Bike Ride from Liège to Huy
(conclusion)

Crossing the river again out of Amay, I got on the N696 and wound up in the most beautiful road I’ve ridden these last two days—the road was very quiet, wet from dewdrops fallen from the canopy of trees that lovingly sheltered half the stretch. Though virtually traffic free, the area was very much alive with all sorts of sounds—hushed murmurs from streams running down the hillsides, drips from the trees all around, from birdcalls. Lush and healthy ferns attest to the ubiquitous presence of moisture in the area. The leaves were in myriad hues of green, and some had an almost neon glow to them; the setting conjured images of the road up Mt. Tamalpais from the Fairfax-Bolinas Road.

(Above and below: Cycling nirvana on the N696 just south of Amay)

I emerged out of this exhilarating stretch into a quaint settlement of St. Sèverin, all hushed up on a Sunday, and all animation seemingly confined to its handsome church. The same thing held true for Nandrin, a few kilometers down the road. The whole area seemed to have been in suspended animation, a situation which frustrated me a little bit as I couldn’t find anywhere to get a drink.

(Below: St. Sèverin)

Going northwest from Nandrin to Grand Berleur, I noticed that the landscape had changed, had become more open. The scenery turned brown, courtesy of a number of fallow farms in the area. As I started going down a steep road out of Grand Berleur, I met up with another bunch of cyclists coming up from the other side. Behind them was a support van—either it was a professional team or a local club with a very big budget—in any case I thought it strange, although this was the second time I saw a support vehicle behind a group of cyclists. As I found out later, this is not rare in Europe and teams/clubs tend to train with support vehicles following them. Dunno, I think having a vehicle follow me around would drive me crazy. It’s a bit unclear on the concept of the cyclist as self-sufficient in my opinion.

(Above: This could have been a Jan Brueghel the Elder landscape)

As I was nearing my mileage limit, I started heading back towards Liège. From Grand Berleur, I turned left onto N638, a road that skirted the northern edge of the Bois d’Esneux (Esneux woods). I then headed north on the N683 with a moderate climb to the town of Boncelles followed by a very long (and sometimes steep) descent down to Seraing, an ugly town if there ever was one. Out of Seraing I found myself, once again, back on the road from hell, my bugaboo, my bête noire, my nemesis—the forgettable busy stretch along the river Meuse. This time I even saw bird carcasses—very disgusting.

(Above: Near Bois d’Esneux, on the way back to Seraing)

I longingly looked over my shoulder and tried to block the abomination around me by recollecting some of the beautiful scenery I’ve encountered on this ride, way up yonder, on the hills above this valley. Those were the memories I’ve chosen to remember this ride by, Seraing and Liège and their industrial abominations notwithstanding.

(Above: Need I say more?)

End.