Route: St. Vith to Recht via bike trails, looped return to St. Vith via Neder-Emmels
Distance: about 20 km

You can tell when you’ve been someplace for too long. For me it’s a strange combination of being annoyed with things that become routine, contrasted with an unforeseen nostalgia about things that I know I will miss.
Case in point: A very loud middle aged couple moved into the campsite across the way. I should say, they came to their private vacation mobile home. The woman, a small shrewish looking creature, is constantly babbling on and on while the man simply says “ya” every now and then. I can even here her at night from inside their camper. Their entire relationship seems to be a series of arguments, some loud, some slightly quieter, but always fighting. As I write this, the man is mowing the lawn of the place about 5 feet from my tent. It’s time to leave.
Thank whatever God or spirit you believe in, because today I went to see Christine, and (light shining down from heaven) my credit card arrived! Finally! I can leave!
When I do leave, though, I leave behind a few people with whom I feel like I’ve formed friendships; Andrea and her brother Freddy to name a couple. Christine at the post office sort of too, as well as Stephen at the computer store who I have seen around town a few times and had a few words with. He’s really curious about New York. I really got along with Freddy though, and I had a blast riding trails with him.
It’s strange, of course I never intended to stay for 5 days, but after this time I do know this place very well. I’m familiar with all the bike paths and the side streets. I know the history, and some of the local culture. This little town reminds me, in a way, of the place where I grew up in the Willamette Valley. It’s about the same size, and the same age oddly, and is beginning to exert the same repulsive force. Maybe that’s why there is no one between the ages of 17 and 40 in town.
Most of all, I do think it’s an interesting point that I had to stay here for the same length of time as grandpa; 5 days. His coming here was definitely not by choice, but he certainly couldn’t leave until someone said ok. In a way, my credit card showing up now is like receiving the order to move out.
The overall conclusion based on my time here is that this trip has now passed a marker of sorts. It is past the midway point. I’ve got less than 3 weeks left, and the rest of my time will be spent visiting simple areas for one night and moving on, as grandpa did during the spring of 1945 when the war was winding down.
In a sense, for him, the war was far from over after the Bulge, he went on to fight for 6 more months, but there was no longer any uncertainty over who would win. In that same vein, I know now that I’m heading into Germany and that once I do, it will be seen in a quick succession of cities, towns and other locations that Grandpa fought through on his way to the Baltic.
None will likely hold me as long as St. Vith, or remain as fixed in my memory as being in the place where the whole tide of the war hinged and turned in favor of the Allies. Certainly, for me, this place will always be the location that was a high point of this trip.
Today’s ride took me back up into the forest trails above Poteau and Recht in the general location where I know grandpa’s unit was during the opening days of the battle. I was hoping to find something more tangible like a sign saying “48th AIB Fought Here” with an arrow pointing to a line of trenches.
Yesterday, while riding with Freddy, he mentioned that he has always wanted to see the great American Civil War battlefields like Gettysburg and Manassas. I told him that they were very different for a number of reasons, but I think the most striking one is that every little action is marked by a sign, or a gravestone, or a line of cannon standing as if ready to fire. We love to celebrate our battles in America. Every American battlefield of this scale is marked, sometimes costs a fee to enter, and has everything from a snack bar to a self-guided kiosk where you pick up and drop off your digital players.
Riding through the pock marked forest again today, and seeing the shell holes, trenches and fragments of shrapnel lying around, I thought it was fitting, maybe even better, not to have turned this battlefield into an amusement park. Battles have been fought on these hills since the times of the Romans, and maybe will be fought here again. Better to forget about it, and go on with life as St. Vith has done; a town literally built on the ruins of its former self.
As I reached the northern edge of the woods, I saw a very intact line of trenches running alongside the road. At first, I thought they were simply drainage ditches, but when it continued for at least a mile and had branch trenches running off at all major crossroads, I realized that I was staring at the front line defenses of CCA. These must have been the trenches near where grandpa was.
It’s exactly the location on the maps, and the spacing of the foxholes and alignment with the forest edge is correct for a defensive line of the period. Every so often, there was a larger open space surrounded by ditches like a mini castle with a moat. These would have been field guns like 105 field guns and 155 howitzers. In between, men would have lined these trenches and laid in the dirt throwing off attack after attack from the Germans trying to come up the hill from the North, and into these trees.
I looked for some shrapnel, or other paraphernalia of war, but these trenches have been here on this main bike trail for 65 years. They are picked clean, overgrown with tall trees, and full of underbrush. To get the good stuff, you have to go way up on the hills east of here, and walk into the woods off the trails. It’s a little nerve-wracking because you never know if there’s a bomb or a mine or something left buried.
As I mentioned in my last posting, Freddy laughed at me when I asked him about this as we were traipsing about the forest. Never mind that every single guide book states not to do this in very bold print. He’s been at it most of his life. Still, on my hike this evening to the top of the ridge overlooking the campground, I was a little scared to go off trail and follow the trenches I found the other night. I supposed that’s a testament to the power of war.
Don’t worry parents I still have all of my limbs.