Holland with Hills

As the title suggests, I've now started experiencing my first hills in Holland - not quite the mini-mountains that the North of France was offering me, but a shock to the system none-the-less. When cycling on the straight and narrow for so long, you very quickly settle into a familiar, almost hypnotic type of cycling - the mind clears and simply takes in what is around you, but getting back amongst hills really makes you concentrate on what you\re doing and how you expend your energy. I haven't been eating too well recently - more snacking than full meals, and that has made for a relatively difficult day's riding today, but before that, let's recap. I left Amsterdam a couple of days ago now - I had intended my last night to be quiet and relaxing with a couple of beers in front of the Football. How wrong I was. The only seat available was next to what looked like a cross between Vincent Van Gogh and a couple of thousand volts (for the hair). He was Christian, a Northern Irishman (though definitely supporting the Republic, in Football at least), cycling through Europe with a friend (though he was due to fly back the next evening) and we hit it off like a charm, spending the rest of the evening in the pub putting the World to right. Upon leaving the pub, it transpired that he was staying in the same campsite as me, and early wake-up call in the morning or not, a night-cap of proper Irish whisky was not to be sniffed at. This turned into a couple of nightcaps, then a few more morning caps as we whiled away the wee hours. Chris spent a considerable amount of time trying to catch a photograph of a rabbit - there was one continually perching on the porch next to us, though he disappeared every time Chris went near his camera to his endless frustration. Upon heading back to my tent (about 5 metres from his porch) I wandered onto a path thick with rabbits sitting there staring at me, and not moving unless I got within about a foot of them - picture perfect, but no camera!! The next morning's ride was less fun. For those of you that don't know, hangovers in tents are not fun. The sun hits early, and boils whatever happens to be under canvas mercilessly. This added to the fact that (a) you're in a sleeping bag; and (b) sleeping heavily - the result cannot be described as comfortable when you wake up, dripping in sweat, in 35 degree heat, dehydrated and with a pounding headache. Yup - that was me. At least it was a good prompt to get up and out ASAP. Riding out of Amsterdam was much easier than heading in, as there wasn't a great deal of wind and the route to my next site was pretty straight. I arrived early evening at Prinsen Campsite outside Oudijk and bedded down to what transpired to be a free night of camping (there was a note on reception saying that nobody was home, but to pitch up anyway and that they'd settle the bill when they were back - they never were, despite my asking around) interspersed, of course, with the trifling matter of the England game. After a few celebratory beers, and introducing one of the local patrons to the writings of Charles Bukowski, a comfortable night was spent listening to the sheep see who could bleat the loudest in the field next door. So now to Arnhem, which is where I am presently, after the day's riding described above. This is a beautiful and simple part of the country, which is becoming more Germanic the further I head East (unsurprisingly). I arrived last night and, with no footy to watch, settled in to an evening of reading, writing blog, catching up on e-mail, washing clothes, showering, cooking dinner, cleaning up, checking bank statements etc. etc. etc. Nice and relaxing. The next day was spent, a great deal of it at least, in Arnhem itself. There isn't a whole lot of the Old Town left (Arnhem's has been inhabited for several thousand years, but successive wars and regeneration projects have left little of this history on show) and the original bridge over the river (the one too far) was destroyed by American bombers in WWII, but the city is still very pretty (plus a new bridge along the lines of the old one). I spent a lovely day doing very little except sightseeing and drinking tea. After Arnhem I headed off South. After being thoroughly rained on I came across De Breyenburg campsite in Ledeacker, which has functioned as home for the last few nights. Unfortunately my chargeable battery pack (which has functioned to keep all of my electronics in working order) was stolen overnight, so I've had to order a new one online. After a few evenings of watching the Quarter-Finals (plus one deadly night including no football whatsoever), my battery has now arrived and I will be heading off again tomorrow down towards Liege.

Belgium to the Netherlands

Well it's been a little time since last I posted, so a quick update for you all. I'm currently sitting in a campsite just South of Amsterdam, and have been here for a few days now. It's nice and close to the city itself, about half an hour by Tram, but it's far enough away from the city to avoid any of the problems associated with it, with shops and a decent bar close-by it's proving to be a good base to foray into the city from. Amsterdam itself is a beautiful old city, and great for just getting utterly lost in. There are a myriad of street entertainers, bars, coffee-shops, museums, galleries, shops, restaurants and anything else that you could want. But first, let's track back a bit. I left off my last piece in just outside Gent after a ride through Kortrecht, in one of my favourite campsites to date - it was clean, spacious, had a good selection of beers and afforded me a spot well away from the sights and sounds of any of those pesky camper-vans! My next ride was to be aimed up towards Antwerp, so I picked out a decent looking campsite from Google's suggestions, whacked the address into my GPS and headed up. After a solid 70k which included a nerve-wracking stint straight through the streets of Antwerp I turned up at the campsite, which unfortunately didn't exist. It also didn't look like it had ever existed. Thank you for that one Google. A quick check with the aforementioned GPS showed that the nearest campsite was in Holland, so without a second thought I acceded to the demands of my GPS and struck off North. I think I should pay a bit more attention to my Garmin (GPS/Cycle Computer) as I still don't think that it likes me very much - this time it decided to send me on a route consisting mostly of sand. At least it likes variety... After a good half a mile of alternating between trying not to fall off whilst riding and pushing after having fallen off due to the soft sand I crossed the border (apparently - the only way I knew I was in Holland was by the masses of Orange decorating every house in the vicinity) into country three - the Netherlands. My first experience of a Dutch campsite wasn't too great - the name should have given it away ("Super Fun Time Family Happy Camp" or some similar drivel). It appears that the Dutch version of camping is quite dissimilar to our own - they prefer the permanent non-mobile mobile-home, with attendant awnings, tents &c. to ensure that they have all home-comforts to hand. They also have more of a core-season than the French, meaning that they routinely have reduced facilities (WiFi, restaurant, shop etc.) when it's not July/August. At least I managed to get into the campsite in time for the football, watching the Dutch play in Holland was something that I had been looking forward to for a while. What I hadn't quite envisaged was that the Dutch would be so staggeringly bad during the tournament, meaning that every time that I've watched Dutch matches has been a little disappointing, the first of their matches agains the Danish was no exception. After getting out of that campsite as soon as was humanly possible, I headed off again towards Dordrecht to find a pitch for the night. This was not to prove my most illustrious day's ride. After reaching the first campsite after about 80k I found that, as with the last campsite in Belgium, it didn't quite exist. Instead it appeared to have been replaced by another Nuclear Power Station. Bummer. After heading back the way I cam for about another 20k I reached another campsite - this time it existed, but it wasn't much of a bonus - kids running round screaming ignored by parents, row upon row of holiday home and dozens of empty beer cans littered the area near the reception, so I hightailed it out of there and found a new place to stay. Another 20k later, and it wasn't much of an improvement - €17 a night to stay in what was the European equivalent of Butlins. I was advised that there was a slightly more basic campsite a couple of km down the road, so rather than risking the evening singing a Dutch version of "It's a long way to Tipperary" I heeded said advice and headed to the FOURTH campsite of the day, which turned out to be a farmer's field. Facilities were again somewhat lacking. Another day's ride (only two campsites this time - equally bad though) brought me up to a site called Het Lingebos. A couple of days here (including a mad 20k hunt to try and find a bar with the football on only to have to ask someone to open theirs a couple of hours early) recharged my batteries enough to head up to Amsterdam. Arriving at the campsite after a five hour ride I pitched the tent and immediately set out to the city - Holland were on again. The city was heaving, and very VERY orange. After a quick wander around I found a good bar to settle into, and watch the Dutch throw away their best chance of getting somewhere in the tournament. The city kind of turned off quickly thereafter - that feeling of National disappointment, albeit much more natural when supporting the Three Lions rather than the Orange Army, permeated the quickly emptying city. The next day was the boring basics, washing, cleaning, drying clothes, shopping etc., before another day in the city, employed mainly in eating, drinking, watching street entertainers, a touch of shopping (including the ridiculously expensive American Book Store - yes, my Kindle has gone again), before managing to find probably the only bar in Amsterdam that retained the services of a Swedish barmaid to watch the game in. At least the banter was good!! Yesterday I headed back into the city to catch some of the culture - to whit the Van Gogh Museum. Featuring many of his most famous works as well as pieces by Toulouse-Latrec, Gaugain amongst many others, it was something else. I checked my watch after having thought I'd spent about half an hour there only to find that I'd been there for more than three hours! Nipping into a cafe on the way back home I spent a great hour sipping tea (the Earl Grey ranks pretty high on the list of friends that I'm missing!) whilst watching three guys play round after round of speed chess at a very high level at the table next to me. The final Holland match pitted them against Portugal - after heading back to the campsite by the early evening I nipped into a local bar to catch the game. The feast of Orange that greeted me really said something about the Dutch support - even though their team, rated as potential tournament winners at the outset, were now unlikely to even qualify they still turned out in numbers to support them. Albeit not a great result, it was a great atmosphere nonetheless. So that just about brings me up-to-date. I've got one more night in this campsite, then I'm heading back down towards Belgium, possibly slipping into Germany on the way down. As it is, I'm about to have my lunch and am debating whether to head back into the city for one last look, or to get the rest of my washing done! Due to the fact that I'm nursing a considerably large blister on my big toe, it might well be the latter...

Blogging from Belgium

Another day at that campsite was a pretty welcome relief - it was spent mainly doing nothing - reading is quickly turning out to be my biggest expenditure after campsites! I stoked up on supplies and readied to head off the next morning. Unfortunately the next morning presented itself as very wet and very windy. Neither of these are hugely pleasant riding conditions, and together in such proportions managed to delay my departure for another day. Great. The next day, though not much better where the wind was concerned was at least dry so I saddled up and headed out, towards the Belgian border. My last night in France was spent in a thoroughly lovely little campsite near Saint Omer. Upon arrival I presented my Visa to be greeted with a blank stare and a slow shake of the head and was informed that the campsite doesn't take cards. Oh joy. After a brief discussion with the management I worked out that the nearest cash machine was another 7k away, so a round trip of 14k after a fairly sapping 70k ride earlier that day. Thankfully I was offered a lift to it by an English chap who happened to have arrived at the bar at around the same time as myself - what would've been close to an hours ride was accomplished in a matter of minutes - my legs were grateful! It turns out that the campsite was a regular haunt for a few different families, and I was quickly introduced to a couple of them, along with the hostess, Bernadette. We spent a great evening together, and loud bouts of laughter were never far away - as evidenced by the various bar tabs at the end of the night! One of the guys that I met (Ian) is also a pretty keen cyclist himself, so we exchanged details and will hopefully meet up for the start of this year's Tour de France in Liege. The next stage of the ride had (for me) only one possible destination - Ypres, Belgium. For those of you who don't know, Ypres was the centre for some of the bloodiest conflict of The Great War - there were three major battles along the Ypres-salient, including the devastating Battle of Passchendaele and the town of Ypres itself was almost totally destroyed. The day's ride started out very pleasantly - after a short stint I stopped off for a bite to eat and was reacquainted with Ian that I had met last night who warned me of the joys of the climb to come into the town of Cassell. He wasn't far wrong! After a "healthy" climb up to the town I was given a taster of what was to come - cobbles. On a hard-tail (i.e. no suspension) touring bike with plenty of weight on the back, these are not a great deal of fun. My GPS then decided to latch on to every surrounding hill in the vicinity and acquaint me intimately with them. After what turned out to be a very taxing ride for such a short one (only c. 50k) I gratefully arrived at Camping Ypra, and after a brief dinner (pate, cheese, tomatoes, beer) I feel gratefully into my tent, looking forward to the next day. Ypres turned out to be a fantastic day off. The town was rebuilt, at some considerable expense to the German exchequer, to the exact specification as it had been pre-war, and is absolutely lovely. One of the town's main features is the Menin Gate - a memorial to the fallen of the Commonwealth forces of WW1 that have no known grave. There are well over 50,000 names engraved thereon, and again I don't think that I have the words to describe the feeling of just being there. After a lovely day in the city I attended their Last Post memorial service, held every day as it has been held every day since 1928 to honour the fallen. After another night at Camping Ypra I headed out NE to a campsite called Panorama - the highlight of which was the panoramic views of the valley it overlooked, including a scenic view of the local nuclear power station... Today's ride was one of the most enjoyable yet - aided somewhat by a strong tailwind that followed me all day. I'm currently just east of Gent, and will be heading up to/through Antwerp tomorrow. A few quick words on Belgium for you - thus far it seems like an absolutely lovely country. The towns and cities are very neat and clean, the prices are very reasonable (after paying €3 or more on average for a 33cl pression, €2.50 for just over a pint is a welcome relief), the people are exceedingly polite and speak almost flawless English, the roads are in good condition and the cycle paths are everywhere and the beer is varied and plentiful - after only a few days here I feel that I really have a lot of affection for it already and hope that the ensuing few days reinforces the image. As much as I'm enjoying Belgium however I want to head straight up to the Netherlands for a few weeks before returning to Belgium for the start of the TdF at the end of the month. That's the general plan anyway, and I think that that's me for now - speak soon. P.s. - MASSIVE congratulations to Allam and Lorna (Zia and Lannigan respectively) on announcing their engagement - super happy for them both!!

Another day, another campsite...

I left off in Dieppe a few days ago now, so here's my next little entry for you all. The day after arriving in Dieppe was a day off in the city for a spot of well deserved (if I say so myself) relaxation. The city is much older than I had thought, and there are obvious parts of the old town still around the place. There's a strange sight in Dieppe - almost every French flag (of which there are plenty) has a Canadian flag next to it to signify the sacrifice which that particular country made during the attempted landing there - after having read up on it a little more, I can fully understand why. Lunch was served at the Cafe de Paris overlooking the marina and consisted of a rather lovely Moules a la Rocquefort and a (maybe in fact several) glass(es) of cider. The evening was spent planning out the next day's route, and enjoying a sandwich made with the nicest bread that I've had yet in France, which is saying something in itself. I had planned a route of about 60k the next day, having pinpointed a target on the GPS (a small town near Saint Quentin en Tourmont) of about 50k away. Unfortunately the route that it took was even longer than it has been recently, and what should have been a nice relaxing ride turned out to be 90k. Ouch. My mood was not improved much with the discovery that the campsite that I was intending to stay at was "all-singing-all-dancing" and included a heated swimming-pool with flumes, bar, restaurant etc. etc. etc. This may sound good, unfortunately (a) the time I arrived meant that I wouldn't be using any of it; and (b) all of the extras meant that the bill came to a lovely €20 per night. Although this doesn't seem a huge amount, when travelling on a budget it really makes a mark on the wallet, especially when paying for so many facilities that you simply aren't using. The day's riding itself was also a little disheartening - long uphills combined with short downhills for most of the ride, and the last 10k, although pretty flat was also straight into a pretty hefty headwind, meaning that my progress was still pretty slow. The one plus-side to the day was finding a large Carrefour slap-bang in the middle of my route, meaning that I could stock up on my supplies without breaking the bank too badly! After a rainy night I packed up my still-wet tent and headed out on the road in a fairly bleak mood, which was swiftly lifted with a fantastic ride today. Still feeling a little tired from the 135k, and having done much more than I had envisaged yesterday I planned a 40k route (and double checked it to make sure that it wasn't too much more than that - something I'll be doing before every ride now!!) towards a town called Neuf-Chatel Harbelot (or Harbelot Neuf-Chatel, I can't quite remember which). The day's travel was just great - clear roads with good tarmac (good tarmac makes ALL the difference), beautiful scenery, nice long bike paths and a glorious tailwind for long tracts. The area that I'm in at the moment is real First World War territory (I passed through St. Valery sur Somme yesterday) and on a whim I decided to stop off at a War Cemetery near Etaples. I really don't have the words to describe any part of it, and the photographs will have to wait for a while, but it was stunning, breathtaking, serene, terrible, awe-inspiring, full of sorrow and full of peace all at once. I hadn't realised it until I was there, but I'd stumbled upon the largest war cemetery in France, with more than 12,000 graves neatly laid out and beautifully kept by the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. I had planned to stop and have a quick look, but I ended up spending well over an hour walking up and down the rows of perfectly tended gravestones reading the names and inscriptions thereon. It was truly humbling, and very emotional. So where can I go after that? Back to life I suppose. The campsite that I'm in this evening is lovely - there are families all around me, with small children running riot (even at quarter past ten in the evening) - in fact one of them's just ridden a unicycle past me which was a bit bizarre and the family in the mobile-home in front of me have just broken into song! I'm well and truly fed after a huge amount of pate, cheese and fruit, with the obligatory few Kronenbourg's thrown into the equation, and am just about to settle down for the night. In contrast to last night's campsite, this one is just my cup of tea - down to earth and more than reasonable at €7.50 a night. So I think I'll sign off now - I'm not sure yet if I'm going to head off tomorrow or spend another night here - I have a feeling that the campsites around here are going to be filling up with English tourists celebrating the Queen's jubilee by getting out of the country, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. So that's all for now - if you've got any questions, let me know as it's always great to hear from you guys. Ciao for now.