbled across a front fender that looked like it had fallen from a mountain bike. I picked it up, broke it in half and fastened it to the Bike Friday in the hopes it would at least keep tire water from hitting my butt. 

Soon after attaching the fender - which I’d end up taking back to San Jose with me - I  became confused at a detour sign. 

Then I became lost. 

Or at least I think I did. Despite the international phone chip I put in my iPhone that gave me access to Google Maps I wasn’t sure I was even on the trail anymore. All I did know for sure is there wasn’t a chance I’d be able to make it to Liverpool and back without my wife and her sketching friends launching a search party. So I abandoned my effort and searched for pavement. I found it by crossing (what I later discovered) was private property. 

After stopping at a random fast food restaurant for a late lunch (that was so late I was bordering on ‘early dinner’ territory) I headed back to Manchester by trying to ride along the canals. 

Again, not all of it was paved but it was nice to look at. 

When I returned to the hotel I discovered, to my dismay, that my rear tire had gone flat for a third time. It was irksome. I didn’t understand how I could ride up a mountain and back in Paraty and only get one flat for the entire trip (in the hotel room, no less) but a brand-new tire and tube in Manchester, UK already had this many punctures. 

Before meeting up with my wife and her fellow artists I headed to Harry Hall Cycles for another patch kit. I had brought two new ones with me (lesson learned from Barcelona, Spain) but at this point I was worried I’d run out. I ended up purchasing the glue-less kit from Park Tool - and hoped I wouldn’t have to use it. 

The next day it was raining again, but I decided to bike to Liverpool. This time, I was going to use the A5 and I stretched a hotel shower cap over my helmet before setting off. Soon after finding my way to the A5 in the rain something odd happened: I nearly hit a human head that was in the road. 

Well it wasn’t a real human head: it was the kind of head one would find at a hairdresser school or it was broken off of a department store mannequin. But for a quarter of a second I thought it was real. I picked it up and decided to take it with me until I found a trash can for fear another cyclist with worse eyesight would see it and lose balance. 

However, motorists along the A5 began giving me noticeably more space when overtaking. So I decided to carry the head with me for the rest of the day. 

Motorists of Great Britain: meet the woman who cut me off with her Ford Focus! Don’t let that be you!

Soon after picking up the head, I noticed a wide, paved path running alongside the A5. Almost immediately after noticing that, I got another flat tire and stopped yet again to change it. 

Even though I had once again found a dry place to mend the tire (the Park Tool patch kit worked quite well, I have to say) I was still getting annoyed at the frequency of the flats. 

“You’re not even a Beatles fan!” I growled to myself as I pumped the tire back up. “Why are you even going to Liverpool?”

The head - staring at me through the mesh of my CamelBak - declined to answer. 

I pedaled on and without even realizing it at first: the rain stopped and I had nothing but open trail ahead of me. 

Aside from negotiating the occasional traffic circle (and thus having to mingle with cars that would either gaze upon my backpack with fear or amusement) there’s not much of interest along the route to Liverpool but it was nice just to go fast. Miles dropped away one by one. 

I stopped at a convenience store for a sandwich about seven miles from the town The Beatles are from. When my odometer pushed past thirty miles I had to leave the bike path on the A5 and hop on secondary roads to get to Liverpool - passing by some unremarkable buildings to get there. Heading toward what I thought led to downtown I came to a couple of backpackers juggling at a red light; a sign was nearby explaining they were seeking tips to fund their travels. I tipped them.

A few blocks after leaving the jugglers I headed down a ramp that looked deceptively like I was about to get on a highway. But instead I was greeted by the following sight. 

I had made it to Liverpool. And the sun was finally out for real. 

I noticed my rear tire was going flat yet again so I stopped in front of The Fab Four Cafe (which is exactly what you think it is) to change it once more. 

By now I pretty much needed to do an about face and head back to Manchester, so I bought a cookie from the Fab Four Cafe, ate it, and turned around so I could return the way I came.

Before getting to the bike path that was separate from the rest of the road I had to, of course, ride in the street and thus take a photo that I have taken in just about every country and every city and every small town I had biked in: a clear path for a clumsy American cyclist with no sense of direction while cars are backed up at a near standstill.

Thankfully, the tires stayed intact and the sun stayed out. Even though there still wasn’t a lot to look at the clear skies meant I could actually see Manchester when I got to within ten miles of it. 

Not exactly tired and liking the way the sun looked this time of day I headed back to the canals, where I ran into two artists I’ve met at previous symposiums: Fernanda and Jessie. They were enthused to hear I had made it to Liverpool and back and laughed at the mannequin head that was still on my back (having been there, rain and sunshine, for about seventy miles). 

The next day I packed the bike up and headed on foot to the Museum of Science and Industry. There’s a great building there with a lot of cars and planes on the first floor…and a fun exhibit on the second. 

Shortly after, I met up my wife and the other sketchers at the closing event of the 2016 Urban Sketching Symposium. There, I learned that the 2017 Urban Sketching Symposium was going to be in Chicago. I’ll be able to ride on the right side of the road and unlike the last four out of five USK events, probably won’t have to deal with a language barrier when ordering lunch, but I’ll find a way to make another cycling adventure out of it. 

As for the head I found in Manchester: I put it in the hotel fridge and wondered if I should leave it there for my wife to discover later. 

In the end, I did as one of our sketching friends had advised me to do and put it in her side of the bed (But I ended up just showing her this photo since she had already gotten word about the head before we caught up with one another the day of the Liverpool ride). 

What I didn’t do is bring the head back with me to the U.S. - it stayed in Manchester, but I promise that whatever obscure item(s) I find on the road I will tell you about and keep. And if I find another head I’ll make either a Halloween decoration or a diamond lane buddy - not sure which. In the meantime, enjoy the rest of your summer (and, if you find yourself fixing punctures frequently, check the tire to make sure there isn’t a tiny piece of glass lodged in it - and try to do it when you get the first flat and not when you get home from a fun bike trip in the UK - told you I always learn something new). Thanks for reading and thanks for riding.