Day 6: Ghent to Brussels (Final Push)
62km, one very tight bike bag, and the long way home.
Up early, no leisurely hotel breakfast today. That could wait until the road provided something. The mission was simple enough, 62km to Brussels, Eurostar to St Pancras, train to Hassocks, and the final 5km home on the Brompton. In theory, three hours of easy cycling. In practice, I gave myself plenty of extra time because six days on the road teaches you that plans are just suggestions.
The first 20km took me through a couple of sizeable Belgian towns right in the middle of the school run, and the sight was something I won’t forget quickly. Thousands of children on bikes, all ages, heading to school on dedicated cycle paths, completely comfortable, completely confident. It made me think about the difference back home, where even the most well-meaning parents hesitate to put their kids on busy roads with impatient morning traffic. Belgium has invested properly in its cycling infrastructure and you can see the result in every generation using it.
One thing Belgium hasn’t invested in quite as heavily: coffee shops. After Bruges and Ghent, where cafés are as much a part of the landscape as the canals, the towns on today’s route were surprisingly short on options. Brighton has one every 50 metres. Here I had to work for it.
A brief stop was rewarded by the sight of the longest freight train I have ever seen in my life, easily a kilometre of flatbeds carrying thousands of cars, rolling steadily past while I stood there counting wagons. Some things you just have to stop and watch.
The ride into Brussels was straightforward and honest, a bit of canal, some suburban towns, mostly cycle paths, not as beautiful as the Bruges and Ghent stretch but I knew that going in. It was always going to be a functional finale rather than a scenic one. Found the station without drama, located the Eurostar booking area, and gave myself an hour to sort everything out.
First priority: bag the Brompton. The bag was, to put it diplomatically, very tight. It did the job. Second priority: food, and somehow I found myself in another fast food burger joint, which felt like a perfectly symmetrical way to end an adventure that started with a coffee and a biscuit at McDonald’s in Newhaven. Some things are just meant to be.
Sitting on the Eurostar now, I find myself wanting to say a few thank yous.
To Lucy, for the encouragement, the WhatsApp messages in the rain on Day 3, and for simply saying go and do it. That matters more than it sounds.
To the yellow Brompton, the undisputed star of the show. It complained once or twice, particularly on Day 3 when it was caked in mud and reduced to three gears, but it never let me down. No punctures, no mechanical failures, and with a Brooks saddle underneath me, never truly uncomfortable. It just needed a bath.
To the Garmin, for showing me the way across six days and five countries, with the single exception of one road that didn’t exist and a couple of hotels it dropped me slightly short of. Flawless, really. To Komoot for the route, and to Booking.com for a warm bed at the end of every day.
And to the adventure itself.
It was exactly the reset I needed. Some days were brilliant, some were brutal, all of them were worth it. I came out the other side with cleaner thinking, tired legs, a slightly battered yellow bike, and a notebook full of field notes I’m glad I wrote.
Home in a few hours. Already wondering what’s next.
