Alps 2008
 
 

Day 03

June 21

 
 

Dave and I get up early today to get the radio setup on my ST1300 sorted out. It's an Autocom unit that I 'inherited' with my last ST1100 purchase. The radios used in the UK and Europe are a different frequency that the FRS/GMRS ones we use in the States, so Dave had sourced a pair for me and I had already tested that part of it. With that out of the way, we go back inside for our 'Fully Cooked English Breakfast'. I'm not from England, but I know what it should include and let's just say it was short a few things. Not bad mind you, but just a little short. I've also noticed that for some reason, I just cannot seem to get hydrated. So I am drinking all the time - especially at breakfast. With the meal dispatched, we get our gear and ride toward the town square to meet Pieter. With Pieter in close pursuit, we head out to where Moff and Pete are camping.

 
 
 
  On the campgrounds is a rabbit, or more appropriately, a Belgium Lop like the ones Sharyn and I used to have as pets. I'd love to pet it, but I am deathly allergic to them now so I happily take the picture from a distance.  
 
 
 

Our first stop is at Hill 62, a private museum and historical site. The owners basically have preserved some of the original trenches used by the British during the Ypres Salient campaign of W.W. I.

 
 
 
 
After paying a small entrance fee, we are free to wander through various rooms of randomly placed artifacts collected from the battle sites. Some are just piled into display cases almost in the manner in which they were found. There is no practical restoration done, just mementos on display.
 
 
 
  Out the back door, you can walk around the existing trench works from the battle. They have been left intact as only preservation work has been done. It is hard to come to grips with the fact that many brave men lived and died in the very works before us. With the rains and the floods, it had to be a very miserable existence, full of disease and disaster.  
 
 
  As you look about you can see many of the older trees still carry the bullet holes of the struggles of long ago.  
 
 
  There is another section of the museum that holds more objects. In one room is a motorcycle of the era surrounded by empty shell cases and other interesting things.  
 
 
  But what catches my eyes is a clock constructed out of spent shell casings. It is quite ornate but clearly demonstrates the plentiful supply of spent ordinance that was left on the field. Judging by many mementos in the museum, constructing something useful and artful with the shell cases was a pretty common hobby.  
 
 
  When we are finished with the tour, we take advantage of the outdoor cafe located on the premises - Moff and Pete for a proper cup of tea, the rest of us for Diet Cokes. It is a very sobering thought that the very place we are sitting and relaxing was the place where many men met their final end. Our next stop is the famous Tyne Cot Cemetery, where over 11,000 men are buried, many in graves with no name on the headstone. As you walk along the entrance to the center, a solemn British voice reads one name after another of the missing and dead. Inside the center, there is a screen that shows a picture of the man whose name is read if it is available. It puts a face on the horror of war and the great cost that was paid.  
 
 
  Row upon row, the tombstones stand as a solemn sentinel of the high cost when nation fights against nation. It again is hard to imagine the death and destruction that rang out nearly 100 years ago from the very spot upon which I stand.  
 
 
 

Many of the graves hold more than one body, and many simply but eloquently read -

'A Soldier Of The Great War'.

 
 
 
  The cemetery itself was build on the site of the German line and there are two German pillboxes amongst the tombstones. The main centerpiece is actually constructed over the main German pillbox.  
 
 
  Some graves are exactly where the soldiers fell, others are aligned in standard military tradition. Throughout the site, the flowers bloom in lush color - usually red that reminds you of the blood that was shed on this hallowed ground.  
 
 
  We all speak in quiet tones as we survey the memorial wall that contains the names of over 34,000 men who were not able to be listed at the Menin Gate due to space.  
 
 
  When we leave the cemetery, we stop for lunch at a nearby cafe. Our talk turns to what we have seen and how it impacts us personally. It is an experience that I will not soon forget.  
 
 
  Dave and I make our way back to our hotel so we can rest a while before we go to the Menin Gate ceremony tonight. Saturdays are usually have a bigger crowd so we want to get there early and get a better viewing spot than last night. Pete and I also want to tour the museum since neither one of us have been through it. Since the room has no air conditioning, I open the windows and hear children singing. They are singing the happy songs of childhood as children often do. I have a hard time trying to connect the heartache of Tyne Cot and the songs that they sing. I pray that they never have to face what those young men who lie buried in nameless graves at Tyne Cot faced.  
 
 
  Soon Dave and I wander back up the street name Ambrosia, checking on our bikes. All appears well as we head toward the city square.  
 
 
  When we reach the square, it is definitely a happening place. Swatch, the designer of the SmartCar, is sponsoring a beach volley ball tournament. Given the apparel, or lack thereof, of the lady athletes, large crowds of admiring fans are stationed all about.  
 
 
  Pete and I head for the museum which was originally a cathedral. During the war, this entire area was totally destroyed, including the building before us. The Belgium government decided to reconstruct it as close to the original as possible, and many German prisoners of war supplied the labor. To look at the surroundings, it is very hard to tell that it was not the original Gothic structure.  
 
 
  When you enter the museum, you are issued a card that identifies you with a particular person that lived in the area during the war. At various places along the exhibits, you can scan your card and see how 'you' fared during the conflict. My particular character was a Belgium lad who loved to get into fist fights with the local French - and usually won. At one exhibit I notice pictures of what a typical Belgium soldier would be wearing. The resemblance to the uniforms and equipment used in our own Civil War is amazing to me.  
 
 
  It is a moving tribute with lots of displays that are very thoughtfully designed. This brings to mind the importance of horses during W.W. I, a fact often forgotten in view of modern military affairs.  
 
 
 
At the end of the exhibit, I find that my 'character' survived and lived to be an old man. Pete's 'character' went on to become a famous photographer and have his own studio. Considering Pete had a serious camera hanging around his neck and knew how to use it made it even more unusual. When we return to the busy square to catch up with Dave and Moff, we look for a cafe for lunch. Once we grab a table, the lady tells us it will be over a hour and a half before we can be served. We decide to surrender our table and see what else is cooking.
 
 
 
 

As we wander about, our noses bring us to this street vendor. He is cooking bratwursts and providing buns with them.

"Sounds like a wiener to me" I tell the group.

So Dave and I take turns buying the next set of brats for us, leaving poor Moff and Pete to fend for themselves. But they don't do badly from what I can tell, provisioning themselves quite well. The brats are really good and I manage to inhale three of them before I have to quit from the inability to breathe.

 
 
 
  We want to get to the Menin Gate early today so we can get a much better viewing spot than last night. We make way toward the memorial far ahead of the crowds strangely still occupied with the lady beach volleyball contests.  
 
 
  As the color guard marches into view, we recognize that one of the standard bearers is the same Korean Vet that we shook hands with last night. He, as well as the rest of the guard, are well-groomed and neatly attired, befitting their positions of honor.  
 
 
  I can't help but notice across the way three small children perched on the ledge, picking and playing as kids do. I'm sure they don't understand what all the commotion is about and hopefully the concept of war, death, and dying is a foreign concept to them at that tender age.  
 
 
  Then I see something that shocks me a bit, with my USMC training of flag carrying. The color guard places the flags that they are bearing on the ground - the one thing that if you did in the Marines would result in something worse than death. But then in this ceremony it is done as respect those many men who have fallen for a noble cause. It is also once again a reminder to me that there are cultural differences around the world and what one country thinks is horrible another country sees as paying proper tribute. Neither is wrong, just different.  
 
 
 

After the buglers play the last post, a bagpiper sounds his mournful tome to the dead. I look at Dave and tell him -

"Well, as Peter would say, Nothing like a man in a skirt strangling a cat."

But I do enjoy bagpipe music, so it is a treat for me.

 
 
 
  Across in the other direction, I can't help but notice an elderly man standing at strict attention. He does so throughout the entire ceremony and is a striking contrast the various ones rubbernecking around him. I have to believe that for some reason this ceremony has a much deeper meaning for him that most other folks standing there.  
 
 
 

The U.S. Ambassador to Belgium and his wife are there. Dave tells me that she saw my Tennessee shirt and smiled, knowing that a 'homey' was in the audience. Once the ceremony is over, we head back to the square. On my left is a true 'redcoat' and I ask Moff what that is about. He tells me that they are pensioners, old retired soldiers, that have given up everything - houses, property and possession - and dedicated themselves to the life of soldier and honor until they die. They travel about to events such as this and provide what service that they can.

 
 
 
  Further down the street we spot a new Deauville parked near a cafe. It has integrated panniers, trunk and power windshield. For all intents and purposes, it is a 'baby' ST1300 right down to the triangle muffler. I still don't understand why bikes like this never get sold in the U.S. because it would make a great commuter bike. But then Mother Honda does little to promote the STs anyway so what do I know?  
 
 
  Since Dave and I are headed for the German Autobahn tomorrow on our way to Lermoos, I figure I'd best get some rest so I have a few wits about me. It will be close to a 600 mile day at some pretty significant speeds so we need to be out and about early. We head back down Ambrosia and I make the climb up the steps to my room.  
 
 
  This is just the second day in the new time zone, but my body is slowly adjusting. It does not take me long to find the sleep zone as I ponder just what the German Autobahn must be like.  
     
 

Totals For The Day -

Countries - 1 (Belgium)

Miles - 10

Passes - 0

Hairpins - 0