Tuscan hill towns

The sight of a town up high on a hill is one of the lasting images I have of Tuscany. Everywhere I rode there seemed to be several hilltop towns along the route. These towns were all very old -- I'm sure that in the middle ages it was important to have the town strategically located up high.

There was something intriguing about seeing one of these towns off in the distance, and then having the road eventually start climbing, often with switchbacks, all the way up to the top. Always a good workout too. In this area of Tuscany, the mountains weren't too big -- maybe 600 meters at most. But that's high enough to require some significant effort to climb, and high enough to have some fantastic views at the top.



In the area close to where I was staying, there was Casale Marittimo, Monteverde Marittimo, Sassetta, Suvereto, Massa Marittimo, and others. These were not really tourist towns -- people seemed to live and work there, and they were not big tourist destinations.

Then a little farther away were bigger tourist areas such as San Gimignano and Montalcino. These towns were interesting, and had some of the classic views that you might see on a postcard. But to me they seemed somewhat overdone in their efforts to be a "destination".



On one of the rides, I took an unplanned detour to climb up to a town called Sassa. The climb was difficult, and when I got to the top I found this tiny little town, seemingly perched on the edge of a cliff, with very old cobbled streets and stone buildings. There were no shops or restaurants that I could see. Just a few houses where people lived. There were a few people standing outside, talking or walking the dog. I felt as though I had intruded in someone's backyard. I felt funny taking picutres ... but couldn't resist.

Cycling paradise

This is a great area for cyclists. It hurts me to say this, but in terms of enjoyment I think my first three rides here equaled 7 months of riding in Germany.

The roads are mostly quiet and the scenery is beautiful – I have to resist the urge to stop every few miles to take pictures. There are lots of hills, some difficult but also many that are long but with a gentle grade. You can ride all day without seeing a traffic light. And then there is the food at the end of the ride.

Apparently other people think this way too. There are 3 different teams staying at my hotel: 2 junior teams from Italy, and a group from Südtirol – a region with parts in both Italy and Austria.


Paolo Bettini, who won the World Championship road race back in September, comes from La California which is just a few kilometers from here. You can see his picture on a road sign as you come into town.


Every day I’ve seen large teams out on the road training. They’ll be riding in a big group, with a team car following, taking up the entire lane on the road. But the other drivers don’t seem bothered. Other times I’ve seen teams out motor pacing, where riders will be following closely behind the car, which is normally driving 25mph or more.

It’s not hard to understand how Italy ranks as one of the top countries in international cycling. Seeing 2 junior teams here training – with team managers, sponsors, cars, and bikes – it’s apparent that there is a good support system. But it’s even more telling that they can train on the roads without drivers (or police) giving them a hard time. It seems they’re actually encouraged to be out on the roads.

I’m reminded of the time when 3 of us were pulled over by the police on a quiet Sunday morning, on a quiet country road, because we were riding 2 abreast and had delayed the local mayor for about 5 seconds.

Out riding the other day, one of the teams passed me, and I took it as an opportunity to get some free training. They were doing an exercise where guys were going out around the team car, one by one, then catching up to the guys ahead. I made a big effort and caught up to the car, then rode behind it for a while after the driver waved at me. Then I went around the car and caught up to the tail end of the group.

The car pulled ahead then turned around to go back for a few guys who had been left behind. The driver waved again as he passed. The group turned around too, while I was faced with a 4km climb up to one of the towns on my way back to the hotel. I just kept thinking: more free calories for dinner.

Tuscan vacation

I take back what I said about wanting to live in Girona. I really want to live in Tuscany.

I wanted to take a little vacation at the end of my stay in Germany – somewhere I could spend a week or so riding. After visiting Girona, I thought it would be there. Then I went to France, and the food was so good I thought maybe that would be the place.

But I hadn’t been to Italy since I’ve been here, and had never been to Tuscany. Riding and eating in Tuscany had a nice sound to it.

About a month ago I read where the Lampre professional cycling team held a training camp in a place called Castagneto Carducci (shown in the picture above). I figured if this was where they chose to hold a camp, then the area must be good for riding. Without much more than that to go on, I found a hotel that seemed to cater to cyclists, and booked a cheap flight to Pisa.

It was a good decision.

The area is beautiful – green and lush even in early March. The roads seem quiet. There are vineyards and olive groves everywhere – meaning there is locally produced wine and olive oil. Some initial sampling indicates both are very good.

I now have to make sure I put in enough kilometers in the saddle to make up for the calories I’m sure to take in.

Riding like a local

The ride my first day in Cannes kicked my slight cold into full gear. I spent the next 3 days sniffling and sneezing my way through work meetings. It was worth it though. And once the work meetings were finished, I was feeling well enough to ride again.

When I get on a bike and ride in a strange place, I immediately feel more connected to where I am, and less like a tourist. For me it’s a more enjoyable way of getting to see things and talk to people -- better than going to designated tourist sites.

The bike also gives me an immediate connection with the local cyclists. Take the guy who rented me the bike for example. Instead of me being a demanding tourist, we start from the position of having something in common. We can talk about cycling, about racing, about the differences in riding in the U.S. and where he lives. He’s willing to pull out a map and point out some places off the beaten path.

He suggested a route to get some mountain scenery in contrast to the first ride. I started at the coast and rode inland. After about 10km, I turned off on a single lane road that looked to be part of the national forest. This was a great decision – there was no traffic and the road climbed for maybe 8km, all the way to a peak at around 2000 ft.



At the top, in one direction there was a view to the Mediterranean. In the opposite direction was a view down to a valley below and more mountains in the distance.



Most of the ride went like this: climbing or descending, narrow roads, some of the trees already starting to bloom.

With about 30 minutes left to ride, I started to run out of gas – it had been a long day with a lot of climbing and not enough to eat. Going up a small hill a guy going the same direction rode past me and said ‘bonjour’. I sped up a little and moved in behind him. He could see from the shadows I was following on his wheel, and he started to point out the little holes and other obstacles.

As we approached the point where I had parked the car and started the ride, I rode alongside and said thanks, I needed that. He laughed, then reached out and shook my hand, in that way that you do when you’re on a bike – one guy with the left hand and the other with the right.



My last morning in Cannes I got up early to get one last ride in. I took the road along the coast again, and felt as though I had joined what must be a Saturday ritual. It seems all the local bike clubs or groups of riders come out and ride on this road. I saw riders of all shapes, sizes and ages. There were old guys on old-school racing bikes, people on touring bikes, local racers tearing up the hills.

The best part was stopping for coffee and pastry at the end of the ride. I'm sure that is a local ritual too.

Riding out of Cannes

Before leaving for Cannes, I tried unsuccessfully to find somewhere to rent a road bike. I talked to a local colleague, who also said it would be difficult. Scooter – no problem. City bike – for sure. Mountain bike – probably. Road bike – not likely.

I stood in front of my suitcase trying to decide whether to bring any of my bike stuff. It didn’t seem worth the bother. But I know how I am. If even the slimmest chance of riding somehow materialized, I would regret not having my stuff. So I quickly packed some bike clothes, helmet, pedals and glasses.

Arriving in Nice, it suddenly felt like spring – sunny and mild, with lots of green, palm trees, plants blooming. It would be great to get out and ride.

I walked around after dinner, and just around the corner from the hotel found a shop that rented scooters, motorcycles, and city bikes. Through the window I could see a road bike – a Gitane – hanging on the wall.

Next morning I walked over to the shop, and sure enough, he had a road bike in my size. I congratulated myself for bringing my gear, before realizing I had hadn’t considered it would be this warm. It was too cold for shorts, but too warm to heavy tights and a winter jersey – which is what I had brought. I opted to be overdressed than to be cold.


It still appeared to be winter for the local riders. They were dressed similarly to me – only I was sweating and they weren't. I actually saw someone wearing a face mask – something we would wear when it was 30 degrees (F) out.

The guy at the shop recommended I ride out from Cannes and follow the road along the coast. Once out of the traffic and police blockades in Cannes, the road was beautiful – twisting climbs and descents with views of the Mediterranean, reddish cliffs, mountains rising up from the coast, views back to Cannes, and at times glimpses of the snowy Alps way off in the distance.


Before I’d left I mentioned to the guy at the bike shop that I hoped it wouldn’t rain today. He said, “Oh, it will not rain today.” I had read that this area has 300 sunny days a year. It hadn’t rained in a month. That was enough to jinx me.

It rained the last 40 minutes of the ride – lightly, but enough to get fairly wet. But it was warm enough that I didn’t mind

On the way back to the shop I stopped at a café for a sandwich, Coke, and coffee. When the bill came and showed 10 Euro, I was ready to take back what I said about it being expensive here. But then the waitress handed me the separate tab for the coffee – which was another 4 Euro. Then I noticed the Coke had also cost 4 Euro. So I stick by my original assertion -- be prepared for your wallet to rapidly become thinner.

Back at the shop, the guy apologized for saying it would not rain – he knew the power of the jinx. I told him it was OK -- it was not my bike, so I did not have to clean off the road grit. I realized, if I had someone to clean my bike after it rained, I would never hesitate to ride.



How would you like this view?

Finding new roads

The number of weekends I have left here is dwindling. What should you do when you realize there’s not much time?

I thought maybe I should go somewhere I haven’t been. There’s that feeling I should be “making the most” of the time I have here. But with the trip I had last weekend, and work travel coming up, I wasn’t up for driving or finding a place to stay.

I was also thinking, some of the best times I’ve had here were not going and seeing tourist sites, but just getting out and finding some new roads to ride on. So I threw the bike in the care and drove for just 20 minutes – just enough to get outside the area where I normally ride (yes, Autobahn speeds help here).

This is one of the things I’ll miss about being here.

I don’t get tired of riding on new roads, through the many small towns along the way to nowhere in particular. I don’t get tired of:

… riding through the open-air market on Saturday morning

… seeing people walking to shop, and riding bikes loaded with groceries.

… narrow roads with brick houses just a few feet off the street

… a field of wind turbines


… every village with its own little church

… church bells ringing on the hour

... the crazy names of some of the towns (how'd you like to give your address on the phone for one of these?)



… stopping for coffee at a café

There is a different feel to the countryside here. There is something quite charming about the little villages that you see so often, each with its own center, always with a bakery or café – and probably a bar too. There's something about this that seems to make sense. Without the sprawl of concrete things seem to be on more of a human scale.

Girona mountain ride

I always feel a little bit nervous riding in a strange place -- never quite sure if I just took the correct turn, what the local customs are for things like stopping for red lights, how the drivers treat cyclists.

Finding a good route is often a challenge. If you ask a local person where is a good place to ride, they often will suggest a bike path that runs for maybe a few miles. They have no sense of how far you can go when you ride for several hours. So the trick is to talk to a local cyclist.

For Sunday's ride, I wanted to go towards the mountains. A little Internet searching led me to Michael Barry's (U.S. Postal - Discovery - now T-Moble) website. He's one of those pro riders based in Girona during the season, and he happened to have 2 suggested routes -- both involving some climbing.

I was prepared with 2 Snickers bars, a packet of Gu, and 2 full water bottles.



Here, as in Germany, roads aren't marked North-South-East-West, nor are they laid out in a grid pattern. They're marked by what town they lead to. This is great if you know that Llagostera is on the way to Tossa de Mar. If not, you're stopping a lot to look at maps. On the bike, this actually works out pretty well, since you only have to remember a few towns and not a bunch of turn-by-turn directions.

That's how it worked out for this ride. Once out of Girona, the road climbed gradually for maybe 10 miles, then more steeply. I pulled out the map a few times, just to make sure I was headed to the right town.

About halfway into the ride is the 9km (5.6 mile) climb to St Marti Sacalm -- a climb that many of the pros use as a test to measure their fitness. It's a bit early in the season for a climb that long (or for fitness tests), but I couldn't pass up the opportunity. The view from the top was worth the sore knee later.


(I think that is the start of the Pyrenees way off in the distance)

Back in Girona after almost 4 hours on the road, I stopped in a tapas restaurant. I was ready to say, "I'll take one of everything" but showed a little restraint -- 3 tapas plates followed by an espresso. Great way to end the ride and the weekend.

Sunny in Girona

I want to move to Girona (Spain).

That's my impression after one day here. Germany is great, don't get me wrong. But it's hard to compete with sunshine, mountains, the ocean, good restaurants, and great roads to ride on.

I was able to find a cheap flight on Ryanair for the weekend. Then found a place that would rent a road bike. The weather forecast called for sun with highs around 50.

Most people fly here then go on to Barcelona. But Girona is well known as a cycling area -- Lance Armstrong had an apartment here, and other pro riders come here to train and live during the season. I can tell why -- the riding is great and Girona is big enough to have lots of restaurants, but not overwhelmingly big.

The first ride today took me to the coast, then for maybe an hour and a half along the coastal road that was as spectacular as any road I've ridden on: views of the Mediterranean, seaside cliffs, constant climbing or decsending, and almost no traffic.


As much as I like Germany, this is a refreshing change -- from the gray weather, from the traffic, and also from the general atmosphere. It seems obvious that people are more easy-going here, at least in Girona, and that things move a bit more slowly. Many of the restaurants don't even open for dinner until 8 or 8:30.

P.S. to Jim Mullins: here's another one you were right on.

Anyone want to come join me first week in March?

Something about the cold

I’ve written previously about “attitudes towards strangers”, and how it’s unusual for someone to wave or say hello while I’m out riding, whereas in the U.S. this is commonplace.

It has finally turned cold here. It’s been below freezing, and there is talk of some snow. It’s been dry so far, and I’ve been able to continue riding outside. I still see the people who are out riding to get somewhere – work, to the store, etc. They don’t seem to be discouraged by the cold. But they’re not usually going very far.

I’ve not seen so many recreational cyclists though. At home, when it’s cold and I see another rider, it’s usually someone fairly serious, often someone I know. So I wave, say hello, and acknowledge that there is someone else who is a little bit crazy to be out riding.

Strangely enough, it seems to be the case here too. In the last week of riding, I’ve been acknowledged by other cyclists more than in the entire previous 6 months combined. I’ve had guys wave, nod, even say hello on a couple of occasions.

Yesterday I was on my way back home, riding the path along the Rhine. There was a tailwind, and I was moving along pretty fast. I passed a mountain biker and nodded hello. He slipped in behind me --- I could hear the knobby tires on the pavement. Then I realized there was another rider too. The three of us rode for a while in a paceline at 23 mph dodging the walkers and runners.

The other rider rolled up alongside, and started up a conversation. He was riding a nice Colnago, asked if I raced, said he used to, said this is a bit fast for winter riding, said he was Canadian but grew up in Oberkassel where I’m living. We rode for just a little bit longer, to where he had to turn for home. I had to turn the other way, to cross the bridge. The mountain biker said “goodbye” (in English) and rode straight, with his knobby tires humming on the pavement as passed.

What winter?

The weather here has been dreadful. It reminds me of Cleveland in late March-early April: cool, grey, and rainy.

But it's not cold. And it's not snowing.

One day this week I rode in shorts and a jersey (with arm and knee warmers though). 60 degrees F on January 9!

I have all my snowboard gear here, thinking I would do some of that this winter. There might be snow in the mountains (7 hours to the south). But with the warm weather, who even thinks about it?

People around here are skiiing/snowboarding in the indoor ski hall in Neuss, about 10 minutes from here. That is something I may try, just for the curiosity factor.

I've seen a few nordic ski events on television, and they all appear to be using machine-made snow on the race courses.

I'm not complaining about this, because I would rather be out riding my bike. And from what I hear it's been pretty similar back in the U.S., which means I am gaining no advantage by being able to ride.

I guess I need to look for another edge: a training week in sunny Spain? Find out where Jens Voigt lives and infiltrate his training rides? Or Erik Zabel? Maybe talk to one of the old-school East Germans and ask about some "training tips"?

Flat tire karma

Serious cyclists learn not talk about things like how long it’s been since you last had a flat tire. It’s a certain jinx. I don’t even like to think about it while out riding. Even thinking about it seems to bring on a flat.

And you don’t want to be tempting fate when it’s trying to prevent you from riding in the first place.

The day had started out with me slicing my lip somehow while shaving. I had to drive the whole way to work pressing a tissue on my lip to try to stop the bleeding. But then the sun came out, I had worked a lot the previous couple days, and I wanted to get in a ride before the 4:30PM darkness here.

Leaving work at 2:00 usually means no traffic. But this day, because I wanted to ride before dark, it was a mess. The last 2km to home took me 30 minutes because the bridge to Oberkassel was completely jammed with cars for reasons completely unknown.

I finally made it out on the road by 3:15, and thought I would just ride hard for what little time I had. Not too long into the ride I passed a guy who was changing a flat. He said something as I went by, which is unusual, so I turned and went back. His pump was not working, so I let him use mine. He was quite grateful.

I set off again, trying to calculate the route that would get me home before dark.

Then I made the mistake of thinking about helping the guy with the flat, and thinking that I had not had one flat tire in the 5 months I’d been in Germany. That’s a long time without a flat.

A couple miles later, I could feel my front tire getting soft. Since front flats don’t happen as often as rear flats, this particular wheel had not had a change in a very long time. As a result, the inner tube was fused to the tire, and I could not pull it loose. I had visions of walking home 10 miles in my bike shoes. That was enough to give me a Popeye-like burst of strength to pull the tube loose.

The tire was now deformed and had a flat spot I could feel on every rotation of the wheel. I hammered the rest of the way home, riding the last 10 or 15 minutes in the dark. Fortunately there was a bike path adjacent to the road, then streetlights close to home.

I’m going to carry 2 spare tubes with me for a while. As we know, these sorts of things happen in groups of three. Not that I’m superstitious or anything.

From track to 'cross

What do you do the day after going to a six-day race?

Why, you go to a cyclocross race.

After the smoky night indoors in Dortmund, I needed some fresh air. It was a nice October afternoon, and I had noticed there was a professional cyclocross race in Sint-Michielsgestel, in the Netherlands, just an hour and a half drive from here.

For those who don’t know, cyclocross racing takes place on a course that is part on the road, and part off-road. There are obstacles where the riders are forced to dismount and carry their bikes. When the conditions are bad, in some places it’s faster to run than ride. They use bikes made for cyclocross: essentially a road bike that’s a little less aggressive, with wider tires and more brake clearance.

I’ve done exactly two cyclocross races in my life, and decided it wasn’t for me. I was sore for days afterwards. But then I was racing on a 35 pound mountain bike, using road pedals, and I hadn’t done any running in many years. It was as ugly as it was painful.

The race in Sint-Michielsgestel was a professional race, but it also included races for Masters, Juniors, Women, and U23’s. I parked and started to walk to the race course. I felt like I was at a local race at home. The racers from the early races were changing clothes, washing the mud off their bikes, and rehashing the race. The U23’s were warming up, sprinting and down the street.

I wanted to change, hop on my bike and jump in with them.

I watched the U23’s start and fly into the first turn off the pavement and onto the dirt, with brakes squealing, bikes crashing, and guys yelling. They quickly turned onto a small metal bridge (the sound even made me nervous), then through a field with a dismount and run through a sand pit. To say that it looked hard doesn’t begin to explain it.

The sand pit:


Cyclocross is spectator friendly. I walked the entire course watched all the difficult sections. In several places I could stand and have a 360-degree view of the race. You’re also up close to the racers, with only some plastic tape keeping you off the course. If you’re not careful and lean too far into the course, you can easily get hit.

The crowd watching the race was large – fans there for the race, families from the town, racers who had finished their races. Food and beer of course (do I need to keep mentioning that?).

The pro race had many of the top guys: Sven Nys, Bart Wellens, Richard Groenendaal, Erwin Vervecken. It’s pretty cool to see the guys in person who I’ve only read about.

They started insanely fast, with guys sprinting from the start to get to the first turn off the pavement. Now, I assumed that as professionals these guys would be good, but I could not believe the speed at which they rode on the dirt, and the skill they showed in the difficult sections of the course.

Nys over the barriers:


The race was an hour of absolute intensity. With the exception of Nys, who seemed to float over the course, they all had a look of pain on their faces. No doubt, these guys were tough. I felt bad for the guys who were at the tail end, in danger of getting lapped. They still looked like they were riding as hard as they could go.

Sven Nys won by a pretty comfortable margin. I left with a completely different perspective on ‘cross. If it wasn’t for my still-not-right collarbone, I might even be convinced to try it again.

Nys navigates the muddy section with ease:


The other guys have a harder time:


No doubt, one of the oddest sponsor names ever:

Dortmund Six-Day

Borrowing from the joke about hockey, I went to a bar and a bike race broke out. Only the “bar” was the Westfallenhalle in Dortmund, where the Dortmund Six-Day Race was held.

A six-day race is an indoor track race. Each night teams of two riders compete in a series of different races. There are Madison races (where riders take turns racing, using hand slings to make the change), elimination races, points races, and sprints. There are the derny races, where riders draft behind motorized bikes at speeds of 65 km/h (40 mph!). The teams try to accumulate points and gain laps on their opponents.


Among racers and fans in the U.S. six-day races have a mystique about them. They were very popular in the U.S. prior to World War II. I’ve read that they were as big as any of the six-day races in Europe. For a bike racer or racing fan, being able to sit indoors and drink a beer while watching top riders race around a track is almost as good as going out and riding, especially at this time of year.

There aren’t any big six-day races in the U.S. anymore, but they are still quite popular in Europe. Bike racing in general is more popular in Europe, but I think a big reason the six-days are still held is that the promoters make them into events that are much more than just bike races.

But then again, I’ve noticed that Germans can pretty easily find an excuse to make anything into an event, with copious amounts of beer and food. It seems every other weekend there is a festival of some sort along the Rhine promenade in Düsseldorf.

The Dortmund race is just a short 45 minute drive for me, so I can’t pass up the opportunity to go.

As a racer, I’m interested in the racing. I’m mesmerized as I watch the 220 lap Madison race early in the evening. When you first see this race, it appears to be complete chaos. All the riders are on the track, but only 1 rider from each team is racing. The other teammate is circling waiting to make an exchange (by doing a hand sling). The riders trade off frequently, and they make the hand slings in the tightest spaces. Other riders pull off the front of the group and ride high up the banking of the track. At the same time, riders are trying to break away and gain a lap on the field – which happens frequently. I’m surprised they don’t crash more often.

I lean back and watch the track without focusing on any single rider. When viewed like this, the race looks like a perfectly synchronized choreography. It’s an amazing scene.



A large proportion of the people haven’t come for the racing though. They are here for the event: the food, the beer, the crappy band playing bad American pop music in the dance hall. The food, as expected, is plentiful: different kinds of grilled wurst, pizza, large pretzels, some kind of fish, Turkish gyros, shish kebabs, frites and mayonnaise, Dutch licorice.

They sing along with the cheesy music played during the race (if you can imagine this, “Take me home country roads”, in English, with a thumping electronic beat). They stand and clap, sway back and forth in their seats as if they were in one of the Oktoberfest tents. People smoke while in their seats inside the arena. As the night goes on, and more beer is drunk, it gets even louder.

Erik Zabel, probably Germany’s most popular racer, is clearly the fan favorite. They are visibly disappointed if he doesn’t win a sprint or if he and teammate Bruno Risi don’t win one of the events.

It all adds to the atmosphere.

By the time I leave, well after midnight, I smell like I’ve been to a bar. My clothes reek of stale smoke and grilled meat and will need to be washed. My throat is scratchy from the smoke. And I’ve eaten too much again. I’m going to have to ride a bit longer the next day.



Zabel and his derny partner:

Ride to The Netherlands

A few weeks ago I rode for a while with a mountain biker who was on his way to The Netherlands. At the time I hadn’t realized we were close enough in Düsseldorf to ride there and back in an afternoon.

Today was a beautiful October day, and I needed somewhere new to ride, so I set out for The Netherlands.

There’s something fascinating about crossing the border into a different country, especially with the bike or on foot. It’s not as though everything suddenly changes, though you do notice immediate differences: signs in a different language, different street names, or the sudden appearance of a bike lane.

It’s more than the obvious differences though. It feels exotic knowing you’ve crossed into a different country and the next person you talk to is probably going to be Dutch (which he was).

Once outside of Düsseldorf there are many bike paths and small farm roads. These are great to ride on, but they have a couple of drawbacks. You can be riding on a nice paved road then suddenly find yourself on a dirt trail going through the woods. On a road bike, that can be a bit treacherous.

The other problem is that on a nice Sunday afternoon many other people have the same idea about going for a ride or a walk.

One of the many farm roads.


I found a nice farm road, smooth and without many other people. Many of these routes are marked as bike routes. I spotted a sign for Swalmen (NL). Sure enough, after a while I found myself going through a nature preserve on an acorn-covered dirt path. That was manageable.

Then the groups of walkers and people on bikes started to appear. Lots of them. Most people have these little bells on their bikes, and they will angrily “ching, ching, ching” them to get people to move out of the way. Since I have no bell on my racing bike, I will freewheel when coming up to someone, and they usually hear the clicking sound. If not, I will politely say “Entschuldigung” (excuse me).

This was not working today, so I was riding along dodging people and bikes, with my wheels shooting acorns to both sides and hitting people. Honestly I can’t understand how walkers and casual cyclists find this sort of situation enjoyable.


I found my way out of the woods and onto a path along the main road that took me into The Netherlands. I turned to cross to the other side of the road, and waited for traffic. I heard an angry “ching, ching, ching” from a couple coming down the path, since part of my back wheel was on the bike path.

Now, they had more than enough room to pass, and I really could go nowhere except into traffic. But they insisted on riding side-by-side on the path. The guy clipped my back wheel with the large pack on his bike and almost fell. Then turned to look at me as though it was my fault. I had no choice but to give him the universal signal of disrespect (this is how I know I feel somewhat at home here).

I rode for a while in the Netherlands, passing through some nice little villages with interesting houses and landscaping. On the way back, I traded people for cars, and took a more direct route, getting lost only once and making just a short detour through the woods. I felt as though I had earned my late afternoon coffee and Kuchen.

Bikes stopped at the cafe.


Cute little house in the Swalmen.