European Divide Trail: The Prologue

My friendship with Dennis goes back a long way. We met through the music association where we both played trumpet as 9- and 10-year-old kids. What followed is a long friendship with many shared hobbies: music, skateboarding, longboarding, skimboarding, competition swimming, cycling and triathlon. One thing that makes our friendship special is how we motivate each other to try new things.

One Saturday morning Dennis and I are lying together in the swimming pool. I mention that I’d like to try a triathlon one day. Dennis is immediately enthusiastic, and that same afternoon he sends me a registration link for a triathlon in Herkingen (of all places) later that year: “Shall we do this one?” At that point I don’t even own a road bike and honestly don’t even like running, but a couple of months later we are together at the start line in Herkingen. We both get hooked on the sport and go on to do many more events together.

With that same enthusiasm, the plan is born to cycle to Spain one day. My parents have a house at the Costa Brava, in the north of Spain, and Dennis has visited there several times. About three years ago we started feeding each other the idea of cycling there one day. When we discovered the European Divide Trail (EDT), the plan was basically set in stone — we have to do that route.

The EDT is a mostly unpaved route running through the heart of Europe, from the north of Norway to the south of Portugal, created by Andy Cox. There’s a lot of information about this route online, and all the pictures and videos look incredible. The plan quickly took shape: pick up the route in Cologne (Germany) and follow it to the Spanish border, from where it’s only about 50 kilometres to our endpoint. The route would take us through the Vosges, the Jura and Provence. This actually makes the plan quite simple — we only need to figure out how to get to Cologne, where we’ll deviate from the route, what our sleeping plan will be, and how we’ll pack our bikes.

The plan is ready, but we still need to find the right moment. That moment takes another two years, which is almost entirely my fault. Twice we make a plan, and twice I postpone it because a PhD deadline makes me too anxious to commit to something this big. But then the end of my PhD comes into sight, and we decide that’s going to be the moment. In April ’25 we will ride the EDT to Spain.

We prepare for the trip in completely different ways. I turn out to be far too busy and decide to mostly just let it wash over me. Dennis tries to find a balance between going with the flow and having things organised. Messages like “we’ll figure it all out” and “look at this beautiful campsite 1700 km away” alternate in the final months. Dennis also ends up planning the route to Cologne and has a much clearer picture of what the trip will look like. For me that creates a mix of mild nerves — “do we actually know what we’re getting into?” — and trust that Dennis has surely thought it through.

We have a shared packing list from previous cycling trips we’ve done together. That gets expanded for this trip and we agree on who brings what. We regularly message about bikepacking bags and other gear we still want to buy. When packing for a trip like this, you’re always looking for a balance between minimalism and versatility. You want as little weight on your bike as possible, but you also want to be prepared for the different scenarios that might arise. In the week before departure I’m practically a daily visitor at Bever or Decathlon for last-minute purchases (of which I ultimately leave a fair portion at home anyway).

On top of that I’ve set myself an extra challenge for this trip. I bought a mini watercolour set and plan to keep a journal where I make a painting every day. The plan was to practise beforehand, but of course that never happened. So I set off with zero experience and I’m curious to see how that’s going to go.

“Why don’t you just take the shortest route to Spain? Wouldn’t that be much easier?” Yes. But that’s not the point.

For me the departure also means more than just this cycling trip. After this adventure I’m staying in Spain indefinitely to rest and figure out what comes after my PhD. I give up my room and move all my things to my parents’. When I leave here, I no longer have a fixed place in the Netherlands. There’s a strange feeling of emptiness in saying goodbye to people without really knowing when you’ll be back. At the same time it feels good to feel the love of the people around you, and to notice that they care when they say they’ll miss you. There’s also a lot of surprise when I tell people about our plan. “Why don’t you just take the shortest route to Spain? Wouldn’t that be much easier?” Yes. But that’s not the point.

On the 3rd of April the day finally arrives: departure day. At home I repack my bike three times and say goodbye to my parents. We have lunch at Dennis’s place with his girlfriend and parents, where we do the final checks on our bikes together. We’re very lucky with the weather for so early in April — it’s a beautiful day and the forecast says that’s not going to change for the coming week.

The difference in preparation becomes immediately clear when we get on our bikes and Dennis starts talking about Hilversum and the ‘Utrechtse Heuvelrug’. I thought we’d be riding in a straight line on asphalt to Renkum, but nothing could be further from the truth. The prologue, which Dennis planned (and I supposedly also looked at), takes us immediately over technical singletracks. So the fun of unpaved paths starts early. We’re excited by the strange feeling that comes with the start of something big, but also a little apprehensive about the new dimension that a bike weighing over 27 kg already introduces on what is, for now, still flat terrain.

We cycle the first day to Renkum, next to Wageningen, and stay with Filipe. Last year I did a 300 km gravel race where I met him around the 100 km mark. We got talking and spent the rest of the day — another 10 hours or so on the bike — together. Filipe is a biologist and a cycling fanatic; his enthusiasm is infectious and we had wide-ranging conversations. We stayed in touch afterwards about other cycling adventures, and Filipe said that if I ever needed a place to sleep, his door would be open. While planning the trip I notice that Renkum sits between Noordwijk and Cologne, so I ask whether that offer still stands. “Of course! You’re always welcome, I’ll make sure the beers are cold!” I try to convince him to ride a stretch with us. He would have loved to, but his schedule unfortunately doesn’t allow it.

Arriving at Filipe’s feels like coming home. His hospitality is something special. I only know this person from one long day cycling together, and Dennis only knows him from my stories. Yet we feel completely welcome straight away. It feels good to notice how the cycling community works. It also feels remarkable that we have so much to catch up on from the past year — apparently you do get to know someone pretty well by spending a day riding together. His little boys are already in bed and I feel a little guilty about that, because Filipe had told me how excited they were to meet papa’s cycling friends.

Filipe is an ultra cyclist, so he knows exactly what we need after a day on the bike: a hot shower, a cold beer and plenty of carbohydrates. Dinner is raclette, and we eat far more potatoes than necessary. From this moment our diet switches to ‘doesn’t matter’ mode — we’re moving so much that the calories will sort themselves out. We linger at the table for a long time, talk about cycling adventures, and make plans to enter races together next year that currently sound completely ridiculous. But Filipe’s enthusiasm is infectious and he’s certain about it: next year we’re signing up!

The next morning we’re woken by Filipe’s little boys running through the house. Casper is a shy boy but finds papa’s friends absolutely fascinating. He’s crazy about cycling himself and is already making big plans with his dad for future cycling adventures. Shyly he asks his dad whether he can show us his world map. Proudly he unfolds a map as big as the dining table, covered in green markings.

The destinations are based on animals he wants to see. He points out each dot and tells us which animal lives there. Afterwards we take Casper to school by bike. It’s barely 500 metres, but he’s absolutely beaming. On the local ‘hill’ he overtakes two older boys, and a wide smile spreads across his face. After dropping him off we head back to pack up our things and have breakfast. There are plenty of potatoes left over from the night before, so Filipe’s wife makes us a tortilla.

It’s easy to linger in the comfort and warmth of Filipe and Gretchen’s home, but we also have an adventure to get on with. We say our goodbyes and set off on the second part of the prologue.

The route starts with beautiful nature around Nijmegen. We ride through forest paths, the sun is shining and we feel great. Unfortunately the second half looks more like the prologue I had imagined: long straight stretches of asphalt. To make it even more tedious, we also have to deal with a headwind and an absurd number of traffic lights, all of which seem to be on red. This is the beginning of one of the most important lessons of this trip: Expectations are there to be adjusted. Traffic lights slow you down enormously, and it’s not easy to mentally accept that there’s nothing you can do about it.

Around Cologne we thankfully enter a beautiful area of forest again and the gravel spirit returns. We visit Cologne Cathedral and find it bathed in golden hour. This is also a significant moment — from here we’ll pick up the EDT. Our plan is to sleep just outside Cologne, so we make a pizza stop first. We eat it in a little park where people are enjoying the spring weather.

Then begins our search for the first place to sleep. Dennis spotted a shelter on the map about 20 km outside Cologne and that’s what we’re aiming for. The stretch to get there turns out to be pretty technical, especially since it’s dark already. With our big front lights we ride through the forest and tackle steep descents. We reach our first sleeping spot, which is nothing more than a small lean-to beside a forest track. There’s something genuinely exciting about just lying down in the woods like this. In the dark I work on the day’s watercolour by the light of my headtorch. We decide to lay down our sleeping mats without a tent and call it a night. We’re ready for our first day on the EDT tomorrow.