August 9, 2016
Ferry to Europe: A Hook of Holland reunion
I spent my last night in England camped in an enclosed area of wasteland that I'd snuck into through a door that had been left open. It was a good spot as it enabled me to wild camp despite being in the midst of the town of Harwich, less than a kilometre from the ferry terminal. I wanted to be close to it as my ferry was leaving early in the morning and I did not want to be missing this one. It was a special day, so when I awoke at five a.m. I would not get back to sleep, both because I did not want to miss the boat and because of how excited I was that this day was finally here.
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I was at the ferry with plenty of time to spare, where I was given a leaflet detailing how one should go about boarding the ferry on a bicycle. I'd boarded plenty of ferries on my bike before, so I thought I knew what the deal was, but apparently I'd been doing it all wrong. According to this very useful leaflet it was imperative that I should wear high-visibility clothing and a helmet for safety, and that I should not cycle onto the boat, but walk my bike on. Having to wear a helmet while walking, this sounded like a far more dangerous boarding procedure than I was used to.
I suppose one of the reasons why the leaflet was necessary was because this was a popular ferry for touring cyclists. Brits heading to cycle in Europe and Europeans heading home from cycling in Britain. I counted them as they arrived in our special lane to wait to board. More and more of them came along. Old couples and groups of young guys, none with as much gear as me, but still the most cycle tourists I'd seen in one place. I lost count at twenty. Then it was our turn to board the ferry. They streamed off in front of me, this mob of cyclists. None of them were wearing high-visibility clothing. I counted only three helmets. And to a man, woman and child they all cycled straight on board. Had they even read the leaflet?!
I got comfortable on the big ferry and watched as we sailed away from England. I wasn't really in the mood for talking with anyone, so I made myself comfortable outside and read my book, watched people playing in the on-board basketball court, and listened to music. Seven hours later and we were approaching the wind turbines of the Dutch shoreline.
As the ferry made its approach into the Hook of Holland I was pleased to see that the Netherlands were looking as flat as I remembered. The lack of hills was certainly going to be beneficial for my dysfunctional bike. I was also happy to spot some bicycle lanes, a most welcome change from the narrow British country lanes I'd come from. But there was one thing I enjoyed spotting far more than those two things. From the deck of the big boat it was only a tiny speck of red and orange, but I knew exactly what it was the moment that I laid eyes upon it. I dropped my backpack and jumped up and down, waving my arms furiously. A lump formed in my throat. Tears welled in my eyes. The red and orange speck waved back.
It took an eternity for me to get off the ship. All the other bikes were narrow enough to weave between the cars and make a quick escape, but with all my luggage I was trapped and had to wait, feeling ever so impatient. Eventually I was off the ferry, my wheels turning on continental Europe once more. I rode around the cars waiting to go through passport control and pushed in ahead of them. I didn't care about being polite right now. My passport was checked and I was waved through. I cycled on around the corner, out of the gate, to where she was waiting. That smile. Those beautiful blue eyes, almost fully recovered now. We fell into each others arms and we hugged and kissed, kissed and hugged. Dea and I were reunited.
Since I'd last seen her in Hawaii, Dea had embarked on a long process of treatment in Denmark for her infected eye. After a while it had recovered enough for her to resume cycling, and after a few test tours around Denmark she had decided she was well enough to cycle from Denmark to Holland to meet me. It had been her ambition to be here, to meet me off the ferry. And now she was realising her ambition and it was so, so, so good to see her again.
Dea had brought a bottle of sparkling apple juice and gave it to me to congratulate me.
“For what?” I asked.
“For cycling around the world!” she said.
“Oh... yeah.” I'd almost forgotten about that. It didn't really feel like I'd done it. I hadn't finished what I'd set out to. That one kilometre in the truck between Siberia and Mongolia still played on my mind. But there was no doubt we had plenty to celebrate, being reunited like this. I popped the cork, sending it flying across the car park with a loud bang, and we toasted our respective achievements in making it here, in making it back to one another.
Our plan now was to cycle together back to Denmark. Dea still needed to visit the eye doctor in Copenhagen for a couple more check-ups, and so we'd decided it would make sense for us to spend the months of September and October living there. That gave us three weeks to ride across Holland, Germany and Denmark. But it was already late afternoon, so we wouldn't be riding much further than Rotterdam this first night. We'd booked a room through AirBnb, giving us a bit more privacy than we'd get through a warmshowers or couchsurfing host, and I'm sure you can all work out for yourselves why we might want a bit of privacy after more than three months apart. The place where we stayed was a bit unusual, with graffiti on the bedroom wall and a glass door on the bathroom so that you could see inside. I'd never seen a glass door on a bathroom before. The Dutch can be a bit weird like that, though, can't they? It didn't matter, there was a bed in the bedroom, and we ordered takeaway pizza, and I had everything I wanted. The long ride back here, all those thousands of kilometre across Canada and England, the ferries, the lonely nights. It had all been worth it, for this moment. Pizza and the most beautiful girl in the world, what more could I ask for?
Today's ride: 33 km (20 miles)
Total: 56,290 km (34,956 miles)
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