Filling out holes

Holes.

Yes a lot.
I am not talking about Dutch routes. There are no holes inside them. Well almost none.

No, I am speaking about things that had happened to me “en route” since I came to Ducth speaking territory...a long time ago - three weeks!- ... from Gent to Amsterdam. Just after having met Emile… till now.

True, there are almost no holes on the routes...

Dutch routes.
Km and km of piste to ride without being bothering by the cars or the relief from Brussels to Amsterdam. Have you got fear of mountains? Come here, you won’t find an easy flat land as large as Belgium and the Netherlands are.

Wow.
I had actually foreseen really short stages alongside the coast, with great landscapes, hoping be always inspired by the sea in my long stops to write and having time to set things up before facing the big first sportif deal of my journey: the marathon at Amsterdam...

Mon cul!**


Well, nothing to say about Belgium routes.
There are no as many possibilities as there are in Holland and the bikes tracks keep often close to the national roads, so even if they are not really beutiful or quiet, you are sure you will reach your goal at least.

From De Panne to Antwerpen it was really easy and fast.
One night stop in Caroline& Mandy’s place to share with them the friendly atmosphere of Gent: “ l’ambience des cafes”, quiet outside but extremely living inside, by night in the little bar right on the corner of the neighboorhood as well as at lunch time in the big cultural café –the Vooruit- in the Center of the town.

Time enough for discovering Mr. Johanson –the man who signs about his wishes of being a woman-, and to be helped -with the website management- and guided by Mandy throught the city till reaching my path to Antwerpen.
Time enough also to fix a new place where enlarging this short meeting...have you two begun to look for the flights to Praha?


Antwerpen...this city touched something inside me from the very beginning, since I took a glance from my bike of the town over the wide river.
No bridges to cross.
It was sunny, and beautiful. And not charming but enchanting...as if something almost unperceptible were whispering me from the other side.



It took me 2 days to realize that I was in Amberes –Anvers in French, which is not far at all from Spanish sound when pronounced- , the city that once was one of the most important bastions of that empire that never saw dawn...but that was always full of shadows. Yes, Spain was great once…Great in her own way.

Antwerpen, still lord of the most important harbor in Europe... and of a lively cultural activity as I could appreciate thankx to Thomas, my host.


I could keep my planning there, despite of my fight against the net:
I did my last fartleks just four weeks before the marathon, I got a little worried about this threat of pain in my Achiles tendoms (that I still feel), and first and last I took advantage of the open-minded sharing of true ideas through our talks.
And of his people.
From Tim to Raf.
Marion, the new doctorate in Biologics - my deepest congratulations Madame.
Lies, the wizard at the camera.

And his back-and-the-day friends: Jeroen&Linda, Vera&Alex, Joris –Spanish speaker, yes, you caught it man-, Johan&Fleur, Goedele out of her resto, and Stefan -without his wife but with all the weeding photos.


And Adriane at her birthday party.



I left stronger on Saturday morning as the rain wanted to refresh the beginning of my path to Holland. Next destination, Breda, 80 km away. No more. 6 hours, maybe 7, taking account of some time for resting, taking pictures and writting en route.

As for the “other depart conditions” to Breda...I have already writting about Xxxxxx.


And that’s here where the holes begun.


Welcome to the Netherlands, the bike’s paradise.


After my stop to write, the route was kind to me: all straigh and fast. Not even a sign border between Belgium and Holland. No photo for the borders collection so…but as for the others galleries, yes. The Netherlands is a beutiful zen country –so far.



If I did not get desesperate while trying to get the Bredabaan –even if someone who could eventually saw me yelling alone on my bike does not think so- was thanks to several facts:
First of all, thanks to an oasis in the route.

If somebody has told me before that I would like a gas station on the road I would answer that maybe I could appreciate it but never like it. I loved to meet this station close the harbor of Antwepen – I did not love the huge labyrinth that they call the city harbor over there-. I loved it for the free water -one of the rares en route even in France-, and for keeping my unlocked bike save while I went to the toilets. This station was not only useful but so nice to me that I even stayed there to have breakfast –but not in the toilets.



The other raison for not getting mad that morning was peolpe, always kind and helpful.
Like the blonde truck driver who explained me that after 20 years driving in the harbor it was hard even to her to get orientated inside without a map or somebody’s help... – but that morning was a Saturday morning and the only person that I met was a biker who almost drove me inside when he turned around in a corner. At least he told me sorry while he kept on rolling at the same speed without taking any care of anybody’s route, even him.
And like these little girls.


And like this men who finally shown me the way -I was already in the Bredabaan but he made me happy anyway... because I did not know yet that there I was.
2 km later I saw the first sign.


So I arrived to Breda at 7.30 p.m.
I went to an internet point. I took a sight to my mails. No news from Xxxxxx… and neither from the other guy who had answered my mail in the morning. Rene. I call him –he had told me to do it since I were arrived-. No answer.
8 p.m. at Breda, no more lights in the sky.

I did not worry.
I took a more exhaustive look at Rene’s profile in couchsurfing. I saw that he has his own website. I found an adress inside. I did not hesitate a single second to go there.
And what a good idea it was.
I have not had any news yet from Rene since he wrote me in that Saturday morning, but “thankx to him” I began to appreciate the kindness and help of Dutch people.


Rob from Holland works in the adress I found. He invited me to spend with him the time till closing the business, to use his own computer for navigating through the net, and to have a good cup of coffee.

Daniel and Bas both live in Breda.
They come there to share with Rob the last hours of work. They three all helped me to prepare my route to Den Haag, gave me some usefuls tips about the roads –but not good enough to me-, and we all share some laughts and even 2 pictures.

Maybe 3. Or more.

Bas hosted me.
A shower, a bed... and a natural and friendly talk until 3 a.m. It continued from 12 in the morning, with my first Dutch breakfast.


A really good experience before leaving Breda at 1 p.m. direction Den Haag...a 110 km journey that should take me 7 or 8 hours in normal conditions...
Mirjam will be waiting for my arrival at 8 o’clock.

If you have read the last posts you would remember that at 6 p.m. I was flying on the route...20km away from Breda.
It took me 4 hours to quit this city.
Even despite of the indications of Rob, Daniel and Bas.
Even despite of the advice of the 32 people to whom I asked for my route.

I thought a lot during these 5 hours.
I first thought that I was really mind handicapped. But I had managed so far to get orientated and to reach my destinations so I second thought that maybe Dutch people were a kind of superior race specialy conceived for get oriented in Dutch routes.
I did not understand why they laught so openly at me when at about 2 p.m. I began to ask them for the way to the Moerdijk bruggen and I told them that I had to go to Den Haag.

I began to change my mind when after my 10 request I got the 18 different indication to continue my path.
I then realised that dutch people are used to cycling...but that they have never ridden farther from the border of their own city, either because they have already gotten lost themselves trying to go away of it on bike, or because they have a friend or a neighboord of a friend who took his bike once to go to the nearest village and from whom they have never heard again.

But I really appreciated these 5 hours of rolling.
Why?
Because, even if I only avanced 20 km straight on, I could spend almost 3 hours taking to different peolple who was really nice to me, stopping their Sunday tasks for coming alongside me to show me the right route...well their own version of my right route.
And I also appreciated very much my lunch in front of these cows.



So even if I have realized that most of people were not to be so useful to me, I kept on asking them… but I began to ignore their answers if they were different from my thoughts...
And also I did with the bike’s signs after having found two of them 50 meters away each of other on a straight route, giving me indications in opposite sens... with no alternative route between them –excepting for the highway, that of course is forbidden territory for bikes.

So at 7.30 p.m., 30 minutes later from the planed time I was expected to arrived to Den Haag, I was 10 km left to Rotterdam, and I had lost my first “plane” to Den Haag, maybe 30 km farther.
I needed a phone to call Mirjam –because I didn’t have one... and neither I have one yet (I have stopped from praying years ago but I will recover my best prayers to Saint Sponsors if I have time/means in Amsterdam these days).

So I was already late, very far from my goal and looking not only for my route but also for a phone.

And then I saw that woman collecting flowers...
Mrs. Dubbeld. Paula.
She took me to her place, she made all the family came to help me.
She stopped his husband from watching the Sunday football match.
She gave me a bike blue bag and an apple.
And she wished me all the best in my journey.
She was reading "Traveling trougth Japan", a book by Josie Dew, a woman who has already biked more than 20000 km alone all over the world.
I phoned Mirjam for telling her that I hoped to be there in 2 hours –which seemed me fair for a 30 km path.
1 h later I was leaving from Dubbelds’ place, with ...Rees Maarten, the son, who is used to do the 10 km to Rotterdam everyday.
As we biked together he told me two things:
the first one was that he has also run a marathon –well it was his mother who told me that-, but he is also a traveller himself: he has spent the summer biking in England and he has walked from Rotterdam to Paris in the Roparun race, a kind of running spectacle in which over 180 teams of 8 runners each, cover roughly 530 km non-stop but relaying –ouff!- in less than 30 hours. It takes place every year and the taxi bakker runner (Rees' team) got sponsored for 10000 euros… -3.129.682 euros for the total sponsor collection-.They finished 29. Well done boys.

The second one thing that Rees told me:
- Don’t pay attention to the sings. Keep only my indications in your mind...


Ok, I tried.

The first task was really easy as most of the 3 or 4 m high little signs for bikes were almost invisibles at night.
As for his indications… I turned left at the second cross point, ant then right afer the bridge before taking left again in a street blocked for repairs… and forgetting the rest of indications for the following 9’687 km to Rotterdam.

So I completely relied on my luck...and I got the commercial zone of Rotterdam’s Harbor “only” one hour later of having left my improvised guide.

Thank you anyway not only for your help but for your blue bag, for the apple, for your boosts and your kidness to me.


And for the phone call too.

Even if at 22.00 I was not in Mirjams but in front of a VIP party in one of the most branched dicos of the moment in Rotterdam city.
Y yo con estos pelos.

I had to refuse to go inside with some of the girls who asked me to come with them.
Nice Dutch people.
I would shave myself the next morning.

So I cross a wide modern bridge while having dinner –some more biscuis and peanuts...- and then I stopped in a red light to peel off m last banana.
And then I saw him.
I did not hesitate a single moment.
He wore a professional biker casque and was transpirating more than I have done in the whole day:

- Hi sorry, do you speak English?
- Yes, of course –hey, you are in the Netherlands men, everyone younger than 60 speaks current English.
- Couls you tell me how can I go to Delf please?
- Of course, keep on straigh on for 500 m, then you each the canal at the left and you could ride alongside it till almost Den Haag if you want.

And I did.
I had only two more problems that don’t worth to make longer this post.


So I came to Den Haag at 23.00.
I arrived to Mirjam at 24.00.
She slept.
I did not dare to bother her and her housemate.

I went to the beach.
I looked for a shower.
I did not find one.
I took a bath in the sea. It made me really good.
I put on proper clothes and I spent the night writting and making up my mind.

The Dutch routes had not been a paradise at all.
They are indeed really bad marked.
I could no stand my plans for longer if each time it would take me 3 hours to get oriented when getting away, crossing or arriving to a city.

But these were not the really roots of my journey problems.

Actually, the fault had been only mine.
Because I could have planed to buy maps of Holland for bikes and not only look for them on the internet websites.
Because I could have prepared everything by myself instead of rushing at each departure and relaying on others hurried indications and help.
Because I should have been more concerned about the proper route.

But I didn’t change anything of my journey.
To have altered my former plans to spend one more night with Thomas in Antwerpen.
Meeting his friends and Adriane.
To have breakfast with Raf in the morning and rushing for leave without even having go to the toilets.
To have found the oasis close to the harbor.
And those girls before the Bredabaan.
The nap before coming to Breda.
And Rob from Holland and Daniel.
Bas.
His Tibetan housemate, who has a friend who has been biking for peace for 10 years.
The 33 on live conversations of at least 3 minute each one en route.
To have flown on my bike.
The hour with the Dubbelds.
The bath at 2.30 a.m. in the beach.
That night writting down under the sky of Den Haag.
The morning wait in front of Mirjams place before meeting her.

Me remembering all this feelings while writting this post at 3 a.m., Tuesday, in Amsterdam at Maaika’s my new host.


You reading now these words.



This is what really makes worth this journey. What I was looking for when I left from Paris even without having contacted any sponsor.



There are still some holes to fill in, but I will come back just here, to Den Haag. To my pleasure.
Just like it already happened.


Time to go to bed.
I have to take off the ice of my Achilles tendons before.

The before last repetition workout is scheduled for tomorrow morning...but I will maybe change it to the afternoon, right before my first hot typical Dutch dinner by Maaika.

4 days left to the marathon. Yes.





** My ash! (eng.)
Y un huevo! (esp.)