There were no Hindenburgs crashing into the rank floorboards of an Amsterdam bar this year, and that was just as well. There was no monsoon to pedal through on Day One and the skies were blue and there was plenty of hot, hot sun when we were outside the cool shade of the forests.We were guided by broken arrows that took us on roads far from our intended route. There were suds and there was talk of suds, but you had to be there to understand. The moon rose over Otterloo and we kicked around the dusty roads in the early night. Our bikes slept with horses and the coffee pot was always full. Thank you, Margo. And you must do something about that daughter of yours.
The Prologue
T and I met the first arrivals on Saturday evening and we christened the start at a canal-side table under the glow of Amsterdam's tourist center. Our American friends did an admirable job of napping before we arrived and had temporarily shaken off the effects of jet lag. It became a very long night.
The twins landed early the next morning. After our customary salute to the beginning of our tour, the six of us loaded aboard a train to Nijkerk. Gerben and his wife were there to meet us and they ferried us to the cottage in the Otterloo woods where we would hole up for the better part of a week.
After a quick spin around the town on the bikes before dinner, we tucked into an excellent meal at one of the tiny town's restaurants. The twins, ever the hard chargers, seemed to be going strong after the intercontinental flight, train ride, celebratory tour kickoff, bike ride and hours of chitchat. Our other American friends were hanging in admirably as well. I was pooped.
The Tour Begins
It hardly seemed any time had passed, let alone a year, since we had clamped the GPS onto the handlebars and pushed off onto a Dutch bike path. But here we were, two tandems and a pair of single bikes, pedaling into the cool morning shade, waiting for the satellite directions to go haywire so we could really get underway.
Garmin has plugged an interesting feature into its cycling GPS. If you veer from the programmed route, the arrow that points the way becomes disjointed. The arrow tip shows the general direction, but the shaft doesn't line up with the tip or the little feathers at the other end. The farther you stray, the more fractured it becomes.
It took very little time for me to uncover that particular feature.
We pedaled along cool forest paths, heading in the general direction of our intended route. As the day wore on, the sun became intense. Holland was in the grip of a heat wave. Our friends, visiting Europe from the deep southern part of the U.S., didn't think much of Holland heat, but for T and me, it was pretty warm.
The landscape in this part of Holland is an odd combination of dark forests and sandy tundra. We left the woods and popped into bright sunlight, deep sand on either side of the bike path. There was a weathered stone building, a radio station as it turned out, nicely preserved in 1920s architecture in the middle of nowhere. War monuments were scattered about in the sand and scrub like giant, abandoned chess pieces.
We rolled into Apeldoorn, the town where some lunatic aimed his car into a crowd on Queens Day, killing eight people. The Paleis't Loo was closed, so we took some pics from outside the gate. The monkey sanctuary was open, but we passed it by, content to aim "there's your relatives" jokes at our one rider who is the target of all such ridicule.
Day Two took us through the national park and onto the road towards Arnhem, where the arrow split apart and we pedaled in the direction we sensed was the correct one. We rolled up and down inclines that are steep by Dutch standards, abandoning the GPS altogether and swinging into the city on the Rhine.
We rested in cool cafe shade and refreshed ourselves with cold drinks and sandwiches. We rambled through small towns on the way back to Otterloo and added stacks of miles to our forgotten route.
On Day Three, the GPS was nothing more than dead weight. We veered so far off the route that the arrow spun in circles until it disintegrated into splinters. Road signs are of little use when you don't know where you are, so we just rode. And rode. Then rode some more. Through forests and small towns, alongside pastures. We took photos of alpacas and black swans, each other and strangers. The miles piled up and we decided it was the best way to ride. Take a guess on the proper road. The twins shouted "this road!" and we veered away. "Let's go there!" and we tried a new direction.
The arrow spun until late in the day. Then it settled, shifted its elements into an unbroken line and pointed us towards home. We ate well that night and strolled at dusk. Someone remarked that the moon was especially bright over Otterloo and there were remarks about suds and telephoto lenses and it got confusing so we tipped a final nightcap and left it for the next day.
Day Four was a low-key sort of ramble, taking us through Ede, where we stopped for a leisurely coffee. From there, we got good and thoroughly lost searching for a cheese farm, spinning in circles through a forest where the road ended and we pushed the bikes for a while. We found the farm, finally, and gorged ourselves on cheese that tasted of walnuts and drank cold drinks and a little bit of honey wine that really wasn't very good.
We rolled back into Otterloo with our tour completed. Another evening stroll and, for the last time, we locked the bikes in the stables behind the cottage, patted the horses on the head and gathered around the big table to break bread and hurl abuse at our poor friend from New Orleans.
Another Day in Reeferville
A defining characteristic of Amsterdam is, of course, the smell of buring hemp. It's nearly unavoidable, whether you are walking past a coffee shop or beside a staggering pothead sucking the last life out of a tiny, glowing roach. It's not an offensive smell, frankly, and we strolled and remarked on it and wondered why so many women were wearing glasses and talking on cell phones. Those are the kinds of conversations people have when they are not cycling, I suppose.
Sarah Palin seemed to be everywhere. She looked odd behind glass, and in that funny red glow, if you know what I mean.
We dodged bikes because they are more dangerous than vehicles in Amsterdam. There was shopping and a little more of the suds we discussed earlier and still the hot, hot sun.
Then it was good and finally done. The others split a cab in the very early morning to the airport and T and I were left to breakfast on our own at the pancake house beside the canal.
The tour is done.
Time to start planning for next year.
