Cycling Western Europe
Day 8: July 6, 2007 (Ostend to Dunkerque, France to Dover, England)
Route: Ostend - De Panne - Dunkerque - Dover
Weather: sunny(AM/PM)
Total mileage: 35 miles

Today I almost died.

Ok, let me take a few steps back and explain . . .

I awoke at around 8pm, ready to get some breakfast and head to the train station in hopes of making my way to Dunkerque before noon. I heard from the notoriously unhelpful information centre that I needed to take the tram (which is more of an electric trolley car) to De Panne (the last town in Belgium before the French border), and switch to the local train into France. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight. Definitely NOT the case.

The first part of this plan worked out fine. It took an hour to actually get to De Panne, which is only about 15 miles west along the coast, but the wind was still blowing in strong from the west and it would have taken me over an hour to ride it. I figured it was a good choice; however, when I asked the man at the De Panne train station for a ticket to Dunkerque, he looked at me sideways. "No train goes there," he said. What?!! I thought. Are you kidding me? "Well, is there a train that goes near to the city?" I asked. "No, madam," he responded. Shit! Looking at my map, I saw that there was a cycling route along one of the local roads that went right into the heart of Dunkerque. Ok, I thought, I'll ride the 10 or 15 miles there. It can't be that bad. Maybe the trees and houses lining the road will block out a lot of the wind . . .

Wrong again, Alex. As soon as I turned the corner to head west toward the French border, a ferocious gale hit me head on. It was like riding into a wall it was so strong. No matter how hard I tried and pumped, I couldn't get over 10mph. It was terrible. The thoughts that there was no other way to get there and that I had to get back to London tonight if I wanted to see the Tour prologue tomorrow kept me going, nonetheless. As the time ticked by and I felt as though I was getting nowhere, I realized that the road was running right along next to a train track. Hmmmm, seems that a train does run this way; and funny, it seems to be coming from the direction of De Panne and heading toward Dunkerque. Strange. Maybe it turns south in the next town . . .

Nope.

Ok, maybe the next one . . .

No.
All right, maybe it's out of service . . .
But there goes a train right now.

What?!!!!!

Just as I was thinking that the train station guy either lied to me or didn't understand what I was saying, I passed a sign saying that I had entered the outskirts of Dunkerque, France. Only a few miles to the city centre! Once I had ridden about 5 miles, however, I saw another sign for the ferry port: "Car ferry 7km." Not bad, I thought, only about 5 more miles left, but the wind made it seem more like 10. I rode what felt like miles along an endless deserted road with barely any shoulder for cycling. Slightly freaked and wondering where the h*ll! the ferry station was, I saw another sign: "Norfolk Line follow signs for 'car ferry'." Yeah, I got that, but where is this damn ferry? And another sign: "Car ferry 3km." Yes! Only about 2 miles left . . .

and that's when it happened. That's when my life went into jeopardy.

One minute I was riding on quiet back roads along the coast, and the next I was on a double lane highway! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! What happened? Where did I go wrong? As cars and large lorries (that means "trucks" in British English) whizzed by me at about 50 or 60mph, a single word came to mind: SHIT! Then, I starting praying. "Please don't let me die. Please don't let a huge truck hit me, sending me and my bike off the side of this cliff into the river that I see up ahead. Please let me make it over this bridge that has suddenly appeared around the corner." Terrified is not the best word, but it's close. I was a mess. Not sure if I should break down and cry right there or keep on moving, I kept telling myself how stupid I was being. If Chris were here, I thought, he'd kill me. Dad would say: "That's really dangerous, Alexandra." Yeah, I know, tell me about it! But then a sign up ahead put spirit back into my legs: "Car ferry 1km." Yes!!!!!!! Almost there. Bumping along the little dirt track that lined the road, I churned my legs as fast as I could (while fighting the wind that made the bag on my back sway, dangerously pulling my bike and me off the road) around the last bend. What lay in front of me was the most beautiful sight I had seen all day: the ferry port! Thank you G-d.

Sadly, I missed the 4pm ferry (by 5 minutes) and had to wait for the 6pm one, but it didn't matter because I had made it (alive). After buying my ticket (only $35 total!) and going through the security check, I parked my bike and headed upstairs to the snack bar. Food, finally. I realized that I hadn't eaten since breakfast (and also that my cycling clothes seemed a bit loose). A nice cheese baguette and cappuccino did the trick. I cannot express the relief and happiness that I felt to be there: at the ferry port with a ticket back to England. I felt like I had accomplished something spectacular. I risked my life today, I thought, but came out on top (one can get a bit over-dramatic and crazy--like I said before--when spending so much time alone on the bike) . The rest of the trip across the English channel was enjoyable; and on top of it, I met a nice couple who chatted with me about cycling, literature, traveling, and spirituality (some of my favorite subjects). I didn't think it would feel so good to step back onto British soil.

Once back in England, I rode a few miles from the ferry port to the Dover train station. Luckily, this time, the station guy knew what he was talking about and gave me a ticket to London. Relaxing on the train and watching the sun set over the beautiful English countryside, I relished in my experiences. What a fantastic trip, I thought (aside from today). I could do this for the rest of my life. Well, it might get boring riding around by myself so much, but I'm sure I could find some people to accompany me (anyone?).

I arrived in London at about 11pm, hopped another train to my cousin's apartment a little outside of the city, had some cheese and wine, and passed out for the night. A bed to myself and a private shower never felt so good. It is as close to home as I can be right now. Tomorrow morning it's off to the "People's Village" for some pre-Tour entertainment and sightseeing, before staking out a good place to watch the race. Can't wait.