Woebrugge

Our first day out of Amsterdam proper we planned to get to Woebrugge (pronounced "vow-breh-huh"). But first we needed more space to carry food. Not wanting to spend 60 Euros on a purpose built racktop bag that wouldn't fit neatly anyway I was terribly pleased with myself for finding a plastic box with a lid for 2.99 at Blokker.



We left later than planned so didn't get in until after 8 with just enough light to pitch our tent. It was a disappointing campsite after MONnickendam. Lots of slugs and coin-operated showers with no lights. Still, it was a relief to actually find the spot after a long ride in dreary weather against head winds.

Despite the conditions during our ride, the sight of so many well-fed sheep, goats and cows cheered us up as well as the novelty of a canal crossing on a cable-driven punt.

On approach to Woebrugge we passed quite a number of serious looking young cyclists. I thought it was interesting that the locals were so into their sport, riding through drizzle and cow pat flavoured air. Eventually we came upon the starting point of what appeared to be time trials. Cyclists lined up in all their professional looking gear, coaches with stopwatches and parents with cameras shouting encouragement at their precious children. No one seemed terribly interested in us except as an obstacle although a group of older boys did seem amused at all our luggage. I later realised I still had a pair of my underpants hanging out to dry.

Back to Amsterdam

On the way back we decided to go a different way. The paths were so well marked we had no trouble at all and even cut 7kms off our outward journey. We stopped for lunch along a random canal with a single row of houses and plump cows in the field below. I still find it strange when I see the height of the canal and then the height of the fields below it.
As we tucked into our saucisson and cheese sandwiches a man walked by with his dog and said hello.
"You like?" he asked as we gazed upon the bovine. It was clear he hoped for more meaningful conversation but his English wasn't particularly strong and our Dutch was non-existent. P2 voiced her genuine appreciation of the cows. We exchanged the basics in awkward halting conversation and he walked back to his house two doors down.

Ah well, that was that we thought. But no, he startled us by coming back for more.
"Before, this was all lake. In 1603 they built pumps. Now they have motors. My neighbour, he works at the pumps." Cool, now we were getting somewhere. After giving a brief history of his home town he ended as suddenly as he began, with a wave. We smiled back, stood there for a little longer to finish our apples but felt it was best to end the friendly awkwardness and move on.

Amsterdam

It's a clear and sunny morning in a little clearing about 30km north of Amsterdam in a little town called Monnickendam. We're doing an overnight trip as a practise run and so far it's going pretty well. P2 had a bit of trouble sleeping but hopefully it's just a matter of growing accustomed to accommodation al fresco. We're staying at a nature camping site (Natuurkampingterrein) which usually means it's a small campsite for tents rather than a massive caravan park. This place doubles as a yacht harbour so the amenities are well maintained and there's lots of pretty boats to look at.

But to fill you in on our journey thus far, yes we did make the overnight ferry from 'arritch in the end and it was quite a buzz to be on such a huge boat for the first time.

Before crashing, exhausted, in our cosy yet comfortable quarters we willed ourselves to take a quick tour around the ship.

We figured the bridge was off limits but we caught a glimpse, as we boarded, of the long glassed platform at the top of the ship, looking more like a control tower than a cockpit.
Out back was filled with shipping containers all neatly aligned. With the white ferry and it's cargo brightly lit against the black sea it looked like the set of a budget sci-fi flick. If only we'd brought the camera and a large fish bowl I could have had a true nerd moment.

We took a peek over the side at the dark water churning far below and tried to estimate how many seconds it would take once you'd fallen overboard to disappear from sight completely. My guess would be around 3 seconds.

In the morning we arrived at Hoek van Holland and caught the train to Amsterdam, narrowly escaping a fine for not having tickets for our bikes (oops) and were greeted by our local friend Vera (who we met on a learn to surf camp in Oz) and her bicycle, naturally. She kindly gave us a few tips about cycling in the city-.= (watch out for the tourists) before leading our first expedition through Amsterdam to Koosje's place (friend from same camp who's turned out to be quite mad about surfing).

Koosje was unfortunately out of town for work but kindly lent us her cool apartment right on the party streets of town. After dropping off our gear we went on an impromptu gastro tour starting with raw herring on a soft bun with pickles and onions (although I jumped at the opportunity I did find it a bit challenging), pointers to the best frites and deep fried snacks in town and rounded off with a large plate poffertjes, buckwheat dumpling-shaped pancakes hidden under a mountain of fresh butter and icing sugar. Yum yum!

Later, we ventured out ourselves to the ANWB (local equiv to the NRMA) for some maps and bit of guidance about campsite. The staff weren't as clued up on the cycling routes as I'd hoped, being a motoring association might have something to do with it. We decided that the maps on offer didn't provide any extra detail than the one we already had so we would try our luck with our 1:300 000 and wing it.

Fortunately this is working out ok so far. Being a densely populated country (compared to Australia), you're never too far from some kind of help, either official or a friendly local.

That night we met up with Vera and her boyfriend for dinner in Chinatown. It's funny how we always seem to end up in Chinatown in every capital city. I used to think it a bit pointless from a cultural perspective but I always double take when I hear large numbers of Chinese speaking a non-Asian, non-English language, mixed in with the regular Cantonese. I wonder if I can detect the Chinese accent in this other language too.

We spent the next day shopping for basics (food supplies, SIM card, replacement trousers for V) and the following morning, after much faffing around we finally set off.

It didn't take long at all for the hustle and bustle of Amsterdam to fade behind us. A short ferry ride north of the station and we were in suburbia. A few kms further and we were riding past some really smart looking houseboats along the canals. I'd never had guessed that modern architecture had extended to houseboats.

My favourite bit of the ride was a long bridge of land that extended out from the coast and stretched for kilometres. It was only wide enough for a two-way road and a raised bicycle path (fietspad). From there we had a clear view of the water on both sides with odd boat and plenty of birds.

As we approached our destination we met a farmer ("I have a farm. MOOOO!") who, after realising we couldn't understand his request to kindly stay on our side of the path, struck up a conversation as we rode. "Where? Oh, MONnickendam, not monNICKendam. From Australia? You cycled all the way? Ja, it's good to travel. Keeps the mind open. Maybe you..." I lost the thread at this point but he made surprising gestures which I later understood to be an offer of work on his farm milking cows. What a friendly chap.

Premature embarkation

London transport, how I hate thee! This morning we made a valiant attempt at catching the morning ferry from Harwich (pronounced Harritch) to the Hook of Holland only to be thwarted by fine print. We'd been up all night, preparing our bicycles, packing our things and at 5am we set forth to Balham tube station with family members and luggage leading us in the support vehicle (great idea P2!) whilst we pedaled our way through the pre-dawn darkness.

We were making good time, despite my parents insisting that they both pray for us on our journey (bless them, tap tap tap) and an eccentric fellow cyclist at the tube station who was terribly keen on telling us all about his son who'd ranked 8th in a few stages in the Tour de France and how his estranged wife had tricked him into returning his sons (Ortlieb) panniers even though his son didn't really mind him having them. I'm guessing the extra weight would slow you down a bit on the uphill stages.

I was concerned for Mum as she'd only realised the night before that we weren't going on a group tour but irresponsibly subjecting ourselves to the dangers of female duo travel. This slightly mad looking old guy ranting on in tight trousers and a yellow jersey really wasn't helping our case or her nerves.

Fortunately, my brother-in-law was quite happy to humour the strange man whilst we set about loading up our bikes for the first time. The full weight of our ambitions hit home. This was going to be a challenge. Even going down the stairs required some assistance but fortunately Mum was out of sight for that part.

Then came the London Underground personnel. It strikes me that they're quite keen to speak to you when they see you've got a bicycle. Mostly it's "I wouldn't do that if I were you" or "Sorry Ma'am, you can't take your bicycle on the (insert network here) line". Not that I mind terribly, I mean, the fact that any of them allow bicycles at all and then for free is great! But with all the different companies running their own little bit of the public transport system with their own sets of rules, it's a little confusing to say the least. Mostly they are quite helpful in helping you plan an alternate route.

Not this morning however. Point blank "You can't take bicycles on the underground". Not strictly true, we tried to point out. After all, after months of planning and weeks of frantically getting our bicycles fitted out for the big occasion we'd have been foolish not to check that this line would allow us to complete the first stage of our journey. We pointed to the sign right in front of us explaining that bicycles were not permitted except between [certain] hours on [certain] lines as well as, uh oh, what's that say? Open air sections of [these lines].

My heart sank. Even without knowing what 'open air' sections were exactly, I was certain that no amount of my brother-in-law's negotiating or my father's praying would sway them. Even though the man obstructing us started to show some signs of empathy his hands were tied as any breach of policy would be plainly visible to the all-seeing surveillance cameras.

We heaved our overweight bikes up the stairs (just to make everything seem that much more impossible), unloaded our luggage into the car and rode home alone. By the time we could appreciate the scenery at our own pace, with sunlight peaking over the horizon and through the common, we grew philosophical about our situation. Such things were to be expected, my father said on our return, more than a little envious that we're still young enough to attempt such nonsense, free from the responsibilities of having families of our own.

As it turned out, the ferry company was quite happy to adjust our ticket so we'll be doing it all over again tonight at a much more sensible hour. This time we've made sure to actually speak to each of the train companies responsible for each leg of the journey to confirm the acceptable carriage of our precious bicycles. Fingers crossed!

Time's a wasting

I'm starting to lose my cool, whatever cool I had anyway. I've spent nearly two solid days researching equipment on the internet. I've realised we only have 5 days before we catch the ferry to Amsterdam and we still don't have enough panniers (bike bags) and bike racks.

Helmets, waterproof pants (trousers! I meant trousers!), chemical ice-packs (for that inevitable injury), these we can technically sort out along the way but without bags to put stuff in then we're stuck with our hands full of random but essential items plus two bikes to maneuver.

P2 is naturally taking all of this in her stride, sleeping in as we speak, not in the least bit worried about the unreliability of ebay and Royal Mail. Surely these things will just work themselves out.

Perhaps she has a point. Meanwhile it's in my nature to prepare for the time when chaos act in our favour and when it doesn't.

Two wheels good

Look what the nice delivery man brought me today! And in British racing green, no less.

Steel in a worthy steed

After fretting about the lack of steel-framed touring bikes in London, the two piggys finally have their steel steeds. Not without a great deal of stress mind you, but Piggy1 assures Piggy2 that it's all character building... hmmm.

Originally, P2 had wanted a touring bike built around the Surly Long Haul Trucker, and Shimano Deore-level components, but blanched when the price tag hit home... £1000+, whereas her estimates had led her to believe that she could have built this wonderful machine back home for around $1800. For that matter, why are the Surly LHT frames £325 in London but only $300 in the US?

Nonetheless, recovering from her initial shock, P2 fell back to her second preference - the more affordable Fuji Touring.

It was quite an ordeal finding a retailer with appropriate stock as it seems touring bikes have gone out of fashion. Three long days of online shopping later, a few phone calls dispensed at random, then a day trip visiting local bike shops (well, London bike shops...), she finally found a Fuji Touring. And here she'd thought that she'd be doomed to ride on an alu framed bike (Dawes and Ridgeback alu touring bikes are the most abundant here).

Unfortunately, the last Fuji Touring bike in London was an '05 model sitting on the shop floor, having been breathed on, tinkered with and poked at by all manner of people walking past. She'd have to see to it that the bike was properly disinfected before taking possession of it.

On her first test ride, she had to come back into the store for instructions on how to use the STI shifters (she'd figured the brakes all by herself!). First time with STI and drop bars... exciting!

On her second ride, she came back into the store as the chain had come off after not shifting properly. The nice man in the shop fixed that up in no time.

On her third ride, she almost rode into the back of a large BMW backing out of a single-lane car park. She was pleased to find that the cantilever brakes worked admirably, although one of her shoes did stick in the cheap pedal cage. Almost toppling sideways, the day was saved by a gutter on which her foot alighted immediately upon being freed, her pride remaining mostly intact as she endured a few concerned looks from nearby pedestrians.

At last. being overall satisfied with the bike, she returned to the store, intact, to the applause of her rapt audience (being the nice man at the store, who was pleased that the bike returned in one piece after having witnessed the shaky start).

So that's the story of how P2 got her bike. P1 became immediately anxious about a bike for herself, and having also tried the Fuji Touring, decided that this would be the bike for her too. But where to find one?!?!?! By this time, it was common knowledge to the rest of the city that the last Fuji Tourer in London had been snapped up by P2. This fact, of course, did not escape P1's attention.

After another day of trawling England's online bike stores, P2 found another supplier of the coveted item. She promptly sent the supplier an email enquiring ever so nicely about a reduction in the price of the bike, and could they also polish it to make it gleam?

A day later and no response from the supplier. P2 was not impressed. P1 was almost in tears trying to convince P2 to just call the store, they must be too busy to respond to email. Stubbornly P2 refused, but not for long as P1 becomes very persuasive when she needs something.

Cajoled into submission, P2 called the store and spoke sweetly with the person on the other end of the line. Yes they would discount the bike by £100, and they could even courier it express for next day delivery. What charming people, P2's faith in customer service returned and P1 was vindicated in the knowledge that she had been right about their service.

Both piggys are now eagerly awaiting their new shiny bikes, not quite clones but close. The proud owners will post pictures immediately upon arrival of their new acquisitions.

The End

Introducing...

So here we have it, the long-awaited, much anticipated travel blog. Introducing Piggy1, the leader of this expedition by virtue of having a sense of direction (and being rather domineering), and Piggy2, our resident connoisseur with her senses keen and her head in the clouds.

Together they escape the monotonous rut they'd found themselves in and plot a temporary escape. The plan: to cycle through France, sample the country's world famous produce, enjoy the open air and puzzle a few locals. The reality: *yawn* logistics, tight budgets, foreign bureaucracy...

Fear not, we will spare you every boring detail and save your attention for the occasional wave of inspired ramblings¹.

As we begin our adventures in England I suppose one should say "Tally ho!".

¹ WARNING: may contain details that some readers might find boring.