Team-building activities can often induce a groan, conjuring images of awkward trust falls and forced camaraderie. So, when the usabikers.net team gathered in a Ghent square before tackling the Tour of Flanders coverage, a sliver of apprehension was understandable.
Then, our eyes met the Beer Bike.
Beer bikes, a contraption we’ve previously mused about, hold a certain fascination for us cycling enthusiasts. True to its name, it’s a glorious fusion of two beloved elements: beer and bikes. Speaking personally, both are high on my list of favorites. The prospect of cycling and savoring a beer with colleagues in a charming foreign city? Frankly, what’s not to be utterly excited about?
Our mission parameters were clear: two hours with the beer bike, Bluetooth speaker access, a designated driver with a beard, and a keg of Belgian beer. Even without considering the beer bike as a symbol – an embodiment of the ever-expanding universe of characters and content we’re building at usabikers.net – this promised a memorable experience.
Yet, we hadn’t truly engaged with this beery behemoth in reality. Fueled by anticipation and a hint of pre-emptive cheer, we embarked on a journey to rectify this oversight.
Escape Collective team enjoying a beer bike ride through the streets of Ghent at night.
Part 1: The Beer Bike Riding Experience
Imagine a seat – if you can call it that. More of a firm foam wedge, less about comfort and more about… well, being a seat. It’s perched atop a rigid bar, unyielding to any height adjustments. Beneath you, pedals churn with a chain that feels more suggestive than effective, vaguely connecting to the beer bike’s undercarriage. You’re locked into a single, stubbornly low gear, legs spinning furiously, yet progress remains leisurely at best. This is your throne for the next couple of hours.
A serious cyclist focused on pedaling the beer bike, highlighting the effort required.
Twelve of these “seats” line the sides of the beer bike – six per side. Benches without pedals occupy the front and rear. Wooden countertops run along the bike’s flanks, thoughtfully punctuated with cup holders perfectly sized for plastic cups. The centerpiece? A glorious keg of beer with a tap, positioned centrally. And at the helm, steering this mobile pub, sits Tim (your driver’s name may vary), our non-drinking captain. Forget any notions of electric assist; Tim’s arsenal includes a vintage-looking foot pedal brake seemingly salvaged from a tractor, a VW steering wheel of questionable origin, and an impressive tolerance for being surrounded by enthusiastic, and increasingly boisterous, cycling journalists.
Rustic components of the beer bike, including the pedal and steering mechanism.
After a brief (and perhaps optimistic) rundown of the “safety features” (spoiler: there weren’t any), we lurched into motion, gradually accelerating to our cruising speed – a blistering 7 km/h (around 4 mph). Initial moments were spent navigating curbs, a collective sigh of relief as the contraption held together, and a brief, futile sprint to test its top speed. Jonny took on beer duty, liberally distributing foamy beverages, often more onto the wooden benches than into cups. Jared, meanwhile, conquered the Bluetooth, initially serenading us with tasteful Euro-dance tunes before inevitably transitioning to the iconic TOM BOONEN TOM BOONEN TOM BOONEN anthem.
A cyclist with white knuckles intensely pedaling the beer bike, emphasizing the strenuous effort.
For about fifteen glorious minutes, we snaked through Ghent’s charming streets, erupting in laughter and cheers. Then, reality gently nudged its way in. Two sobering truths dawned: the glacial pace of our beer-fueled chariot, and the surprising amount of effort required to maintain even that meager speed.
Diversions were clearly needed…
Part 2: Beer Bike Mishaps and Canal-Side Tumbles
Our focus shifted to capturing photographic evidence of this Extraordinary Beer Bike Expedition. Photos from the bike itself? Bumpy, poorly lit, failing to capture the sheer magnificence of our moving pub. Off-bike photography? Logistically complex and prone to blurry, beer-influenced results.
Undeterred, we improvised. Traffic lights became strategic photo-op moments. We rotated positions – some seeking pedal-free benches for respite, others discovering the varying degrees of pedal effectiveness (turns out, not all cranksets were actually connected, rendering some seats purely ornamental). As confidence (and beer consumption) grew, dismounting became increasingly ambitious – leaping off at traffic lights, impromptu pit stops at construction site porta-potties, and daring photo runs.
A team member expertly pouring beer from the keg on the moving beer bike.
Hazy recollections include Joe sprinting after the beer bike after a traffic light separation incident. Prouder memories involve successful dismounts, capturing what I believed were stunning action shots (which, in hindsight, were decidedly less impressive). Less fondly, I recall a later dismount attempt, misjudging the beer bike’s (still slow) speed and my own (increasingly uncoordinated) legs, resulting in a less-than-graceful encounter with the canal side. Technical term? “Eating pavement.” I bounced up quickly, masking a knee scrape and palm abrasion, laughter masking the pain, and we all collectively pretended I wasn’t the most uncoordinated person in Ghent.
Then, I started waving at people.
Enthusiastic beer bikers waving to bystanders, inviting interaction.
Part 3: Apologies to the Citizens of Ghent (and Vanessa Carlton)
Unsurprisingly, a slow-moving, music-blasting vehicle filled with beer-drinking tourists isn’t universally adored in a city like Ghent.
Considering the potential for public irritation, the reception was… surprisingly mixed. Some waved back, some smiled, and a group of teenagers (likely underage) even hopped aboard for a quick, illicit beer before we deposited them further down the road.
A long line of cars stuck behind the slow-moving beer bike in Ghent.
Teenagers enjoying a free beer ride on the beer bike.
However, some locals were decidedly unimpressed. As a clumsy attempt at amends, we offer sincere apologies to the following:
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The Antwerp Fried Chicken Girl: Her withering glance, a perfectly executed contemptuous nod, spoke volumes. Flemish may be beyond me, but body language is universal. Apologies for disrupting her shift at Belgian KFC.
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The Car Stuck Behind Us: Her driver’s thousand-yard stare, fingers pressed to temples, radiating stress migraine – it was clear this wasn’t her desired Tuesday evening. A small pang of guilt remains.
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The Dacia Duster of Senior Citizens: While the rare Dacia Duster sighting (a novelty for Australians like myself) was exciting, interrupting their late-night Scrabble run was less so. No amount of Werther’s Originals can compensate for lost Scrabble time.
A Dacia Duster driver looking exasperated behind the beer bike.
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The Angry Red Van Woman: Her aggressive, gear-crunching overtaking maneuver spoke volumes about her patience levels. Apologies for testing your gearbox and your temper.
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The High-Five Reciprocators: Thank you for the shared moments of humanity. Even to those who high-fived with unnecessary force, and the one who yelled “no!” while I offered a friendly wave.
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Vanessa Carlton: Your 2002 hit ‘A Thousand Miles’ is a classic. However, a beer bike at maximum volume is not its ideal soundscape (even if your dulcet tones did propel us to a downhill speed record of 15 km/h).
Part 4: The Beer Bike Magic: Fun Despite It All
Here’s the beer bike paradox: it’s incredibly fun in short bursts, especially if you’ve cultivated an elaborate online persona (Chad, we’re looking at you!) to contextualize the experience. Does beer contribute significantly to the “fun”? Absolutely. Judged purely on the mechanics of the ride, it’s… well, fairly uncomfortable.
The seats are unforgiving. Arms tire from gripping the countertop. Legs ache for days from the strenuous effort of near-stationary pedaling. Then there’s the subtle dignity dent from public indifference (or outright hostility). Yet, somehow, it coalesces into a fantastic experience, genuinely one of the highlights of the year.
Team members laughing and enjoying the beer bike experience.
Screenshot of social media reaction to the beer bike adventure.
After ninety minutes – beer and bike fatigue setting in – we pulled over. Tim snapped a team photo. As we started to disperse, I had a moment of beer bike clarity. It was being winched onto a truck, its mechanical innards exposed. I dove underneath, capturing a few final, evocative shots.
Close-up of the beer bike mechanics being loaded onto a truck.
Another view of the beer bike's underside and mechanical components.
Tim looked understandably puzzled. I concluded the evening with a quick, and equally awkward, interview (rivaling the week’s worst journalistic attempts). Midway through, it dawned on me that Tim’s English wasn’t fluent, and the purpose of my questions remained a mystery to him. The transcript is… revealing. My probing questions devolved into desperate attempts to befriend a beer bike driver.
A slightly intimidating close-up of the interviewer and the beer bike driver.
usabikers.net (UB): Were we the best customers you have ever had?
Tim (T): [nervously] Uh, yes.
UB: [delighted] Yes?!
T: Yeah. It was funny. It was happy.
UB: Do people normally like the beer bike…
T: Yes, yes …
UB: I mean, the drivers – do they get angry with the beer bike?
T: [considered pause] Yeahhhhh, on this day it’s more than most … [Tim adds a few Dutch phrases]
UB: … But you liked us.
T: [uncertainly] Yeah.
UB: [insufferably] And we liked you.
T: Thank you.
UB: Thank you. Bye.
The beer bike parked at the end of the adventure, symbolizing the conclusion.
FIN.
