Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Awoke full of excitement, having slept somewhat fitfully. I had planned to leave Amsterdam after three days, and, to my total amzement, it appeared possible. Sarah and Melanie left early in the morning, going to the Hague to deal with visa issues. On their way out, Sarah said I could use her Mac to update the blog. My final trip into the center of Amsterdam was to find some bags or panniers to hold my gear. I was headed to de Vakantiefietser, a shop specializing in bicycle touring. I had exchanged emails with Eric Schuijt, the owner, and he had already told me they didn't deal with used bikes. But they were the place to go for advice, gear, and maps.
Yesterday, in spite of internal resistance, I broke down at Marc Bike and also bought a serious chain lock for my bike. It weighs about 2 kg, or 4.4 lbs. A significant percentage of what I was carrying - 10%. The frame lock that was on the bike would not prevent someone from picking the whole thing up and walking away with it. Or, remembering apocryphal tales of Amsterdam and bicycles, just tossing it into a canal. (There are stories of them dredging the canals with large clamshell diggers and bringing up thousands of bicycles!) And almost every bike in Amsterdam had both kinds of locks! It was not an easy decision, but I realized my anxiety would never abate if I couldn't secure my transportation and gear when I went shopping, to the toilet, or inquired about a room. Locking the panniers to the bike remained a problem to be solved later.
I debated taking the bike downtown, but realized I needed to remain focused on finding carriers and getting out of Amsterdam. If I took the bike, I would be distracted by the freedom and opportunity. There was much to see and I recognized how limited my wandering had been, all in service of preparing to ride. So I left it chained to the railing outside the houseboat, took the 26 tram to Central Station, checked my map, and walked directly to the shop. It was on Westerstraat, just down the street from the Dining Room of the Jardin. A fortunate coincidence, affording me the benefit of some familiar landmarks, however fuzzy it felt while walking. The day before I had followed Willem to dinner and then walked back in the dark. Not circumstances focused on retracing a route!
At the store, a young salesman approached and I told him what I was looking for. They carried Ortlieb, a brand I had researched in the states, and Arkel. Both were expensive. He recommended Ortlieb. He reinforced my earlier sense that an urban pannier set would not be adequate for touring. Ortlieb had two lines of bags, one the Classic, a vinyl covered canvas, and another in a more modern material. Their bags are so waterproof you can use them for carrying water! They have roll top closures like backpacking or kayacking waterproof sacks. The laminated material has been used for over 20 years for truck covers. So, persuaded by the salesman's experience and my own recognition that I needed something that would hold up and protect everything I was carrying, I swallowed hard and spent more on the two pairs of bags, front and rear, than I had on the bicycle. To my delight, they sold a pair of branded rear bags for 109 €, which saved 30 € off the opportunity to get a plain one and choose the color. The front pair were 95 €.
It was an expense I have not regretted for a moment. They are easy to mount and dismount. They hold everything I need to carry, in an orderly and logical fashion. Front right: food and toiletries. Front left: spare tire (folding), tubes, bicycle parts, lights, etc. Rear right: two books, tyvek envelopes with plans and schedules, clothing, camp towel; Rear left: hiking boots, the carry-on duffel bag I used to transport most everything I brought, and extra straps, bags, and ziplocks. I have one other bag, which looks like a soft briefcase or computer case. It has proven to be the most versatile and useful thing I brought from California.
Its an Eagle Creek bag with a leather handle, two outside pockets and one large inner pocket. But on the rear it has a zippered sleeve that holds two shoulder straps which, when pulled out, clip to D-rings on the lower corners. I have put this on the rear rack, held down by the two bungee cords from Halfords. I can keep my notebook, maps, papers in a zip lock in one of the outer pockets, and my rain gear, extra straps, clothing, windbreaker, in the large pocket. And when in a city, I can leave the panniers locked in my room and use it strapped to the rear rack while going out and about. And if I lock the bike to go into a museum or store, I can pull out the shoulder straps, and toss everything loosely attached to the bike into the large compartment (headlight, rear light, pump, odometer, handlebar bag) and walk off knowing the bike is secure and no accessories are left to be casually removed by a larcenous passerby.
While in de Vakantiiefietser I also purchased a map of Holland designed for cyclists and a road map of Poland, but skipped the cycling maps of Germany. They were at such a scale, I would have needed 6 to traverse the 300 km to Berlin. At 9 € each, that seemed excessive. Elated by the completion of my last chore, I left de Vakantfietser after an hour and a half. At the last minute, standing at the register, I decided to buy handlebar extenders. These offer additional hand positions, much like drop bars do on a road bike. The owner, Eric, rang me up and gave me a present: a cute LED flashlight the size of a referee's whistle. It had a handcrank to charge the small battery and a solar cell also. He wished me well and told me about the ongoing contest they run. Any funny image of their branded bags that they choose to put up on their web site gets the submitter 100 € payment. We'll see what situation I'm in that might afford a 'photo op' qualifying for that prize!
A brisk walk to Central Station and a ride on the 26 tram to Ijburglaan. I brought the panniers in to the kitchen, went outside and unlocked the bike and brought it in also. Remember, no furniture in the entire houseboat! The kitchen was where I would assemble everything.
It struck me that everything I needed to ride away from Amsterdam was now in the house. It was about 12:30. First I had to adjust and fasten the clips on the four bags which attach them to the racks on the bike. This took about an hour. Then I had to pack everything into the bags for the first time. Would it fit? Lots of options to consider, but also, I realized I could improve the packing strategy as I went. It was important to get going. It was 102 km (64 miles) to Deventer, NL, where I had made contact with my next Warm Showers hosts. I had already decided that taking a train out of the City was a prudent step. Looking at a map, some cycling routes out of Amsterdam required detours to cross various waterways - unless I wanted to ride alongside a major arterial or highway. Not my preference, although almost every road I'd seen has a bicycle/pedestrian path alongside, often on both sides of the right-of-way.
Bags filled, I wanted to update the blog. And so I set up Sarah's computer on a box next to the stairs, and sitting on the top step, spent a couple of hours writing and putting the pictures of Ijburglaan into a post. Finally I was ready to leave ... but it was 3:30. Definitely needed to take a train, but I was still determined to ride most of the way to Deventer. Loaded the bike with the panniers, wheeled it out to the deck, tossed the key back through the mail slot, and rode across the street to the tram station. Got on the next tram and settled in for the 20 minute ride to Central Station. The attendant called out to me and asked if I had a ticket for the bike. Nope. Bought one from her. And I was, now legally, on my way. I hadn't gotten a ticket for the bike the night before when I brought it home from Marc Bike. Didn't think of it. Didn't know. It is easy to be an unintentional scoflaw in a foreign land. (What are the rules about jaywalking? Why don't those people scan a metro card when they board? Is this a place to cross the street, or must I walk to the corner? Will cars yield the right of way to pedestrians? Bicycles? See what I mean.)
I can't remember if I mentioned it, but Willem had taken me to a counter at Schiphol to buy a tram/metro pass. I bought a 72 hours pass. At this moment in time, on the 26 tram, I had less than three hours left to use it. There were deadlines even when living without deadlines....
Got to Central Station. Navigated the posted timetables. There was a train to Amersfoort at 4:45. Went to the ticket window and bought a ticket for myself and one for the bike. Amersfoort was 54 km closer to Deventer. I figured I ought to be able to ride to Deventer (64 km) before it got dark. At least get into the city where there would be street lights (wouldn't there be?). This was extraordinary optimism. Read: denial.
Took directions from the clerk and headed toward the #11 platform. Yes, there was an elevator. The bike was really heavy. Sometime before this is over, I'll have to weigh it, loaded! But it was a relief to see the lift. I had time to spare but wanted to stay focused on leaving Amsterdam and decided to wait the 25 minutes on the platform. So I wheeled the bike into the elevator .... but it didn't fit. I couldn't get the rear wheel and fender inside the elevator doors. No matter how I angled the bike or turned the front wheel. Damn. Tried for several minutes, and anxiety growing, backed out of the small elevator and faced the stairs opposite. O dear. I hadn't lifted the bike up at all, just the rear end to navigate out of the houseboat onto the catwalk. Ok. Here goes.
I rolled it to the foot of the double flight, and grabbing the top tube and pulling it up to shoulder level started up the stairs. No. I couldn't move. I was stuck as if glued to the ground. It was heavy and I was unprepared for the load. A young man came up behind me, looked at me, and I think he said, in Dutch, 'do you want help?' I was still frozen and just grunted and lifted the bike again and started up the stairs. Slowly. He didn't reach up to help. My grunt was probably in a foreign language. And, step by slow step, went up. The effort seemed impossible. I might not make it to the top. My heart rate was going up - the sensation was of lifting something that was still attached to the ground. I started worrying about future train platforms. I took another step. It got heavier. My breaths got deeper and shorter. Could I make it? With a final burst of energy, I took the last two steps and stopped in the middle of the stairway to catch my breath. And marveled at having done the impossible. It really felt like something I could not repeat. I hoped it was the right platform. Yes, #11. Time to catch my breath. Wow. Never again. This suddenly put my plan of occasional train segments into serious doubt. I would choose to ride before having to do that again!
This was a good time to briefly reflect on the experience of being an alien. A stranger in a new world. The Old World. Compromised in language. Surrounded by the unfamiliar. Amsterdam had proven accommodating to an English speaking stranger. Generous even. Almost ever person I interacted with spoke decent English. I learned no Dutch. The transportation system was clear and extraordinary. The organization of streets was fascinating but never completely understood. Even after three full days in the City, I knew that I could walk toward something only to discover I had gone in a half circle and was headed in the opposite direction! The underlying design of concentric canals was deceiving. And bridges weren't at every intersection.
For me, the city had an undeniable charm. Perhaps because I am a water sign, grew up around and on water, and have strong affinity for boats, it was very seductive. People lived on houseboats everywhere and right across the canal from them, in centuries old homes, built by merchants when the Dutch had a large trading empire. It was fascinating to see that many of those homes, three and four stories tall, had ridge beams that extended out over the street with hooks and pulleys for hoisting ... groceries? pianos? chests of tea?
And so, in the moments before leaving Amsterdam I felt it was a place to visit again and investigate with more leisure. The present urgency was self imposed, but part of my desired exploration of Northern Europe. I wanted to have an experience of this corner of the world, on the ground, full of the scents and sights of the country as it was lived in by citizens, not visitors. And so I waited patiently and somewhat pensively for the train which was to catapult me toward the rising sun. As it was rapidly setting behind me!
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
MIRACLES OF ERROR
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The plan for Tuesday was to go to Decathalon and look at the new bikes rumored to be around 300 €. This proved to be the first of several miracles of error. And the clear influence of angels, human or otherwise.
This required my second trip on the Metro (the first being the express from Schiphol with Willem). At Willem's suggestion I had purchased a 72 hour Metro pass that was good for all the streetcars and the Metro. It worked like a card key and was electronically read as you got on the tram, or inserted it into turnstile for the Metro. Melanie had told me, casually, to take the 51 line and get off at Balmir Arena, the home of Amsterdam's football (soccer) team. It was to be about a thirty minute ride. Once on the train I studied the map of the Metro above the exit doors. The system resembles BART in many ways, with multiple lines (color coded) crossing at a couple of transfer points and then heading out to various suburbs. Unlike BART all originate at Central Station.
Once I got on the train, I looked and looked at the station names on the 51 line and couldn't see one that suggested it was where the arena would be. Nor did one say 'Decathalon.' (Imagine a Bart stop that said, "Sports Basement!" Such was my general state of confusion in this alien land ... why not, I thought.) I finally asked someone. The first person had no idea. I then asked a young woman (all this in English of course) and she didn't know, but another passenger who overheard the question said, "You are on the wrong train. You must transfer... here!" as the train pulled into the last station with an opportunity to get on the 54 line, without having to backtrack. And as I exited the car, I saw Balmir Arena on the route map, on the yellow (54) line, two stops down from the transfer point! It was an experience of 'blindness' produced by anxiousness. Ordinarily I think I would have scanned all the stops on all the lines, just out of curiosity. But I was upset that I couldn't see Balmer Arena on the line I was told to be on...and kept focusing on the stops on that line.
A short wait, and a 54 pulled into the station. On exiting the train at Balmer Arena I asked at an information booth where the shopping was. Following directions, I proceed to walk in an easterly direction, away from the stadium, as directed. Off I headed, across a large plaza, toward a pedestrian street with shops on both sides. After five or ten minutes I thought to ask again, because none of the shops were growing in size and I was told that "Decathalon" - a giant sporting goods store with a department for every sport imaginable, would be among some larger stores. Several passers-by were not able to offer directions. Finally, a helpful shopkeeper told me that Decathalon was on the other side of the tracks. West of the station. I had been walking in the wrong direction. While most people in Holland have some English and it isn't too frustrating to communicate, there was never a guarantee that an inquiry would be understood, moment to moment. A new and unsettling experience for me, which required extreme patience and some confidence that, eventually, someone will understand. Or, from a more optimistic perspective, that the unintelligible answers in a foreign tongue might actually, on repetition by multiple voices, suddenly reveal a direction to take.
And so, passing back through this street of shops, I come to the eastern edge of the plaza and see, in the station building itself, a shop labeled Marc Bikes. Having no commimtment to Decathalon, I decide Marc's might provide advice and an opportunity to comparison shop. And so I crossed the plaza and saw that they had new bikes and one of the brands was Batavus. I had seen a used Batavus the day before in what might have been a pawn shop, except it was labeled "used things." The Batavus appeared virtually new, and interesting because it had a frame lock, a dynamo, rear racks, and while heavy, might have been a good used bike for my trip. But I had never heard of it and it was the first time I had seen one.
Mildred, a attractive woman from Suriname greeted me and asked what kind of bicycle I was looking for. I explained my interest in the Batavus brand, without explaining why, and she showed them to me. The bike I had seen for 300 € was about 900 € new. But it really wasn't ideal. I asked about used bikes, and she said, "Sure. Come outside." And there, in the rain, was a string of 15 or so bikes locked together - mostly "city" bikes.The seats are wide and soft, the handlebars gently curved back, and they have internal hubs with 3-5 speeds or are single speed. They usually have no hand brakes, only a coaster brake.
There was one that was different, with a derailleur, and an aluminum rear rack. She pointed me toward some other bikes, but that one held my interest. I said I wanted to try it. So she unlocked the cable, and I took it out for about 5 minutes. I was sold. It was marked 95 €, shifted smoothly, had wide touring tires, a friction generator for the headlight, a frame lock on the rear wheel , and a rear light. It was a blue aluminum "Jan Jennsen, Trans Alpine Sport Touring" bike.(The links will take you to a wiki article about him, and then the website for his line of bikes. The current version of the Transalpine is 990 €.) I asked Mildred why it was so cheap and she answered, "Because its used." We took it back inside, and one of the mechanics came out to participate in the conversation. I said I wanted pedals that could take toe traps, a couple of water bottle cages, a different seat, and could they change the handlebars? He asked what I was going to use the bike for and I told him I planned to ride to Warsaw.
The mechanic said they could do all that, and it would take about a half hour to get the bike ready. He suggested I put front racks on - low riders. Great, I said. He showed me a saddle they could give me, not quite a road saddle, but definitely narrow and harder than the one on the bike. He also had a straight handlebar (no drop bars in sight) which they'd give me and pedals with slots for the toe trap cables I could buy. But he didn't have any toe traps. I picked out a couple of bottle cages and some bottles, and asked them to put it all together.
I asked for an estimate of what all this was going to cost me. Mildred rattled off a number that sounded too high. I asked for the breakdown. She said, "Bike, 195 €." "Whoa," I said, "I thought is was just 95 €. That's why I asked why it was so cheap!" And we looked at the tag on the handlebar, and it was soggy and wet and the one was barely interpretable! But it was still a good price, just a momentary surprise. I left a 50 € deposit and went off to Decathalon to see about toe traps. And potentially to stir some buyers remorse when I looked at the 300 € brand new bikes.
The bicycle department was quite large. And there were mountain bikes for 249 and 300 Euro. Stripped. They would have required racks, fenders, lights, pedals, seat, etc. And they did not inspire confidence. Think, COSTCO bicycles. The only toe clips they had were without straps. I bought them.
I stopped back at the shop, but the bike wasn't quite ready. I left the toe clips to be installed. It was then that Mildred told me the guy working on the bike was the owner, Marc. And he had taken the bike home and ridden it for a month after they took it in on trade. And had put the new large rings on the back cluster, replaced the break and shift cables, and put on new brake pads. I felt a lot more confident about my decision to purchase it! I took off to find food. Lunch was at a Subway clone, although there were plenty of Subway's, McDonalds, Burger Kings, and KFC's in Holland, I chose a local variety. Sandwich with some kind of meat and sauce, and everything else (tomato, peppers, onions, cheese, lettuce, etc.)
I got back to the shop and it was almost 3 PM. I had discussed bags with Mildred but the choices were urban carry-alls that hung over the rear rack. Not secure, not waterproof, and still 50 €. Marc had, in the meantime printed a catalog tear sheet of a brand of bag that would be perfect. He didn't have it but suggested a shop in de Haan. This little town was along the Amstel canal, which would provide a perfect first ride, a route back to the center of Amsterdam well away from traffic. And I could stop in and see their selection of touring bags.
It had started to rain, so I took out my Burley rain cape and gaiters. These were cycling accessories that I had for more than 20 years. And never needed! I wound my way west, with approximate directions and the certainty that if I didn't stray from that compass point I would hit water, and that would lead me to de Haan.
When I found the town, no one I asked knew where the bike shop was, but I rode through town and there it was at the very northern edge. I got there, a little damp, and asked if they had the brand of bag Marc had suggested or any others. No, no luck. Just some very expensive Ortlieb touring bags and another expensive line, Varde. And the clerk informed me that Marc Bike had called to tell me they let me leave without giving me the two tubes and the folding tire I had paid for. So I turned around and went back, in the rain, to the Balmer Arena station.
They had called my cell phone, but I hadn't heard it while riding in the rain. I packed the tubes and tire into the backpack I was carrying and headed off, this time, parallel to theMetro line, to find a store called Helfords. This was suggested in de Haan as another place to find less expensive bags to mount on the racks.
There was nothing there that would do the job, just more urban carriers for the rear rack. By now I was also considering a full rain suit, and a handle-bar bag, but nothing looked decent. I did buy a pair of elastic straps with hooks... bungees for bike racks. They proved very handy.
It was getting dark but the store was close to another Metro station. I took the lift up to the platform and went back to Central Station and to Ijlburglaan on the 26 (the only tram line that allows bikes!). I was prepared to apologize to Sarah and Melanie about not making the dinner I had offered to cook. The entire day was taken up with buying and fitting out the bicycle. It was 8:00 by the time I got home. Melanie walked in a few minutes after I did and I offered to take them out to dinner.
We started walking towards several restaurants they thought might be opened, and found an Italian place that had just opened in the east end of their building. The food was good. The waiter explained that they weren't "really" opened yet, although there were more than a dozen diners there when we entered.
Finally, to bed, Tuesday evening about 11:30, with my transportation resolved. On Wednesday I would go to the speciality touring bike shop in the Jardin, and inquire about bags and maps. That really was the last task before I could leave Amsterdam.
Oh yes. In case it didn't register ... the error was walking away from Decathalon not towards it, and the miracle was finding Marc Bike. I never would have seen the store otherwise. And gone back to Vitor in Amsterdam to see what he had put together.
The plan for Tuesday was to go to Decathalon and look at the new bikes rumored to be around 300 €. This proved to be the first of several miracles of error. And the clear influence of angels, human or otherwise.
This required my second trip on the Metro (the first being the express from Schiphol with Willem). At Willem's suggestion I had purchased a 72 hour Metro pass that was good for all the streetcars and the Metro. It worked like a card key and was electronically read as you got on the tram, or inserted it into turnstile for the Metro. Melanie had told me, casually, to take the 51 line and get off at Balmir Arena, the home of Amsterdam's football (soccer) team. It was to be about a thirty minute ride. Once on the train I studied the map of the Metro above the exit doors. The system resembles BART in many ways, with multiple lines (color coded) crossing at a couple of transfer points and then heading out to various suburbs. Unlike BART all originate at Central Station.
Once I got on the train, I looked and looked at the station names on the 51 line and couldn't see one that suggested it was where the arena would be. Nor did one say 'Decathalon.' (Imagine a Bart stop that said, "Sports Basement!" Such was my general state of confusion in this alien land ... why not, I thought.) I finally asked someone. The first person had no idea. I then asked a young woman (all this in English of course) and she didn't know, but another passenger who overheard the question said, "You are on the wrong train. You must transfer... here!" as the train pulled into the last station with an opportunity to get on the 54 line, without having to backtrack. And as I exited the car, I saw Balmir Arena on the route map, on the yellow (54) line, two stops down from the transfer point! It was an experience of 'blindness' produced by anxiousness. Ordinarily I think I would have scanned all the stops on all the lines, just out of curiosity. But I was upset that I couldn't see Balmer Arena on the line I was told to be on...and kept focusing on the stops on that line.
A short wait, and a 54 pulled into the station. On exiting the train at Balmer Arena I asked at an information booth where the shopping was. Following directions, I proceed to walk in an easterly direction, away from the stadium, as directed. Off I headed, across a large plaza, toward a pedestrian street with shops on both sides. After five or ten minutes I thought to ask again, because none of the shops were growing in size and I was told that "Decathalon" - a giant sporting goods store with a department for every sport imaginable, would be among some larger stores. Several passers-by were not able to offer directions. Finally, a helpful shopkeeper told me that Decathalon was on the other side of the tracks. West of the station. I had been walking in the wrong direction. While most people in Holland have some English and it isn't too frustrating to communicate, there was never a guarantee that an inquiry would be understood, moment to moment. A new and unsettling experience for me, which required extreme patience and some confidence that, eventually, someone will understand. Or, from a more optimistic perspective, that the unintelligible answers in a foreign tongue might actually, on repetition by multiple voices, suddenly reveal a direction to take.
And so, passing back through this street of shops, I come to the eastern edge of the plaza and see, in the station building itself, a shop labeled Marc Bikes. Having no commimtment to Decathalon, I decide Marc's might provide advice and an opportunity to comparison shop. And so I crossed the plaza and saw that they had new bikes and one of the brands was Batavus. I had seen a used Batavus the day before in what might have been a pawn shop, except it was labeled "used things." The Batavus appeared virtually new, and interesting because it had a frame lock, a dynamo, rear racks, and while heavy, might have been a good used bike for my trip. But I had never heard of it and it was the first time I had seen one.
Mildred, a attractive woman from Suriname greeted me and asked what kind of bicycle I was looking for. I explained my interest in the Batavus brand, without explaining why, and she showed them to me. The bike I had seen for 300 € was about 900 € new. But it really wasn't ideal. I asked about used bikes, and she said, "Sure. Come outside." And there, in the rain, was a string of 15 or so bikes locked together - mostly "city" bikes.The seats are wide and soft, the handlebars gently curved back, and they have internal hubs with 3-5 speeds or are single speed. They usually have no hand brakes, only a coaster brake.
There was one that was different, with a derailleur, and an aluminum rear rack. She pointed me toward some other bikes, but that one held my interest. I said I wanted to try it. So she unlocked the cable, and I took it out for about 5 minutes. I was sold. It was marked 95 €, shifted smoothly, had wide touring tires, a friction generator for the headlight, a frame lock on the rear wheel , and a rear light. It was a blue aluminum "Jan Jennsen, Trans Alpine Sport Touring" bike.(The links will take you to a wiki article about him, and then the website for his line of bikes. The current version of the Transalpine is 990 €.) I asked Mildred why it was so cheap and she answered, "Because its used." We took it back inside, and one of the mechanics came out to participate in the conversation. I said I wanted pedals that could take toe traps, a couple of water bottle cages, a different seat, and could they change the handlebars? He asked what I was going to use the bike for and I told him I planned to ride to Warsaw.
The mechanic said they could do all that, and it would take about a half hour to get the bike ready. He suggested I put front racks on - low riders. Great, I said. He showed me a saddle they could give me, not quite a road saddle, but definitely narrow and harder than the one on the bike. He also had a straight handlebar (no drop bars in sight) which they'd give me and pedals with slots for the toe trap cables I could buy. But he didn't have any toe traps. I picked out a couple of bottle cages and some bottles, and asked them to put it all together.
I asked for an estimate of what all this was going to cost me. Mildred rattled off a number that sounded too high. I asked for the breakdown. She said, "Bike, 195 €." "Whoa," I said, "I thought is was just 95 €. That's why I asked why it was so cheap!" And we looked at the tag on the handlebar, and it was soggy and wet and the one was barely interpretable! But it was still a good price, just a momentary surprise. I left a 50 € deposit and went off to Decathalon to see about toe traps. And potentially to stir some buyers remorse when I looked at the 300 € brand new bikes.
The bicycle department was quite large. And there were mountain bikes for 249 and 300 Euro. Stripped. They would have required racks, fenders, lights, pedals, seat, etc. And they did not inspire confidence. Think, COSTCO bicycles. The only toe clips they had were without straps. I bought them.
I stopped back at the shop, but the bike wasn't quite ready. I left the toe clips to be installed. It was then that Mildred told me the guy working on the bike was the owner, Marc. And he had taken the bike home and ridden it for a month after they took it in on trade. And had put the new large rings on the back cluster, replaced the break and shift cables, and put on new brake pads. I felt a lot more confident about my decision to purchase it! I took off to find food. Lunch was at a Subway clone, although there were plenty of Subway's, McDonalds, Burger Kings, and KFC's in Holland, I chose a local variety. Sandwich with some kind of meat and sauce, and everything else (tomato, peppers, onions, cheese, lettuce, etc.)
I got back to the shop and it was almost 3 PM. I had discussed bags with Mildred but the choices were urban carry-alls that hung over the rear rack. Not secure, not waterproof, and still 50 €. Marc had, in the meantime printed a catalog tear sheet of a brand of bag that would be perfect. He didn't have it but suggested a shop in de Haan. This little town was along the Amstel canal, which would provide a perfect first ride, a route back to the center of Amsterdam well away from traffic. And I could stop in and see their selection of touring bags.
It had started to rain, so I took out my Burley rain cape and gaiters. These were cycling accessories that I had for more than 20 years. And never needed! I wound my way west, with approximate directions and the certainty that if I didn't stray from that compass point I would hit water, and that would lead me to de Haan.
When I found the town, no one I asked knew where the bike shop was, but I rode through town and there it was at the very northern edge. I got there, a little damp, and asked if they had the brand of bag Marc had suggested or any others. No, no luck. Just some very expensive Ortlieb touring bags and another expensive line, Varde. And the clerk informed me that Marc Bike had called to tell me they let me leave without giving me the two tubes and the folding tire I had paid for. So I turned around and went back, in the rain, to the Balmer Arena station.
They had called my cell phone, but I hadn't heard it while riding in the rain. I packed the tubes and tire into the backpack I was carrying and headed off, this time, parallel to theMetro line, to find a store called Helfords. This was suggested in de Haan as another place to find less expensive bags to mount on the racks.
There was nothing there that would do the job, just more urban carriers for the rear rack. By now I was also considering a full rain suit, and a handle-bar bag, but nothing looked decent. I did buy a pair of elastic straps with hooks... bungees for bike racks. They proved very handy.
It was getting dark but the store was close to another Metro station. I took the lift up to the platform and went back to Central Station and to Ijlburglaan on the 26 (the only tram line that allows bikes!). I was prepared to apologize to Sarah and Melanie about not making the dinner I had offered to cook. The entire day was taken up with buying and fitting out the bicycle. It was 8:00 by the time I got home. Melanie walked in a few minutes after I did and I offered to take them out to dinner.
We started walking towards several restaurants they thought might be opened, and found an Italian place that had just opened in the east end of their building. The food was good. The waiter explained that they weren't "really" opened yet, although there were more than a dozen diners there when we entered.
Finally, to bed, Tuesday evening about 11:30, with my transportation resolved. On Wednesday I would go to the speciality touring bike shop in the Jardin, and inquire about bags and maps. That really was the last task before I could leave Amsterdam.
Oh yes. In case it didn't register ... the error was walking away from Decathalon not towards it, and the miracle was finding Marc Bike. I never would have seen the store otherwise. And gone back to Vitor in Amsterdam to see what he had put together.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
TIME COMPRESSION
[The title of this post was a reminder to annotate and manage the timeframe for the content of posts. Blogger dated them as they were created when saved as drafts, and I thought that date would remain. Because the post may be about events earlier than the posting date, each entry needs to be placed in time. Thus this entry, dated September 28 is about the evening of September 13.]
(More) Monday, September 13, 2010
Monday didn't actually end back in Ijburglaan and Melanie and Sarah's apartment! But in my rush to post Wednesday morning, before I left Amsterdam, I ended without sharing my dinner experience. And that would be practically sinful, considering the enormous generosity of everyone I have encountered in this first week of my journey. In particular, Willem.
Willem invited me to have dinner with him and his wife, and, subtly sensitive to a stranger's possible difficulties with the maze like layout of Amsterdam's streets, he proposed to "pick me up," much as he had at the Schiphol airport. We met at the same place we had had coffee on my arrival, when he showed me how to find the No. 26 tram to Ijburglaan and my hosts.
We walked together to the neighborhood call Jardin, and he shared much about its history. It was a working class neighborhood, with many shops on the street level, throughout, but now the buildings that once held them are mostly residential. There were two major streets that had a double row of diagonal parking in the center, where once there had been a canal! That looked very odd in Amsterdam, since there is very little land dedicated to parking visible in the city center. I can't remember if he explained why they filled the canals, but he did mention that a few years ago there was a proposal to dig them out and it was strongly opposed by the merchants who had turned these two streets into very commercial boulevards.
We had dinner at a place called The Dining Room of the Jardin. This was a cozy and friendly cafe on Westerstraat. They explained it was their favorite restaurant, and the owner knew them well. Dinner was delicious and they treated me! We then walked around the corner and went to their apartment which had a view over one of the canals. [Duh.] We had a delightful conversation about everything from the neighborhood and relationships with house-boaters to politics and the theater of current security at airports. They have not owned a car for more than 20 years. This put in context my initial reaction to Willem's initial offer to pick me up - it seemed unfair for him to drive to the airport, only to drop me off at a Warm Showers host. But he was actually offering to guide me through the transit system from Schiphol, and point me toward the tram to Ijburglaan. Only later, after getting confused multiple times wandering around Amsterdam did I fully appreciate the generosity of his meeting me at the airport! One less puzzle to solve!
After dinner and conversation, he offered to "take" me to the Central Railstation where I could get a tram to Ijburglaan but I wanted to walk back. Not because I had a clear idea of the route, far from it, I wanted to test my understanding of the layout of the city. And I wanted to visit the red light district. I had little sense of how I might respond to the legalization of prostitution and how it was marketed in Amsterdam.
I had already digested what it meant to have "cafes" - places selling cannabis products - everywhere. One would be walking and a heady wiff of the sweet smell of marijuana indicated a "cafe" nearby. My impulse to try some was forestalled by the sense of urgency I felt to accomplish the basic task of finding a bicycle and setting out for Warsaw. I was certain that however tempting the opportunity to legally enjoy some grass cultivated by specialists , it would only exacerbate my general disorientation being in a "foreign" place. And the consequence of imbibing would last well into the next day, if my experiences with current potency was likely to be repeated in Amsterdam.
My experience and abstention from the women selling their favors was less strategic. I found them, standing or sitting behind large glass windows, in push up bras and corsets, made up and frequently gesturing flirtatiously, less than appealing. I walked a half dozen of the streets and alleys that had the red neon glow that indicated their presence. Horny or not, this had no correspondence to what for me are the necessities of sexual encounter. Even assuming the women working these windows had made this their work by choice, the objectification of sexual favors, packaged in a red tinted glass box, decorated by false eyelashes, lacy underwear, sultry glance, and sensual gesture, was a significant turnoff. Several looked like home town girls, not Playboy bunnies, and that was somewhat more attractive, but the groups of men, standing and looking in the windows, dispelled any illusion that these more simply framed women were different than the ones that looked like street whores in San Francisco's Tenderloin or Times Square (years ago).
And so, back to Ijburglaan on the 26 tram. Tuesday, to Decathalon to see about these new, 300 Euro bicycles.
(More) Monday, September 13, 2010
Monday didn't actually end back in Ijburglaan and Melanie and Sarah's apartment! But in my rush to post Wednesday morning, before I left Amsterdam, I ended without sharing my dinner experience. And that would be practically sinful, considering the enormous generosity of everyone I have encountered in this first week of my journey. In particular, Willem.
Willem invited me to have dinner with him and his wife, and, subtly sensitive to a stranger's possible difficulties with the maze like layout of Amsterdam's streets, he proposed to "pick me up," much as he had at the Schiphol airport. We met at the same place we had had coffee on my arrival, when he showed me how to find the No. 26 tram to Ijburglaan and my hosts.
We walked together to the neighborhood call Jardin, and he shared much about its history. It was a working class neighborhood, with many shops on the street level, throughout, but now the buildings that once held them are mostly residential. There were two major streets that had a double row of diagonal parking in the center, where once there had been a canal! That looked very odd in Amsterdam, since there is very little land dedicated to parking visible in the city center. I can't remember if he explained why they filled the canals, but he did mention that a few years ago there was a proposal to dig them out and it was strongly opposed by the merchants who had turned these two streets into very commercial boulevards.
We had dinner at a place called The Dining Room of the Jardin. This was a cozy and friendly cafe on Westerstraat. They explained it was their favorite restaurant, and the owner knew them well. Dinner was delicious and they treated me! We then walked around the corner and went to their apartment which had a view over one of the canals. [Duh.] We had a delightful conversation about everything from the neighborhood and relationships with house-boaters to politics and the theater of current security at airports. They have not owned a car for more than 20 years. This put in context my initial reaction to Willem's initial offer to pick me up - it seemed unfair for him to drive to the airport, only to drop me off at a Warm Showers host. But he was actually offering to guide me through the transit system from Schiphol, and point me toward the tram to Ijburglaan. Only later, after getting confused multiple times wandering around Amsterdam did I fully appreciate the generosity of his meeting me at the airport! One less puzzle to solve!
After dinner and conversation, he offered to "take" me to the Central Railstation where I could get a tram to Ijburglaan but I wanted to walk back. Not because I had a clear idea of the route, far from it, I wanted to test my understanding of the layout of the city. And I wanted to visit the red light district. I had little sense of how I might respond to the legalization of prostitution and how it was marketed in Amsterdam.
I had already digested what it meant to have "cafes" - places selling cannabis products - everywhere. One would be walking and a heady wiff of the sweet smell of marijuana indicated a "cafe" nearby. My impulse to try some was forestalled by the sense of urgency I felt to accomplish the basic task of finding a bicycle and setting out for Warsaw. I was certain that however tempting the opportunity to legally enjoy some grass cultivated by specialists , it would only exacerbate my general disorientation being in a "foreign" place. And the consequence of imbibing would last well into the next day, if my experiences with current potency was likely to be repeated in Amsterdam.
My experience and abstention from the women selling their favors was less strategic. I found them, standing or sitting behind large glass windows, in push up bras and corsets, made up and frequently gesturing flirtatiously, less than appealing. I walked a half dozen of the streets and alleys that had the red neon glow that indicated their presence. Horny or not, this had no correspondence to what for me are the necessities of sexual encounter. Even assuming the women working these windows had made this their work by choice, the objectification of sexual favors, packaged in a red tinted glass box, decorated by false eyelashes, lacy underwear, sultry glance, and sensual gesture, was a significant turnoff. Several looked like home town girls, not Playboy bunnies, and that was somewhat more attractive, but the groups of men, standing and looking in the windows, dispelled any illusion that these more simply framed women were different than the ones that looked like street whores in San Francisco's Tenderloin or Times Square (years ago).
And so, back to Ijburglaan on the 26 tram. Tuesday, to Decathalon to see about these new, 300 Euro bicycles.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
FOUR DAYS CAREENING FORWARD
Deventer, NL.
Barely.
But luxuriously.
These obtuse comments will become clear as I share the merry-go-round of the last 4 days. Arrived from Helsinki on time, Sunday evening and was met by Willem Peeters, brother of my Healdsburg friend Henk. He offered to pick me up at Schiphol and it was an enormous gift to have someone assist in the navigation of transportation to Centrum (Amsterdam City Center). The express is apparently only available as a round trip, so I had a one way ticket to Schiphol to give away later. After that he advised me to get a 72 hour Metro Pass, graciously bought me a map of the city, and a cup of coffee while we talked about my plans. Then, pointed in the direction of the # 26 tram, to take me to my Warm Showers host, we parted, with a tentative date to share a meal.
Melanie Reiback was the very first host I had contacted when I signed up for Warm Showers and she floored me when she actually offered to loan me a touring bicycle, in addition to a stay in her apartment, . She is a professor of Computer Science at the Free University of Amsterdam, specializing in research around RFID implementations and security. She lives with her partner, Sarah and a young budgie. They moved into their apartment a month ago and were still waiting to get the flooring in. Hence, most of their belonging were still in boxes, and they hadn't purchased any furniture. The apartment is a three floor floating houseboat in a new development. Because it is difficult to cycle from there to City Center, it is the only tram line which allows bicycles! This turned out to be a good thing.
I had communicated via email with Recycled Bicycles but didn't have the address. When I looked it up on my phone, using McDonalds WiFi , I found something called ROADS, the "recycled fiets (bicycle) project." Amazingly, they had a bike I would have bought, with two chainrings and a seven gears, but the seat post was frozen. I asked about them fixing it, and Eric, the mechanic/manager I was talking to, said, "This shop isn't really about bicycles, its about people, getting these mechanics into the labor force. That's why we only work on City Bikes [single speed, heavy, urban transportation]. These guys don't work on bikes with derailleurs!" I pushed a little more and he said you could probably free it with a torch. "But that would burn the paint off". I pushed some more, and finally he said, "We're out of gas!" And that was that.
However, he told me that Decathalon was a giant sporting goods emporium that I could get to via the Metro. He thought I could buy a new bike that would suit my needs for about 300 Euro! So with that tip in my pocket, I continued to search for the fellow I had communicated with. He was on Spuistraat, which it took me a long while to find. Amsterdam is very confusing if you don't have a map in front of you every moment. Instead of a grid, it is a series of concentric canals with streets on both sides. The bridges over the canals don't always keep the same name after crossing. And if you walk a long way, you nearly go in a circle!
I found Vitor Pieto's shop and he was in the process of selling a used city bike to a young japanese girl, who was with her friend. He was giving them a red tail light and showing them how to actuate the front headlight, giving them a lock for the front wheel and explaining the frame mounted lock for the rear wheel. His patience was a marvel to watch. Another woman came in to tell him she was uncertain about the bike he had showed her the day before. She was concerned about riding a bike with a coaster brake and would continue to think about it. He offerred to let her take it and try it, but she declined his offer.
Finally, with no other customers to be served, he shut the front door and took me in the back where he had a large number of un-repaired bicycles. Pointing to a mixte frame with a derailleur that he said he could fix for me for about 150 - 200 Euros. He could have it no later than Wednesday morning. He said I should come by late Tuesday afternoon to see how it was coming. He went on to say if I found something else, that was fine with him also. Very sweet man.
And then I was done for the day. I must have walked 7 or 8 miles. My legs were telling me I hadn't really been very active in the last 5 weeks!
Time for a nap, as we move closer to the appearance of luxury.
Barely.
But luxuriously.
These obtuse comments will become clear as I share the merry-go-round of the last 4 days. Arrived from Helsinki on time, Sunday evening and was met by Willem Peeters, brother of my Healdsburg friend Henk. He offered to pick me up at Schiphol and it was an enormous gift to have someone assist in the navigation of transportation to Centrum (Amsterdam City Center). The express is apparently only available as a round trip, so I had a one way ticket to Schiphol to give away later. After that he advised me to get a 72 hour Metro Pass, graciously bought me a map of the city, and a cup of coffee while we talked about my plans. Then, pointed in the direction of the # 26 tram, to take me to my Warm Showers host, we parted, with a tentative date to share a meal.
Melanie Reiback was the very first host I had contacted when I signed up for Warm Showers and she floored me when she actually offered to loan me a touring bicycle, in addition to a stay in her apartment, . She is a professor of Computer Science at the Free University of Amsterdam, specializing in research around RFID implementations and security. She lives with her partner, Sarah and a young budgie. They moved into their apartment a month ago and were still waiting to get the flooring in. Hence, most of their belonging were still in boxes, and they hadn't purchased any furniture. The apartment is a three floor floating houseboat in a new development. Because it is difficult to cycle from there to City Center, it is the only tram line which allows bicycles! This turned out to be a good thing.
The third floor, the only space with finish flooring, was to be my headquarters. The doors are windows and can be opened like a hopper, tilting inward, or, alternatively swung on hinges to open as doors. I carried my gear upstairs, spread out my sleeping bag, and tried to sleep. I had not slept much during the eight hour layover in Helsinki but even so, it was hard to fall sleep as my head was spinning with all the things I needed to do and the strangeness of it all.
 |
| First Dawn in Europe |
Monday.
 |
| View West of the Neighborhood |
The basic tasks for the day were to get some cash, get a sim card for my iphone, and look for a bicycle. Wells Fargo had told me that ATM transactions across a teller's counter were cheaper than an ATM network transaction. After trying three banks I gave up and decided to only use ATMs. I asked a clerk in the Mac Store if he had any suggestions for a prepaid sim card for my iPhone and he echoed an earlier pointer I received in Helsinki: Vodaphone. I walked by the Vodaphone store on my way to the bank, went back and was very annoyed that they wouldn't open the door at 1:00, as posted. They signaled what I thought meant, "Just few moments." It was a full 45 minutes of standing around, going to MacDonalds for the .50 Euro bathroom, buying a postcard, and finally, when the clerks came out for a smoke, discovering that my watch was on Helsinki time and Amsterdam was an hour earlier!
I had communicated via email with Recycled Bicycles but didn't have the address. When I looked it up on my phone, using McDonalds WiFi , I found something called ROADS, the "recycled fiets (bicycle) project." Amazingly, they had a bike I would have bought, with two chainrings and a seven gears, but the seat post was frozen. I asked about them fixing it, and Eric, the mechanic/manager I was talking to, said, "This shop isn't really about bicycles, its about people, getting these mechanics into the labor force. That's why we only work on City Bikes [single speed, heavy, urban transportation]. These guys don't work on bikes with derailleurs!" I pushed a little more and he said you could probably free it with a torch. "But that would burn the paint off". I pushed some more, and finally he said, "We're out of gas!" And that was that.
However, he told me that Decathalon was a giant sporting goods emporium that I could get to via the Metro. He thought I could buy a new bike that would suit my needs for about 300 Euro! So with that tip in my pocket, I continued to search for the fellow I had communicated with. He was on Spuistraat, which it took me a long while to find. Amsterdam is very confusing if you don't have a map in front of you every moment. Instead of a grid, it is a series of concentric canals with streets on both sides. The bridges over the canals don't always keep the same name after crossing. And if you walk a long way, you nearly go in a circle!
I found Vitor Pieto's shop and he was in the process of selling a used city bike to a young japanese girl, who was with her friend. He was giving them a red tail light and showing them how to actuate the front headlight, giving them a lock for the front wheel and explaining the frame mounted lock for the rear wheel. His patience was a marvel to watch. Another woman came in to tell him she was uncertain about the bike he had showed her the day before. She was concerned about riding a bike with a coaster brake and would continue to think about it. He offerred to let her take it and try it, but she declined his offer.
Finally, with no other customers to be served, he shut the front door and took me in the back where he had a large number of un-repaired bicycles. Pointing to a mixte frame with a derailleur that he said he could fix for me for about 150 - 200 Euros. He could have it no later than Wednesday morning. He said I should come by late Tuesday afternoon to see how it was coming. He went on to say if I found something else, that was fine with him also. Very sweet man.
And then I was done for the day. I must have walked 7 or 8 miles. My legs were telling me I hadn't really been very active in the last 5 weeks!
Time for a nap, as we move closer to the appearance of luxury.
THE FAMILIAR IS FAR BEHIND
It always interesting to discover the unexpected, especially under your fingertips. Previously I have learned how to key letters from various latin alphabets requiring accents, but never sat a keyboard that was designed for a different language. Here in the Helsinki Airport there are more than a dozen keys which do not match what my fingers expect. Including the @ sign! Other relocated characters include the "?", and the double quotes, the hyphen, the "<" and ">" signs. And there are these three characters: a, ä, å. Since the introduction of the computer keyboard, there has been a debate about the efficiency of the old qwerty keyboard. I wonder how decisions were made about the keyboard layout on foreign keyboards. They probably also map to the typewriters of the early 20th century. This one, certainly maps to qwerty, with only the annoying surprise.
(While dated Thursday, I wrote this last Sunday during my eight hour layover in Helsinki.)
(While dated Thursday, I wrote this last Sunday during my eight hour layover in Helsinki.)
Saturday, September 11, 2010
NEW YORK; ALL SALAMI?
Last day in New York and I went about like a resident, running my final errands. I walked up to 103rd Street and Amsterdam Avenue to join Hostels International. $18 for seniors! The hostel there has 697 beds, most $68 a night. Not surprising it was full!
Next was reconfiguring my bags. I had decided to use a soft duffel instead of my decades old Travel-Pro rigid, rolling, carry-on. After navigating several subway lines, to get to East 61st and Lexington to the first luggage store, I then went back down to 45th and Park to East Side Luggage. There I found a big, tough duffel from a very helpful salesman.
Walked back to 87th and West End Avenue where my mother and I have been staying with an old family friend. She'll stay there until she returns to California in two weeks. I packed up the old carry-on, filled with 15 pounds of things I had determined were excess, in a perfect cardboard carton I had picked up on the street the night before. With a borrowed wire shopping basket I took the package to UPS and sent it home. Repacking more than a dozen times over the last 10 days, asking about every item, "... and if I didn't have this ...." A weight reduction of nearly 30%!
Afterward I meandered, pushing the shopping basket up Amsterdam Avenue, over to Columbus, and then into an Ace Hardware Store. And bought a combination lock for hostel stays. Walking the streets of New York is a sensual delight. The cadence and tones of so many different languages. The intensity of commerce. So many restaurants. The men and women, dressed so smartly and attractively. Eye candy.
I broke down and bought a "slice" in one of those hole in the wall pizza joints. Disappointing. Then crossing back over to Broadway, I started thinking about food for the plane trip. Zabar's, a famous delicatessen, was on the way. I'd never been inside. I wandered around with my basket, marveling at the choices. The picture below shows the back of the prepared foods case. Only prepared meats on those shelves. Salami. Ham. Prosciutto. Pastrami. Etc. I bought a piece of hard salami, some cheese, nuts and dried apples. Then a stop at H&H bagel. And home.
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| The Cured at Zabars |
These old subway mosaics are wonderful. I love the letterforms.
Tomorrow, 5:40 PM, Finnair, Flight 6 to Helsinki.
Friday, September 10, 2010
PULLING AWAY FROM THE GATE
Spent Labor Day weekend with an old friend in Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love. Couldn't have had a nicer time. William Penn, a Quaker, named the city (from philos, "love" or "friendship", and adelphos, "brother") because he wanted his colony to be a place where anyone could worship freely despite their religion. This extreme tolerance led to significantly healthier relationships with the local Native tribes. (from Wikipedia.)
There, even the buildings have their heads in the clouds.
In New York, everyone seemed to be going somewhere.
In a hurry.
But none of the departures were for my destinations.
I came up from Penn Station and asked a cop where I could find a Post Office. "The biggest Post Office in the world is right around the corner!" And there it was, spanning an entire City block.
There were over 49 service windows in the lobby! Most un-staffed.
In the lobby I found an acceptable 'specification' for a minimal bicycle to buy in Amsterdam. Standard issue in 1940. And since, "neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail shall keep the postmen from their appointed rounds," this ought to get me (at least halfway) to Warsaw, no matter what the weather throws at me. (The quote is Herodotus, about couriers in the Persian Empire!) Need a courier heading East? Never mind ... I'm still repacking and reducing!
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| The lowest common denominator! |
What's with the seat? Did the leather shrink? A giant laundry clip? Primitive Kryptonite lock?
With a cut-out handle for lifting bike.
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