From Amsterdam to Dunkirk with a bike and a backpack

Written by Will Fisher, Universiteit van Amsterdam, Amsterdam, Netherlands

My exchange in Amsterdam ended at the start of August, and if there’s one thing I’ve spent my year doing, it’s cycling. Wondering just how good I’d gotten on a bike by now, I carved out a few days and planned a 4-day route from Amsterdam to Dunkirk entirely by bike. My student loans had mysteriously ushered themselves from my bank account by this point, so I eschewed hostels and instead planned to stay at free campsites along the way. It all seemed easy enough: 5-6 hours of cycling a day, three nights camping, and take the ferry over the Channel. Bosh.

The first day was surprisingly successful. My route took me straight down through the centre of the Netherlands, to a campsite by a small town about an hour west of Rotterdam. I had overpacked a little and my mudguards refused to stay attached to my bike, but other than that, the day went swimmingly. Flat ground, fresh air, lovely sunset, and at my first campsite by dusk. Along the way I stopped for a while in Rotterdam to eat, and got in a conversation with a traveller who was going on the same journey I was, only in the opposite direction. When I told him I would be cycling to Belgium the next day, he gave me something of a grave look, and told me to avoid the coasts.

Active listener that I am, I completely ignored his advice (not for nothing – any alternate route would take at least 2 hours longer) and left the campsite the next morning, following my original plans. The first 20km went well. Sun, pretty towns, good views. Then the wind came.

My route was taking me south-west along the coast, from beach to beach and across very long bridges. At about midday, I started to notice a headwind directly against me, blowing north-east. As I cycled further, the wind grew and grew, until I was fighting to even move forward against it. On my slow, rather miserable way, I passed a windsurfing beach and a wind farm, both of which felt like unnecessary insults. By 6pm I was in a town called Middelburg which was nowhere near where I needed to be at that point. I took shelter in a café and resigned myself to a long night of cycling. It took every bit of strength I had, but by 1am I made it to the Bivakzone in Belgium, where I set up my tent in the rain and sat feeling a little despondent.

My next day was much easier. Battered and a little fragile, I decided to take it easy on myself and cycle about a couple of hours to Bruges, where I booked a hostel room. This gave me enough time to explore the city a little, which was a highlight of the trip – it was my first time properly in Belgium, and while I’m a big fan of endless countrysides it was nice not worrying about cycling into a ditch for a few hours.

After a rejuvenating night, I set off for my final cycle. Across the Belgian and French coast, stopping in Nieuwpoort and De Panne to grab snacks and refill my bottles, I steadily made my way to Dunkirk. The previous days’ storm had finally blown over, with only suggestions of the once-mighty gales against me. This was the prettiest of the cycles I took, with old towns, beach dunes, and long rivers keeping good company along the way.

At long last, I arrived in Dunkirk, 74 hours after I had left Amsterdam. This was one of the most physically and mentally demanding things I’ve ever done, and not one I’d necessarily do the same way again (advice for any aspiring cyclists – check wind forecasts before you leave!), but one I’m proud of myself for seeing through to the end. This was the first long-distance cycle I’ve ever done, and it won’t be the last.