Cycling 2750km from Belgium to Spain (Ep. 17)

All Music by “Under the Skin”: https://open.spotify.com/artist/0AvLxd0MOteC026aTgu8KX
Intro music by NRA lab, Audio File ID: 119647
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Some climbs are tough. Some climbs are tender. This one was both.

In this episode, we take on the Col de Ibañeta — a long and steady climb into the misty Pyrenees. Fifteen kilometers of effort, silence, and the kind of encouragement that doesn’t need words. No competition. No rush. Just two people, pedaling with the same heart, knowing that it’s not about reaching the top first — but about reaching it together.

The higher we go, the thicker the clouds. The view? Completely gone. But the feeling? Absolutely there.
A closed chapel with stained-glass memories from our honeymoon.
A steep descent into Roncesvalles,
and a flashback to a rain-soaked monastery stay with my dad and my dog — a night that felt miserable at the time, but later turned into one of my most precious memories.
Because discomfort shared with love becomes something else entirely.

We follow the EuroVelo 3 deeper into Spain, over gravel and winding roads that test our legs — and reward our souls.
And when Wim chooses the asphalt for a while, I silently thank him. It’s nice to just… breathe.

Later, a water bridge appears in the distance — part of the impressive Canal de Navarra — and it reminds me of the canal bridge in Sart we crossed in episode 3. This one is more modest, but the vision behind it is just as bold: bringing life to the dry lands of southern Navarra.

We finish in Agoitz, where we find shelter above a local café. It’s a bit run-down, with loud locals, scattered litter, and an atmosphere that’s more soap opera than siësta.

But by dinner time, the drunk regulars have left, the old villagers have taken over, and the entire café hums with human chaos — passionate, loud, and oddly heartwarming.

We don’t understand a word. But when the kisses fly at the end of the evening, we figure: this must be love, too.

Hey everyone, we are Lean and Whim, a couple from Belgium. We have set out on an epic cycling journey from Belgium all the way down to the southern tip of Spain, over 2,750 km in 32 days. Join us in our video diary as we ride through stunning landscapes, tackle challenges, and experience all the surprises along the way. Subscribe and hop on for the ride of a lifetime. [Music] [Music] [Music] moderate. That’s the message for this morning. Today, we’ll be crossing the well-known Pyreneian Pass, which means about 15 km of steady grinding to reach the top. Though I know it’s going to hurt, I love this kind of challenge and that has everything to do with the unique sense of teamwork I share with whim during moments like these. We face it together and we commit to it together. There is no competition, no urge to be the first at the summit. We simply want to stand there side by side. Even if one has to carry the other to get there from the very first meter to the last, we stay in tune with each other. We support one another, cheer each other on, and make sure we both eat and drink enough along the way. We always take good care of each other on trips like this. But when steep climbs or other tough stretches arise, that gas suddenly intensifies. [Music] As the road winds its way upward alongside us, we are regularly cheered on by passes by. A motorcyclist descending the other way clenches his fist toward us in a gesture of respect. A passenger in a van that overtakes me sticks up both thumbs, beaming with encouragement. And those are just a few. There are many more. We feel in our bodies what a boosted gifts when others believe in you. Our true support can bring out the very best in you. Just before noon, we reach the summit of the Ki Ibanetta together. At the top stands an old chapel with extraordinary stained glass windows. I remember it from when women and I passed here on our honeymoon in 2013, hiking from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean in just over 40 days. Sadly, the chapel is closed today. So, we peek at the windows through a small hole in the door. [Music] Oh, I On our way down, we pass Ron Civ. The monastery is a well-known stop from many a pilgrim on route to Compostella. It reminds me of a day from my own pilgrimage. A day my father and I spent longing for shelter in the monastery I can’t quite name now. Torrential rain had soaked us to the bone. We hoped for a warm room and a place to dry off, but our stay turned out rather disappointing. Instead of comfort, we found a space even damper than the flooded pots outside. In the dormatory, it felt like the walls themselves wept. We were miserable. Even my dog looked sad. Still, in hindsight, it became a cherished memory. The photo I took of Kila’s sorrowful face remains iconic. It captured perfectly how both my father and I felt that night. That’s what makes it beautiful. Shared emotion, shared hardship, but above all, shared hope, shared strength, and a shared desire to keep going. [Music] [Music] We Found a roof when the sky fell down. Four tired feet on flooded ground. The walls were wet. The night sank in. But still it felt like home within. No fire burned behind the door. Just dawn and silence. Nothing more. Yet there we sat with soaked through skin and let the stillness wrap us in. Sometimes love wears no disguise. It hides in shivers quiet eyes. And though the room was cold and bare, I felt the softest shelter there. [Music] [Music] A glance, a smile, a muddy shoe. A dog who seemed to feel it too. No golden light, no open arms, but still we rested safe from harm. And now I know what comfort means. It’s not a warmth that’s in between. The little things we chose to share. The silence soaked but full of care. Sometimes love wears no disguise. M Sometimes love wears no disguise. It hides and shivers quiet eyes. And though the room was cold and bare, I felt the softest shelter there. I’d choose the cold, the rain, the floor. If it meant walking one day more beside the man who showed me how to stand up strong like I do now. We are following the URL 3. It winds its way through the mountains over sand and gravel along narrow paths that disappear into the trees. It’s not always easy. Sometimes the climb bites and the wheels slip beneath us. But it’s beautiful, wild, quiet, and real. This is the kind of beauty you don’t just see, you feel it. You feel it in your legs, in your lungs, and in your heart. My own Jesus, sweet. [Music] Hey, [Music] hey, hey. [Music] [Music] Heat. Heat. [Music] [Applause] [Music] My I stick almost whim chooses asphalt roads for the next stretch and honestly I don’t mind. It gives me a moment to breathe to let the effort settle gently in my legs. The weather too has softened. Where Spain first greeted us with rain as we cross the call the Ivanetta, now the clouds begin to lift and the sun softly breaks [Music] through. We descend toward the Aroi reservoir, its quiet surface cradled by the hills. We ride across the dam, a wide stone structure that seems more than just practical. It holds the water, yes, but also a kind of stillness, benches, flower beds, and a slow hush of water against [Music] rock. [Music] Heat. Heat. Heat. Heat. [Music] [Music] In the distance, we spot a water bridge, a slender structure crossing the valley with quiet confidence. It reminds me of the canel bridge in Sag, which we visited in episode 3 of this series. That one soared high and bold, while this one seems more reserved, but no less meaningful. It’s part of the canal de Nafara, a 177 km long project that carries water from the Italy’s reservoir in the north to the dry farmlands of southern Navara. This region sees little rain, so the canal is more than just infrastructure. It’s a lifeline. It brings irrigation to thirsty crops, fresh water to growing tows, and even helps generate clean energy along the way. The bridge may be modest, but the vision behind it spans far more than stone and steel. [Music] [Music] [Music] We follow the canal to the village of Aoitz where we have booked a room above a local devil. The area feels a little rundown. The terrace is littered and by 4 in the afternoon a few regulars are already completely drunk. By evening they have staggered off. The cafe now fills with older locals. The men crowd the ball. The women gather at a table. There is no point in playing background music here. The Spaniards provide their own with fury voices and passionate gestures. We don’t understand the word they are shouting. But judging by the kisses blown at farewell, I don’t think they were arguing. [Music]