Moscou, Holland: Happiness in the rain

August 4, 2015

Join in and ride: four days of popular cycling in Achterhoek

WELL, that didn't last long, did it? Two lovely days and then rain. All day. Not cold - 18, according to thermometers in the street - but wet. Wet all day.

Two days back, I saw bike clubs, happy, chatting, spinning on sparkly wheels. Today I saw other groups, older, slower, dressed in civvies and draped in capes. I thought they were riding to work. But they were huddled together, not hurrying, and going the wrong way. Out of town and not into it.

And so?

One of the old stone ovens of Dedemsvaart. The town bought the neighbouring gas holder for a guilder and turned it into a concert centre

Well, it didn't take long before I took refuge in a café, a place with carpets on the tables, lowered lights and a woman making busy with a vacuum cleaner. I wanted koffie en appelgebak, the coffee and apple tart that can become addictive ("but no whipped cream, thanks"). The plush second room suggested the profit came not from small-spending cyclists. They were just till-janglers. The money was in evening meals.

The vacuum cleaner fell silent and a mumsy, slightly red-haired woman (she'd call it strawberry blond) smiled and said: "You've brought the sun with you."

I smiled back. I looked out at the street where rain danced on the road and people hurried with plastic umbrellas. But, true enough, a stray ray of sun had broken ranks and slipped through the low dripping roof of the world.

"They'll be pleased if that carries on," she said, not eager to resume her part as Cinderella.

"They?"

"It's the Fiets Vierdaagse van Achterhoek," she said. "It's on today. Anybody who wants, 25, 40 or 60 kilometres."

So that's who I'd seen: riders in the third of four days of cycling events.

"You're not going to take part?"

"I'm too old," she laughed, though she wasn't. She looked more youthful than those I'd seen on everyday bikes just earlier. Their start and finish point was down the road in a rain-swamped field with banners and a marquee. I saw some of the gloomy pilgrims making their way back into town as I left.

The village newsletter didn't explain how the four days of riding started but it did say they were in their 22nd year. The five pages of routes took second place only to a local named Arjan Erkel, who spent three years in captivity by gunmen in the the capital of Dagestan, in Russia. He made the main story because he was promoting a book.

Celebrations were going on in the street in the next town as well. Sheep were penned to one side so small boys could bleat at them before being called away by their parents. I rode through Nijverdal, a place of neat houses which showed no sign of being the birthplace of the Dutch industrial revolution. And I rode, too, through Ommen, not finding the site of the concentration camp. The place was notorious for Herbertus Bikker, the Butcher of Ommen, a brutal guard. Who went there changed as the years passed. Its last role was to detain Dutchmen who collaborated with the Germans. Their treatment was not much better than anyone else's.

Serve yourself a hot drink, said the sign beneath the flag

Above all, I was brought to a halt by a flag hanging at 45 degrees, wet and dripping, outside a farmhouse before Hexel. The village is on the edge of the Sallandse Heuvelrug, a national park along some of Holland's rare hills. A sign invited me to serve myself with coffee and biscuits.

The rain fell and nobody was about. I felt guilty but there on an outdoor table was an invitation to go further if the weather was bad. So I went further and found a shelter with a table and chairs, and coffee in pots and biscuits in jars and cold drinks in a refrigerator. There were books to read, tea-towels and cushions to buy if I cared to leave some money.

A few coins were all that my kind, unseen hosts asked. Certainly nothing that would cover their costs, let alone make a profit. They did it for no reason but kindness to walkers and cyclists. A leaflet told me there were two dozen places like it in this region alone.

I sat in a soft chair and read that the farm was established in 1857 and rebuilt in 1995. There are still sheep and goats but no large-scale farming. I dropped some money in a saucer, wrote my thanks in the visitors' book, and pushed back down the driveway. There was still no one around.

A touch of human kindness on a wet day.

Interesting twist in Holland... You see the blue sign that indicates a bike path. You see a sign pointing the way on LF4b, a long-distance bike route, and you also see the number 32. That's a node number. You can navigate all the way across Holland by bike by writing the nodes you need. Then you ride the signposted route from one to the next. All you need is the overall map. An idea wonderful for its simplicity

Today's ride: 99 km (61 miles)
Total: 3,254 km (2,021 miles)

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