I have been to the Northern French Alps and experienced the pain of the climbs that normally sort out the "Le Grand Boucle". I have been to Spain and suffered the heat and severity of the Pyrenees used in the "Vuelta". And I have visited Majorca several times, covering the Tromantano Mountains used in its early season "Tour". So now with my good friend Nick now residing and working in Holland an opportunity too good to be missed had to be utilized, a holiday to the Ardennes in Belgium to ride the roads used in some of the most famous "Classics".

With Nick living in Holland and the use of World Wide Web it made the logistics for this trip so much easier, as the six of us who were going on the holiday almost all lived in different places.

Nick lived in Dundee until 2000 and had in his time been reasonably useful on the hills, but after two years in Flatland and a diet of dairy products and beer, he'd ballooned to 13 and a half stone and had all but forgotten what a climb meant. Ian Darnell, also a former Dundee resident, was now living in Edinburgh and had the perfect Lucien van Impe climbers physique. Andy Brewster, yet another of Dundee origins and also living in the Scottish capital, would be as formidable as always on the Belgian monuments. Nick had recruited two guys in Holland for the trip: Jeroen Westerink, a big Dutch guy, more a cycling fan than fanatical cyclist. The fact he'd never ridden a hill higher than 100metres in his life, did play on our minds a little. What he lacked in experience was going to be made up for by level-headedness and determination, however. And last but not least, Drew Lambourne, a Mancunian living in The Hague. Drew had done a lot of road racing in his teens, but had been distracted by almost every job, sport and vice since, and had only just reacquired a road bike. He was a perfect example of how it is almost impossible to ever stop being a cyclist if you've been there once. Experience, sheer power and a unique brand of non-stop humour were to get him and his 14stones through the tough week.

Andy, Ian and I were flying out on the 06:10 (redeye) Easyjet flight from Edinburgh to Amsterdam, so I had taken up Andy's kind offer of staying at his flat the night before departure.

When I arrived late evening Andy's flat was in turmoil as he was preparing to put it on the market, and he was quite literally "making my bed" as he screwed the last slats to its base. With that job finished he could now start to pack his clothes, his bike, then finish off a report for his work before finally getting to bed at 02:30 only to have to get up again at 04:15 supposedly.

As we set off for the Airport we were already running a bit late, and our punctuality was not helped by the fact that I had somehow told Andy we were leaving the car at an Airpark in Kirkliston instead of Newbridge, but after jumping a few red lights and then telling the Airpark bus driver to "boot it" we arrived at check-in at 05:30 too a look of relief on Ian's face as the flight was only 10 minutes away from closing.

It is only a short flight over to Cloggieland, little over an hour, but air traffic control had decided we should do few more laps of Amsterdam before bringing in the big bird to land. And after finding our bikes, still not sure where they came from as they just seemed to appear in the baggage hall. A phone call confirmed that Nick was on his way with the "Mystery Machine". The "Mystery Machine" was actually a Hyundai H100 van with a crew cab and after Nick had sent over a e-mail picture of this van complete in its hire company livery and resplendent with its Go-Faster stripes it was thus nicknamed after "Scooby Doo's" transport.

The "Mystery Machine" was to prove an invaluable part of out holiday as its ample payload and ability to carry six people made accessing places we probably would not have visited a reality. After being picked up at the airport we headed back to Nick's apartment where after negotiating the near vertical stairs we dumped our bike boxes, assembled our bikes, did a supermarket shop, and then loaded the van to the roof complete with the mandatory crates of beer. Drew had been experiencing problems with his car and after several visits to the garage too finally alleviate the gremlins, on his arrival around 1 o clock we were off.

Our accommodation for the next seven days was a Gite in a village called Jevinge near Lierniex, right in the middle of the Belgian Ardennes, but also near to the Luxembourg and German borders. It was about a three and a half-hour drive from Nick's adopted home in Delft, as the mystery machine was a little unstable above 70mph. On arrival at the Gite everyone was well impressed with our accommodation, in fact we were probably worse than kids on vacation as we claimed our beds and inspected the facilities. Drew was over the moon because it had a bath " I ain't had one of these in 3 years" " he proclaimed in his Mancunian accent". But the allure of those hilly Belgian roads was too much and within the hour we were out for a short run, full of the joys, like lambs frolicking in the spring sunshine, as we sprinted for signposts and hammered down descents sussing out each others strengths and weaknesses.

SUNDAY

We woke up to a beautiful day and equipped with our photocopied maps Nick our logistics expert decided on a route that would take us on a loop with the lovely town of La Roche being the furthest point. The myriad of roads in this part of Belgium was already playing havoc with our map reading skills and it wasn't long before we had taken a wrong turning. Whilst studying our maps and trying to work out where we were, two local cyclists turned up, a Des "O" Connor look alike and his mate. Fortunately Des and his mate couldn't speak English, just as well really as Drew the "Mad Mancunian" was ripping the piss out of his multi directional excuse of a hairstyle.

With our location problem solved it was onward back up the descent we had come down but this time we were being sensible and stopping at every junction to check the map in our quest to find La Roche. The final descent into La Roche was fantastic as we hurtled down through the forest with its multitude of corners, some sweeping, some tight and one a touch too acute for Andy as he flirted with the other side of the road in a nervy attempt to round it.

We stopped for lunch at a café in an idyllic spot on the banks of the river "Ourthe" and after our lunch we decided to head towards Nadrin keeping tight to the river thinking it would be a gradual climb, but our hopes were soon dashed, as it was a brute. As the climb went on, the group split into two with Andy taking the lead with his long lever like thighs tapping out a rapid pace with Ian and I trying to keep in touch and the other three back down the road somewhere. As we waited at the summit none of us really expected what was to follow, as when Drew arrived he launched into us with a verbal lashing, he was even threatening to go home. But as it would turn out Drew's legs had given up the ghost and was just a proud man taking his frustration out on us. After Nadrin we just found the shortest way home, although it still contained some nasty climbs, which Drew had to be coaxed over.

One thing that had became evident very quickly was that this part of the World is not as everybody seems to perceive it "flat" and although some of Belgium is like a pancake, it would appear this was the corner where they shoved all the spoil.

Monday

Again we woke up to a fairly nice day although not in the same league as yesterday and decided to head to Spa. Nick had been here before and knew a climb used in Liege-Bastogne-Liege he wanted to take us over. The initial part of today's parcours wasn't too bad as we headed down through Trois- Ponts and past the picturesque Coo falls then took a right to start the climb. Surprisingly it wasn't too bad, a fairly even gradient and what would have been a good descent, was spoiled by the fact that it had now started raining.

After negotiating our way through Spa we started to climb again this time it was a real brute the group splitting into two very quickly, Ian and I trying to hold Andy's wheel, while the others disappeared out of sight and after quite a lengthy wait at the top, we then had what was without a doubt the best descent of the holiday. The roads had now dried up as Nick, Drew and I dared to outdo each other hammering down the descent taking slipstream then the opportunity to attack each other through the wide sweeping corners down towards Stoumont. Just before Stoumont we took a right and headed to the next junction and waited for Jeroen, and waited and waited.

Jeroen the only Dutchman on our trip had misunderstood directions and having never climbed above 100 metres and the idea of descents a whole new ball game to him, he had lost so much time on the mazy descent that he had lost sight of us and headed straight into Stoumont itself. While waiting patiently at the junction Drew thought he would try to summon him sheepdog style and although it was the loudest most deafening whistle I have ever heard causing my eardrums to reverberate, I don't think it was having same effect two miles up the valley.

Eventually repatriated we then went from the sublime to the ridiculous, as we shook rattled and rolled very slowly up a valley which looked fairy innocuous on the map, but turned out to be a mind and body numbing 20 km drag rendering me on the verge of the dreaded "knock". With my food supplies exhausted Nick handed me a packet of three biscuits of which he expected some back, but before he could blink an eye I had devoured the lot, almost including the wrapper. We were almost back to the Gite now, but not before tackling another double chevron climb and passing a village with the delightful name of "Grand Heid"

After our evening meal, probably another pasta concoction, beer supplies were running low so a few of us decided to reconnoitre the village for a "boozer" and after a fruitless search, we decided to have a look at the only thing that looked mildly promising, the village hall which was a bearer of a sign for the Belgian brew "Jupiler". It looked a bit devoid of life so some of my taller friends decided to jump and pull themselves up onto the ledge and have a look through the window. My friends arrived back on the ground looking a bit pale and I could clearly see something was not quite right.

"What was it I enquired?"

"There is a group of people in a circle with painted faces, pointed Mr Spock ears, wearing cloaks and chanting something, a bit like Satan worshipers!!!"

"Did they see you?"

"I don't think so," came the nervously whispered reply.

I could have sworn that I had seen Boy Scouts the day before possibly using the hall as a base for their camp and enquired, are you sure they were not Scouts in fancy dress. They plucked up the courage to have another peek and were convinced that these were no Boy Scouts and definitely ringers for Satan worshipers.

Now well and truly shitting ourselves we retired back to the Gite and locked the door. Then began to debate whether we had been spotted and if so would we be sacrificed to protect the anonymity of their Satanic cult, was the landlord of the Gite a member, he did look a bit dodgy with his big bushy beard and always wore shorts for some reason. Would it be a mass sacrifice or would we be shied away one by one ala "Blair Witch Project", what was that noise! was that something outside! and where had those Boy Scouts gone?

Tuesday

At least everybody is present for breakfast and not even that damn Cockerel that keeps waking me up in the morning has been sacrificed. The weather is a bit dull and misty but it may be better where we were heading today.

With the "Mystery Machine" loaded we head on the short drive to Luxembourg.

The need for border signs are not really necessary here as you can tell you've reached Luxembourg by the noticeable fact that the border is littered with petrol stations, and no wonder people cross the border with their jerry-cans as the petrol is about half the price of what it is here in rip off Britain, and also far cheaper than its neighbouring Belgium. And after doing our own bit of prudence brimming the van with diesel we headed for our start town of Clervaux.

We may have been in a different country but the terrain was exactly the same "hilly" although for the majority of today's run the road surfaces were far better. I can't remember our route and looking back at the map it does not help much as there are so many roads, but what I do remember was the descent which took us down towards the river "Our", a beautiful surface with wide shallow corners and the fact that you just seemed to keep accelerating, Nick and Drew doing "bit and bit" to clock a scary 55 mph. This descent took us into a valley with the river "Our" on our right and on the other side of the river was Germany, so theoretically we could have cycled in three countries in one day, but by now it had started raining heavily and nobody could be bothered crossing the bridge for a foray into Germany. After the relative calm of the valley floor we were not going to lulled into a false sense of security, as we had now sussed out that this part of Central Europe certainly does not defy the laws of gravity and after our two mile breakneck descent pretty much knew what was about to come next: "a long climb". After the climb we regrouped for the final descent back to Clervaux. We had already checked out the final miles so we were able to dive down through the rain like "Jap Snipers" in our quest to be back to the van first.

Wednesday

We had agreed in advance that today would be a rest day. "Well sort of!" After a long lie and late breakfast we decided that with the sun splitting the sky we would head to the local tourist attraction the "Coo Falls" to do a spot of canoeing.

After stocking up on calories by consuming the Belgian delicacy of frites and mayonnaise we took to the water for our 7 km paddle.

It became evident very quickly that some of us were canoeing "gringos", especially me. That damn canoe just would not go where I wanted. It would crunch off the bottom of the shallow river then would veer to one side and no matter how hard I tried to counteract it with my paddle I was just going round in ever "increasing circles" getting nowhere fast, and top it all I had now accumulated so much water in my vessel that my disposable camera which had fallen out my pocket was now completely submerged, culminating in some of my photos being ruined.

We eventually got to our destination but in my case after having stopped several times to bail out my canoe it was more down to the brisk flow of the river taking me there rather than my competence in paddling.

With it being such a beautiful day we decided to dine alfresco tonight. We dragged the "barbie" out the garage and fired her up and cracked open the beers. As the beer flowed Drew came up with the idea of the "ride like a Pro" training camp, this started off as a sensible idea of how we could utilize this Gite as a base for a training camp and how we could tempt the punters by offering the chance to ride top of the range bikes with our guest "Pros" plus the added incentive of riding the "Parcours" of some of the most famous "Classics". With the beer now well and truly taking effect the idea quickly descended into farce as we drew up our "Pro" guest list of guys like "Eddy Skidmerkx", "San Miguel Indurain" and even "Pedro del Gringo". But I doubt if we would entice much repeat business after introducing poor unsuspecting cyclists to the rigours of the sinuous roads of the Ardennes in March.

Quickly we descended from farce to the totally ridiculous as Drew "The Mad Mancunian" hatched yet another hair brained plan: the "Midnight Hill Race". No this wasn't part of the camp, this was to happen here and now, and in our state of inebriation it seemed a sane idea.

The rules were quickly drafted, one gear allowed, 39x23, standing start, and finish at top of the hill. It may have been all over very quickly but the after effects of sending your pulse from resting to nigh on maximal without a warm-up were long felt as we coughed and wheezed and decided that perhaps in hindsight it was folly. However, at least Drew had relented on the idea of doing the thing naked€¦

Thursday

After such a beautiful day yesterday today was a bit of a disappointment as we woke up to a misty overcast day. Today we again took to the "Mystery Machine" and headed over the border to St Vith, Germany our fourth country within the week. Again I can't remember the route that we took but what I do remember is that we initially took the wrong road and actually managed to do the complete route in the opposite direction to that which we had proposed. The road surfaces were also noticeably of far better quality than previous days but unfortunately we were caught in a few heavy showers. Thankfully we had made it back to the van before the heaviest of the day, as it was a torrential downpour, which lasted a while.

Friday

Today would be our last full day at he Gite, and although the Landlord had offered us the opportunity of staying another night, we declined and stuck to our original plan. With it being our last full day we got down to the task of making the place spick and span, just the way we found it.

With the entire ground floor of the Gite being ceramic tiled it was reckoned the best way to tackle this would be a mop, but out of all our cleaning accoutrements there was no mop! So Ian and Nick set off to the Landlords equipped with phrase book to try obtaining one. The best they could muster up was asking for a "balai-l'eponge" "sponge on a stick", which was met with a somewhat perplexed look from the Landlord's wife, and was followed by a visit, probably to see what we were up to.

With our chores complete we took to the road again. It is not until I look at this year's parcours for Liege-Bastonge-Liege that I now realise how immersed in the history of L-B-L the roads we used today were. Our first town on today's route is Vielsalm although Ian never made it that far, fatigue getting the better of him he headed back to the Gite. On the other hand Drew was getting stronger and stronger as the week went on, even taking the opportunity to nail home a few sprints for road signs. After Vielsalm we head towards Recht (suddenly in a German speaking area of Belgium!) and then on towards Stavelot which meant descending the famous cobbled Stockeau in the rain. At Stavelot we then headed up another climb used in L-B-L, the Wanneranval. This was undoubtedly the steepest if not hardest climb we did on our trip, a 15% gradient brute, it still bore scars to its famous visitors with the road daubed in paint with the names of our cycling heroes. On reaching the summit at Wanne we then headed downhill to Trois-Point then finished the circuit with several more undulations back to the Gite.

After tea tonight Drew and Jeroen decided to go back home to Holland, Drew had some work commitments and Jeroen was just plain knackered, but had done well considering he had never climbed a hill with an altitude above 100 metres and had a history of a dodgy knee. On the down side it appears the Ardennes rather than inspiring him to climb higher peaks, sadly had the opposite effect and drove him back to his love of tennis, and he now just cycles in the local "dunes" thus avoiding anything with an altitude above 5 metres. The Gite seemed so empty tonight without the presence of the "Mad Mancunian" I don't think any of us had reached page two of the "comic" all week before we would be hit with yet another "Drewism" his inane humour, riddles, anecdotes and endless repertoire of jokes had kept us amused all week, and although initially silence was golden, the evening soon began to drag in his absence.

Saturday

Today the remaining four of us bade farewell to the grandeur of our fabulous Gite and headed for tonight's accommodation at the Malmedy Youth Hostel. We went via the "Wanneranval" climb after a local had told us there was a race coming over today, but it turned out it was not so much a race but an Audax. Stavelot was the next on the agenda where we took some photos and watched the circus come through the town before eventually reaching the lovely town of Malmedy.

Today's run could be best described as impromptu, with the only definite on the agenda being a 10 KM climb straight from the Hostel which would take us too an altitude higher than any road in the UK. A rejuvenated Ian and I blasted our way up the long gradual climb then freewheeled down the other side enjoying the sunshine and allowing Nick and Andy to catch up. After a café stop we just pointed our bikes and headed with no particular destination in mind, until the rain started, initially spitting but very quickly becoming torrential forcing us to take shelter, and we thus decided to find the shortest way to drag our saturated bodies home.

Finally Andy was having a bad day, after ripping our legs off on every other climb this week, on the final climb he had lost great swathes of time. Ian and I shouted to Nick to slow down as Andy was out of sight, Nick never replied, but the "glint in his eye" said it all really [€¦you must be mad I've waited a week for this moment and I am going to savour every minute of it].

It turns out that Andy's chest was giving him some real trouble, and felt a bit like "Big Daddy" had given him one of his famous body splashes. We pushed the boat out for our last night in Belgium and treated ourselves to a well-deserved slap up meal. Although Andy's chest may have felt suppressed his appetite certainly wasn't as we tucked into gargantuan 4-course dinner [soup followed by fish followed by a delicious steak with extra frites and sweet to finish] all washed down with several beers. Outstanding!!!

Sunday

Well the beer served its purpose of aiding an undisturbed nights sleep, although I did wake up bleary eyed, a bit fuzzy headed, and my furry tongue welded to the roof of my arid mouth.

After breakfast it was time to bade farewell to the Ardennes and begin our journey back home towards Scotland. We paid a quick visit to the Spa-Francorchamps motor racing circuit, which on race day is within earshot of Malmedy and when not in use part of it can be driven on. But we arrived to closed gates as it appeared a German Porsche owners club had hired the track and we watched for while as they thrashed their "big boys toys" around the track.

When we arrived back at Nick's house a pre-conceived idea of going for a run in Holland hit the buffers as everyone was shattered and we decided to just pack up the bikes and then head for a meal at the Billy-Bear restaurant. Our holiday was now nearly over and all that was left to do was load our luggage and head for the airport and the final leg of our journey home from a momentous and brilliant holiday